Early Morning, Riding South from Brimholt
Delwyn woke up to regret.
Her head throbbed like a war drum, her mouth was drier than the farthest deserts of Varfaun, and her stomach felt like it had been personally cursed by every dwarven ancestor in existence.
She blinked blearily at the early morning mist, the world bouncing slightly as her horse moved beneath her.
That's when she realised two things.
First, she was still riding with Vaelor, his arms loosely holding the reins in front of her.
Second, everyone was staring at her.
Mira, Elias, Joren, and Talia all watched her with varying degrees of amusement.
She frowned. "What?"
Mira grinned. "Oh good, she's alive."
Elias smirked. "Barely."
Delwyn groaned, rubbing her temples. "How am I not dead?"
Vaelor let out a slow sigh. "That's a question I've been asking myself since I met you."
Joren chuckled. "You drank a dwarf under the table, girl. Do you know how rare that is?"
Delwyn winced. "Yeah, and I think my liver is about to file a complaint with the gods."
Talia, who rarely spoke, raised an eyebrow. "I thought humans had self-preservation instincts."
Delwyn scoffed. "So did I." She groaned again. "No one should survive drinking that much."
Elias smirked. "And yet, here you are. A miracle of human endurance."
Mira grinned. "Don't forget, you were very proud of yourself last night."
Delwyn glared at her. "I was also very drunk last night."
Vaelor, completely unimpressed, kept his eyes on the road. "And now you're very our problem."
Delwyn sighed, muttering, "Never again."
Mira patted her shoulder. "Sure, sure. Until next time."
"There won't be a next time," Delwyn muttered.
Elias smirked. "That's what they all say."
****
Late Afternoon, Hidden Camp in the Foothills
The sky had begun to burn with the colours of dusk, deep shades of orange and violet stretching across the horizon. The foothills of the Ember Peaks cast long shadows, the air crisp and cool as the last light of day slipped behind the mountains.
The group had found a small clearing nestled underneath a rock ridge, a natural place to temporarily disappear from prying eyes.
A fire crackled in the centre of their makeshift camp, throwing dancing embers into the twilight.
Delwyn sat cross-legged on a worn-out bedroll, rubbing her temples as the last remnants of her dwarven-induced suffering faded.
"That was the worst decision of my life," she muttered.
Mira, who had been sharpening her dagger nearby, smirked. "You say that now but give it a month. You'll do something worse."
Delwyn glared at her. "That's not reassuring."
Elias, sprawled out on a log, grinned. "She's right, though. You've got a talent for bad ideas."
Vaelor, tending to the fire, didn't look up. "That's an understatement."
Delwyn rolled her eyes, but the easy banter felt like a rare luxury. They had barely had time to breathe since Blackreach. Now, for the first time in what felt like ages, they had a moment to stop running.
And that meant they had time for questions.
Mira was the first to break the silence.
She set her dagger down, leaning forward, eyes flickering in the firelight. "Since we're all risking our necks here, maybe it's time we talk about why."
Joren, sitting beside her, let out a slow breath. "You mean besides the obvious?"
Mira gave him a look. "Yeah. Besides the obvious."
There was a heavy pause.
Then, Elias spoke. "I guess I'll go first…Galborn burned my home." His usual grin wasn't there now. "I grew up in a little village north of Blackreach. Wasn't anything special, but it was ours. Then the Black Hounds came. Said we weren't paying 'tribute' to the crown."
His fingers tightened around his belt.
"They killed my mother. Dragged my father off to the mines. Haven't seen him since."
Delwyn's jaw clenched. She had heard stories like that before. Too many.
Joren exhaled, staring into the fire. "He took everything from me too. My son fought for the rebellion before there even was a rebellion." He let out a bitter chuckle. "Didn't even last a season."
Mira's gaze softened. "I'm sorry, Joren."
The older man nodded stiffly, but didn't say more.
Talia, silent until now, stretched her hands toward the fire. "I grew up in Blackreach," she said finally. "In the slums. There's no surviving there unless you play dirty."
Elias tilted his head. "You worked for the underground, then?"
She shrugged. "For a while. But I saw what Galborn's rule was really doing. The people there aren't living. They're starving, fighting, dying. If you aren't strong, you get buried."
Her eyes flicked up, dark and unreadable. "I don't plan on being buried."
Silence stretched again, it was thicker this time.
Then—Mira shifted, looking between them. "And you, Delwyn?"
Delwyn tensed.
She had known the question was coming.
Still, she hesitated.
She had told them about Galborn's cruelty, his tyranny. But she had never told them what she had seen.
The truth curled behind her ribs like a poisoned knife.
Finally, she exhaled. "I was his bodyguard for years. I saw… more than I wanted to." She felt the group sharpen their gaze on her.
Mira watched her closely. "Like what?"
Delwyn's hands tightened into fists.
She met Mira's gaze. "Like what came from the Rift."
The fire crackled. The embers danced into the air slowly, before fading.
No one spoke.
Delwyn forced herself to say it aloud.
"The Rift beneath Blackreach isn't just some cursed wound in the world. It's a gate—a door to something else. Something worse."
Joren's brow furrowed. "A door to what?"
Delwyn swallowed hard. "The Dehrak Plain."
Silence.
The name alone felt wrong on her tongue.
Mira's brow furrowed. "You mean the old stories? The place where the Blood Prince sleeps?"
Delwyn nodded grimly. "I don't think he's sleeping anymore."
Talia, always calm, looked uneasy. "You've seen what comes through the Rift?"
Delwyn's stomach twisted. "Yes."
She hadn't just seen them.
She had fought them.
She closed her eyes, the memory crashing through her like a storm.
A dungeon soaked in shadows.
Chains rattling in the dark.
A creature stepping through the Rift—twisted, skeletal, its flesh charred black and shifting like smoke.
Its eyes—wrong.
Its voice—whispering her name.
Delwyn's breath hitched. She pushed the memory down.
"Galborn doesn't just want power," she said, voice tight. "I feel he wants to open the Rift fully. He wants to bring more of them through."
Elias let out a low curse. "And what? Use them as his army?"
Vaelor, who had been silent through the entire conversation, finally spoke.
"He wants more than that."
Delwyn looked at him sharply.
Vaelor stared into the fire, his expression unreadable. "The Vehrak Plain isn't just the realm of the Blood Prince. It's a place of transformation. You don't cross into it and stay the same."
His voice dropped slightly.
"And neither does anything that comes out of it."
Mira exhaled slowly. "That's… horrifying."
Joren nodded grimly. "Then we need to stop him before it's too late."
Delwyn tightened her grip on her sword. "That's the plan."
Mira studied her. "And what about you, Vaelor?"
Vaelor didn't look at her.
For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn't answer.
Then he spoke—
"Galborn took something from me," he said quietly. "Something I intend to take back."
Delwyn frowned. "What?"
Vaelor finally met her gaze.
"You'll see soon enough."