Kael rose with the dawn, the first pale light creeping through the curtains. He moved through his morning routine with a sense of ease that had become familiar in recent weeks. His reflection on the water—a face once foreign, now less so—looked back at him.
The soft curve of cheekbones, the full lips, and the bright, piercing eyes of someone who seemed so far removed from the Kael of his past. A face that would have once enchanted him, a body with the grace and beauty of youth—yet it was his own now.
*Strange,* he thought, as he washed his face, staring at the slender fingers and lithe limbs that had become second nature to him. But not unwelcome. *Not anymore.*
He dressed slowly, pulling on the simple garments he had grown accustomed to in this strange, floating village.
A sense of purpose filled him as he made his way to the dining area. But when he arrived, the absence of Gwenbelle was immediately noticeable.
*Odd,* he thought. She was always here by now, taking her meal or sharpening her weapons before the day's tasks. Kael's eyes scanned the room, but there was no trace of her. A cold feeling brushed the back of his mind, but he pushed it away. Perhaps she was still with Buinn, sharing whatever dwarven matters had kept her so secretive the day before.
Breakfast passed in silence, and with each bite, his unease grew. Something was off. Gwenbelle had been tense last night, more so than usual, but Kael had chalked it up to the aftermath of battle, the heat of revenge still lingering in her veins. Now, he wasn't so sure.
After finishing his meal, Kael stood and made his way to Buinn's quarters, his thoughts already spinning. *She must be with him,* he told himself, his steps quickening. Whatever dwarven secrets they were hiding, he'd find out soon enough. But when he reached Buinn's room, the door stood slightly ajar, an invitation Kael hadn't expected.
Inside, the room was empty.
His eyes flicked across the space, taking in the scene in an instant. The bed was untouched, and scattered across the floor was the unmistakable wreckage of a Seraph, one of its limbs twisted, broken gears and splintered wood strewn across the floor. It was an odd sight, disquieting in its disorder. And there, on the table, lay a letter.
Kael hesitated only for a heartbeat before reaching for it, the paper crinkling in his hands as he unfolded it. The first word struck him like a hammer: *Sorry.*
His heart skipped. Gwenbelle's handwriting, unmistakable in its hurried strokes, filled the page. But it wasn't the content of the letter—he hadn't even read further yet—that seized him. It was the realization that something had happened, something serious, and she hadn't come to him.
His mind raced, trying to piece together fragments of conversations, the look in her eyes yesterday, her strange reluctance to speak about the Boar King's body, her insistence that they not disturb it.
*Why hadn't she said anything?*
Kael's gaze shifted to the broken Seraph at his feet. It was a clue, though to what end he wasn't sure. The letter in his hand felt heavier than paper should, a promise of things gone awry. He clenched his jaw and finally began to read, dread clawing at the edges of his thoughts.
The letter in his hands trembled slightly, his fingers gripping the edges as he read Gwenbelle's words over, trying to make sense of them. Confusion washed over him first, a wave of disbelief. Then, slowly, a darker emotion began to settle in.
She had gone.
The letter was carefully written, the words almost too neat, too controlled for the gravity of what she was telling him. Gwenbelle, who had fought beside him, laughed with him, shared in the hard-won victory over the Boar King, was gone. She had left him behind, her loyalty not to him but to her people, her clan beneath the mountain.
"Sorry, I believe the materials you seek cannot be found within the hold of my clan," she had written, her handwriting steady, betraying none of the turmoil Kael now felt surging inside him. "Please, do not follow me or my kin beneath the mountain. There are matters there that only the dwarves can tend to."
His mind reeled, struggling to grasp the full meaning of her departure. He could feel the weight of her decision in every sentence, her deep ties to her clan pulling her away from the floating village and from him. And yet, she had made her choice without a word, without a discussion. There had been no farewell, no warning.
At the bottom of the letter, a final blow.
"I have also borrowed the reactor of the floating village for my clan. It is necessary, and I hope you will understand."
For a moment, the world seemed to narrow, the words blurring as Kael felt his stomach drop. Borrowed? The reactor? His breath caught in his throat as the realization hit him like a physical force. His heart pounded, blood rushing in his ears. He barely had time to process the betrayal before the entire floating village lurched beneath his feet, the wooden beams groaning under the sudden strain.
The village was descending.
Kael's eyes widened as the floor trembled, a deep rumble echoing through the hull. He rushed to the window, his hands gripping the frame as he looked out. Below, the temporary storage structures placed beneath the floating village—filled with supplies, tools, and vital materials—were crushed under the weight of the descending mass. The village, deprived of its reactor, could no longer sustain itself in the air.
"Seraph!" Kael shouted, his voice sharp with fury and urgency. The mechanical beings responded instantly, their movements swift and efficient despite the chaos.
"Start an analysis of the village's damage! Now!" Kael ordered, his tone cold and clipped, trying to keep his fury from spilling over. His heart was pounding, a storm of emotions roiling within him—betrayal, anger, confusion, all crashing against each other.
The Seraphs moved into action, their precise limbs already running diagnostics on the village's systems, calculating the extent of the damage. Kael's mind raced as he tried to comprehend the full scale of Gwenbelle's actions. She had stolen the village's lifeblood, its very heart, and taken it to the dwarven hold beneath the mountain. And for what? For her clan? For some ancient debt to her people?
The reactor was irreplaceable. Without it, the village would be stranded, powerless to ascend. He had trusted her—trusted her skill, her strength, her loyalty—and she had repaid him by severing the floating village from the sky itself.
His jaw clenched as he crumpled the letter in his fist, the thin paper offering no resistance. Gwenbelle had made her choice, but the consequences of it now weighed on him. He felt the stirrings of rage, the heat rising in his chest as he thought of her betrayal, how she had left without a word and taken with her the very thing that kept them aloft.
He turned to the Seraph at his side. "Get me a full report," he growled. "And make sure no more damage is done."
As the Seraph hurried to obey, Kael stood there, his eyes burning with anger, staring at the crumpled letter in his hand. Gwenbelle had taken more than just a reactor. She had taken his trust, his plans for the future, and shattered them in a single stroke.
But beneath the fury, something else lingered—a gnawing sense of loss. She had been his ally, his friend, and now she was gone, vanished into the depths of the mountain. And Kael could not follow.
Kael stood on the balcony of his quarters, looking out into the vast expanse of the mountain, his eyes scanning the surrounding thorny jungle landscape, but his mind was far away.
Gwenbelle had slipped away in the dead of night, aided by the absence of the Seraphs and Valks, most of whom were undergoing repairs after the brutal clash with the Boar King. It wasn't hard to imagine how she and Buinn managed to leave unnoticed—Kael had been too focused on mending the village's wounds, too trusting.
The Seraphs moved efficiently below, clearing debris, repairing the floating village's damaged hull. But the more pressing issue lingered in Kael's mind: the reactor was gone, taken by the dwarves, leaving the village without its heart, its power source. He'd ordered an immediate survey of the damage, and though it wasn't as catastrophic as it might have been, the village was grounded, and without the reactor, it would remain that way.
Kael's thoughts were interrupted by the subtle whir of a Seraph approaching. It hovered beside him, its eyes flickering with data. "The village has sustained minimal damage. Repairs underway," it reported, its voice mechanical and cold. "Requesting new directive for reactor replacement."
Kael straightened, the weight of responsibility settling on him again. "Is it possible?" he asked, his voice betraying the frustration he felt.
The Seraph paused, its calculations silent for a moment before responding. "A temporary reactor may be constructed. Raw materials are required."
Kael gave a nod of approval. "Then begin. Do whatever's necessary."
As the Seraphs sprang into action, Kael watched with growing curiosity. They moved with precision, a flurry of motion as they disassembled the Boar King's massive corpse. The beast's hide was thick, its flesh hardened by years of survival in the thorny jungle, but the Seraphs peeled it apart with expert efficiency. Bones were cracked, organs removed, and blood drained into troughs they'd dug around the site. But something deeper drew Kael's attention—the Seraphs were digging into the heart of the Boar King's nest.
At first, it seemed like they were simply harvesting whatever remnants remained. But then, from the center of the corpse, a sudden radiating heat pulsed into the air. Kael narrowed his eyes as the ground trembled ever so slightly beneath his feet.
There, nestled within the Boar King's remains, a heart—more mechanical than biological—began to pulse, each beat resonating with a molten glow. Lava-like veins coursed through the massive organ, a twisted blend of nature and machine.
Kael's breath caught in his throat. He'd heard whispers, vague murmurs of ancient dwarven creations.
Gwenbelle had asked him not to touch the Boar King's body, but he had assumed it was out of respect for her clan, a desire to keep the corpse intact for some ritual or ceremony. Now, standing before the impossible, he realized there was something far more significant at play.
The heart pulsed again, its heat becoming almost unbearable.
Kael felt the air around him grow thick with warmth, the very earth beneath the Seraphs' feet quaking from the energy that emanated from the core. The Seraphs paused for a moment, assessing the situation, before one emerged from the underground, holding something in its metallic hands.
A glowing, flowing material—a liquid fire—dripped from its fingers, as though the Seraph had plucked the very essence of the earth from beneath them.
The Seraphs converged around the heart, their hands moving in perfect synchrony. Five of them began to manipulate matter, their limbs working with delicate precision. They combined the glowing material from the depths of the earth with the molten core of the Boar King's heart, forging something new in real time.
Kael watched, mesmerized as the radiating heat began to diminish, the fiery glow that had once filled the air now dimming to a softer hue. The heart, once molten and wild, slowly began to cool. A casing of stone, vines, and nature itself encased the heart, wrapping it in an intricate weave of organic and inorganic material. The light shifted, turning from the hot, angry red of molten lava to a cooler, ethereal blue.
A moment of silence hung in the air, as if the very forest held its breath.
The heart—no longer the organ of a beast but something transformed, something *other*—lay before them. Kael's thoughts raced. This was more than just a reactor. This was a creation imbued with the primal force of nature, an artifact of immense power, perhaps even a relic of the dwarves themselves.
Gwenbelle had known, hadn't she? That was why she'd wanted to take the reactor, why she had warned him not to touch the Boar King.
Kael stood there, torn between the wonder of what had just been forged and the betrayal that still burned hot within him.