In the quiet rumble of the floating village's descent, Kael watched the ground below with a wary eye. The mountain behind him continued to spit its clouds of ash and fire into the sky, casting a fiery glow over the darkening jungle. The air was heavy with tension, thick with the remnants of sulfur and embers, yet it was the unexpected sight below that truly stilled Kael's breath.
There, slipping like shadows through the underbrush, were figures moving too swiftly, too erratically, for the creatures of this jungle. He leaned forward, squinting to make them out, feeling the vague, unsettled stirrings of something ominous. As the village drew nearer, Kael caught a flash of cloth, glimpses of small forms dashing between trees, until their shapes resolved into what he hadn't expected—dwarven children, fleeing the mountain's wrath, led by a single, stout adult moving ahead of them, urging them onward with frantic gestures.
For a moment, Kael felt a surge of disbelief and frustration, thinking of Gwenbelle and her betrayal, of the dwarven hold hidden in the mountain and its secrets. Yet these children, small and frightened, were far from the sort who could scheme or betray. They were innocents, caught up in the tides of events beyond their understanding, facing an unforgiving jungle that would swallow them without remorse.
Kael's mind raced. Logic told him to keep his distance, to keep his anger close and his sense of justice sharper. But his heart—the same heart that had drawn him to this wilderness to begin with—spoke of mercy, of giving these children a chance they'd not find in the darkness of the jungle. He gestured to the Seraphs and Valks, who began to lower the village to a hovering height just above the treetops, close enough for him to speak with the dwarves without seeming entirely unapproachable.
The reaction below was immediate. The children froze, wide-eyed with terror, their gaze flickering between the floating village and the mountain's eruption in the distance. The adult dwarf shouted, his voice a bellow of fear and suspicion. "Are you friend or foe?" he demanded, his tone sharpened by the tension in his voice.
Kael's face remained impassive, his voice calm but edged. "That depends," he replied. "Who are you, and what is your purpose here?"
The dwarf hesitated, his eyes narrowing with a suspicion that had been earned through hardship. Yet after a long moment, he lifted his chin, a hint of pride slipping through the guarded look on his face. "I am Hjolgurn Marblekind, a proud runesmith of the IronForge Dwarf hold."
Kael noticed the flicker of regret that darkened Hjolgurn's expression as he spoke the name of his clan, a hint of sorrow intermingled with defiance, as though he bore the weight of that title with both pride and burden. His hand swept behind him, gesturing to the children who clung to him with wide, fearful eyes. "These children are of the IronForge hold as well," Hjolgurn said. "They're to be kept safe… unharmed. Or it shall be written into the Book."
The mention of the Book carried a weight, a subtle threat, that even Kael could feel. He knew well enough of the dwarves' unyielding memories, their culture steeped in rites and records, their Book a testament to the grievances they carried and the retributions they sought. He was no stranger to being etched into the annals of vengeance, yet something about this dwarf and the frightened children at his back gave him pause.
Kael nodded slowly, his gaze shifting to the trembling children before returning to Hjolgurn. "I am Kael," he said simply, his voice resonant as it echoed through the evening air. "I have no quarrel with children, Hjolgurn Marblekind. Yet I cannot help but wonder what drove you and these young ones from the hold, into a jungle thick with dangers and a mountain that hungers to bury the land beneath its fire. Why are you the only one with them? And what of your hold?"
Hjolgurn's eyes hardened, his mouth set in a grim line as he considered Kael's words. He'd heard Gwenbelle's tales of a stranger in the jungle, a figure cloaked in mystery and bound by powers unfamiliar to their own. There was an unease there, a sense of peril that ran deeper than the surface politeness Kael exhibited. Hjolgurn's distrust was evident, a steely glint in his eye as he folded his arms, blocking the children from Kael's sight.
"That, stranger, is no business of yours," he replied curtly, his voice low and cautious, as though he feared speaking more than he intended. "We've our reasons for leaving the hold… reasons that don't concern you."
Kael's gaze didn't waver, his face unreadable, yet there was a growing resolve within him to understand the depth of this mystery. Gwenbelle's betrayal gnawed at him like a festering wound, a reminder of the divide that lay between himself and the dwarves. Yet Hjolgurn's defensive posture, the way he shielded the children from sight, suggested there was more to the tale, shadows concealed beneath an already dark history.
"Perhaps they do not concern me," Kael replied carefully, watching as Hjolgurn's eyes flickered with a momentary uncertainty. "But the mountain's wrath cares nothing for such boundaries. I am here to protect my own, yet we are drawn to the same path, Hjolgurn. I offer a simple question—what brought you and the children to the edge of this land? And who lies responsible for the eruption that has endangered all within its reach?"
Hjolgurn's face clouded, and for a moment, Kael could see the struggle within him, a flash of doubt that tempered the runesmith's usual defiance. He hesitated, his gaze flicking back to the mountain, the sky overhead tinged with the red glow of volcanic fire. It was clear that he wanted nothing more than to be rid of Kael, to hold his secrets close and guard his clan's truths from prying eyes. Yet the children tugged at him, their frightened faces reminding him that pride alone would not shield them from what lay beyond the treeline.
A heavy silence hung between them, broken only by the crackle of embers in the distance, and at last, Hjolgurn sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing as he relented. "Our hold is… not what it once was," he admitted, his voice a low murmur barely audible over the rustling leaves. "The IronForge dwarves are few, diminished by time and by trial. The mountain's flames stir something deep within, an old power we thought buried and forgotten. These children were meant to be taken to safety, to a refuge beyond the jungle."
Hjolgurn's face grew darker, a shadow passing over his features as he spoke of the mountain, and for a fleeting moment, Kael could see the haunted look in his eyes, a glimpse of some old wound that had never truly healed. "As for what lies within that mountain," Hjolgurn continued, his voice roughened by bitterness, "I cannot say. But it was not the hand of a dwarf that roused it, nor any force born of our clan."
Kael's gaze remained steady, though his thoughts churned with unanswered questions. Gwenbelle's betrayal lingered in his mind, her theft of the reactor a wound still raw and stinging. Yet Hjolgurn's confession stirred something within him, a flicker of understanding tempered by suspicion. There was a sense of truth in the runesmith's words, a feeling that Hjolgurn had shared more than he'd intended, though perhaps not all that he knew.
"And where will you go, Hjolgurn?" Kael asked, his voice softer now, though his resolve had not wavered. "The jungle is no safe harbor, not for you, nor for the children."
Hjolgurn's face twisted in defiance, his jaw clenched as he held Kael's gaze, his pride unbroken. "We will find our way," he replied firmly. "We do not need the charity of strangers, not after what was taken from us."
Kael's face darkened, his anger flickering to life as he remembered Gwenbelle, the theft of the reactor, the disarray she'd left in her wake. Yet as he looked upon Hjolgurn and the trembling children at his side, the fury cooled, tempered by a realization as steady as it was disquieting. The dwarves were bound by their own loyalties, their own grudges, and it would take more than his own pride to bridge the chasm between them.
He sighed, the sound weary and resigned, before finally nodding. "Then you shall have safe passage," he said quietly, though there was a tension in his voice that hinted at unspoken misgivings. "But know this, Hjolgurn. The flames of that mountain do not burn for dwarves alone. Whatever lies within, it stirs for reasons that concern us all. And if your hold is truly threatened, then hiding in the shadows will not shield you from what's to come."
As the words between Kael and Hjolgurn faltered into a tense silence, the jungle around them seemed to breathe with its own rhythm, alive with the pulse of the mountain's fury and the quiet rustle of leaves shifting in the hot, ash-laden breeze. Kael felt his heart steadying, his mind settling on what was to be done, when a sudden roar tore through the thick undergrowth, shaking the very air. It was a sound both wild and resonant, reverberating through the jungle with such force that every ear rang, the shock jolting Kael and Hjolgurn alike into stunned silence.
Out of the dense, shadowed foliage, the great green tiger emerged, her massive form moving with a grace that belied her power. The Seraphs and Valks responded in an instant, their weapons and spells primed, a line of defense coalescing with a swiftness only the mechanical could muster. Yet as the tiger drew closer, even the mechanical protectors hesitated, struck by the commanding presence of the creature before them. Her fur shimmered in hues of emerald and jade, the glint of her eyes sharp as steel and ancient as the earth itself.
Then, to the astonishment of all present, the tiger spoke. Her voice was both a growl and a melody, laced with a seething arrogance as she regarded Hjolgurn with a disdainful sneer. "What have you done, you shorty slave of that lowly god?" she demanded, her words dripping with scorn.
Hjolgurn blanched, his mouth slightly agape as he struggled to process the creature's words. He opened his mouth to respond, yet the intensity of her gaze held him, and he found himself mute, words dissolving in his throat. Kael felt the same shock ripple through him; here was a creature unlike any other he'd encountered in the jungle, one that bore intelligence and authority. The air around her seemed to thrum with power, her gaze alone casting a spell of paralysis over them all.
The tiger waited for a beat, her patience wearing thin as Hjolgurn remained silent, her eyes narrowing in irritation. She leaned closer, her muscles coiling with barely restrained violence as she let out a low, menacing growl. "Do not make me repeat myself," she said, her tone sharper now, each word like a blade. "What have you done to bring this kind of calamity into my domain?"
Gathering what courage he could find, Hjolgurn straightened, a protective hand reaching back to keep the dwarven children close behind him. His voice, though small, held a note of defiance, even as his gaze wavered beneath the weight of her stare. "I am Hjolgurn Marblekind, runesmith of IronForge Hold," he said, his voice steadying. "And may I ask to whom I am speaking?"
The tiger's sneer deepened, her posture all arrogance as she raised her head, her eyes gleaming with ancient knowledge and a dangerous pride. "You may call me Rallathil," she said, her voice dripping with self-importance. "Queen of this jungle, guardian of its life, and sovereign of creatures greater than your lowly kin could ever dream of. Now answer me, Hjolgurn Marblekind, and do so swiftly, for my patience wears thin. What have your people done to summon wrath into my realm?"
Hjolgurn swallowed hard, casting a brief glance at the children behind him. Their eyes, wide with terror, clung to him, seeing in him their only protector against this powerful, otherworldly creature. With a deep breath, he began, his words measured, each one weighted with the memory of IronForge and the catastrophe that had befallen it.
"Two weeks ago," Hjolgurn began, his voice hollow with the weight of remembrance, "an expedition from our hold returned with an artifact. A relic, glowing with strange power, the likes of which none among us had seen. Our smiths… our wisest and most learned…" His voice faltered briefly, as though he struggled to admit what had come next. "We sought to harness its power, to use it to sustain the dwindling strength of our hold. But our knowledge—" his voice caught again, "—our knowledge was not enough. The artifact, it was… far more advanced than anything we knew, anything we could understand."
Rallathil's gaze sharpened, her lips curling with a look of disdain as if she had anticipated this outcome before Hjolgurn even spoke it. "So you tampered with forces beyond your imagination," she said, her voice heavy with derision. "Typical of your kind."
Hjolgurn's face tightened, but he did not falter. "In our desperation, some among us—the runesmiths, backed by the elders—they made a decision." His voice grew quieter, almost as if he could not bear the weight of his own words. "We tossed the artifact into the forge, thinking its raw power could somehow be utilized if we couldn't harness it directly."