The air grew thin the higher they climbed. At first Stephan ignored it, too focused on escape, but when Olath's body went stiff against him, the truth became impossible to miss. The gnome's chest was straining, his muffled gasps lost in the howl of the wind. Stephan's own lungs soon burned like fire, every breath shallow and ragged.

He slapped a hand against Death's scales, his nails digging deep into the hardened ridges.

"Down, Death! Lower!" he rasped.

The dragon twisted her long neck back, one glowing violet eye catching his panic. Without hesitation she folded her wings, angling down. The air thickened as they descended, filling their lungs again.

Stephan coughed, greedily drawing breath. His head cleared. Olath, however, was still shaking violently, muffled cries straining against the gag that still silenced him.

Stephan cursed under his breath and tugged at the ropes binding him. With a quick snap, the gag came loose. The little gnome gasped, sucking in air so desperately it was as though he had been drowning. His eyes watered, his chest heaving until at last his breathing steadied.

When he finally spoke, his voice was sharp with urgency.

"We just flew into Orc territory."

Stephan froze. "…What?"

Olath lifted a trembling hand and pointed.

"Look… down there."

Stephan leaned forward, eyes narrowing against the rushing wind. Below them stretched a rugged town of stone and crude ironwork, its streets winding in patterns only Orcs would find sensible. Dozens of green-skinned faces were turned skyward, jaws slack, yellow eyes wide. The entire settlement had stopped dead, their gazes locked on the impossible sight above them: a dragon, white and terrible, cutting through their skies with a human and a gnome astride its back.

Stephan felt the weight of every single gaze. His black tiger soul growled within him. Orcs were used to power, to blood, to dominance, but this? A dragon had not flown these skies in living memory.

"This is bad," Stephan muttered. "Far too many witnesses."

Olath's voice was grim. "A dragon is one thing. But a human riding it? You don't understand the weight of this, Stephan. These Orcs… they've probably seen humans before, yes. In the form of other players like you . But this...this will spread like wildfire. Stories will travel by nightfall. By dawn, every Orc warlord in this territory will know about your dragon."

Death rumbled beneath them, a growl rolling through her chest like distant thunder.

Stephan's eyes swept across the town again. And then he saw the broken skeleton of a coliseum, its arches cracked, its seats reduced to rubble. Bloodstains blackened the sand inside, long since dried. Entire sections of the arena had caved in, as though a god had punched the earth itself.

The aftermath of titans.

"I wonder what happened down there…" Stephan murmured, his voice low.

Olath shook his head, his expression grim. They didn't know that Belanor and the Great Orc Chief had clashed here."Perhaps a civil war is tearing through them now. Perhaps…" He trailed off, his small hands curling into fists. "…Perhaps worse."

The dragon's wings beat again, sending gusts of wind rolling over the town below. Orcs shielded their eyes, pointing, shouting. Some dropped to their knees in awe, others raised weapons skyward in defiance. But none dared fire a shot. Not yet.

Death tilted her wings, angling higher, pulling them away from the settlement and the ruined coliseum.

The town of Gomorah shrank beneath them, its smoke-choked alleys and broken battleground fading into the horizon. The echoes of conflict remained behind, a scar on the land and a warning of what lay ahead.

Stephan exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the distance. The desert wind pressed against his face, sharp with dust and heat. Ahead, he could already make out the faint silhouette of Kareth'Zul, the orcish city which once never slept, its towers black against the dawning horizon.

Behind them lay ruin, war, and the gaze of an entire Orc town that had seen to much.

Stephan tightened his grip on Olath, his voice low and steady.

"Whatever's waiting in Kareth'Zul, we'll deal with it. But right now…" He looked down one last time at the ruined coliseum, the ghosts of battle whispering through the ruins. "…I can feel this story isn't finished."

And with that, Death's wings drove them forward, leaving Gomorah behind as they sped toward the dark spires of Kareth'Zul.

The ruined spires of Kereth'zul rose against the pale daylight, their jagged tops piercing the horizon like broken teeth. Stephan guided Death and Olath through the ruins, every step echoing faintly in the silence of the long-abandoned city. The air smelled of dust and forgotten things, yet the castle at its heart still stood, weathered, empty, but unyielding.

When they reached the cracked courtyard, Death slowed. Her violet aura shimmered faintly before folding inward, and with a ripple of black mist, the dragon's vast form collapsed into a woman once again. She landed lightly on the stone, barefoot, her long violet hair spilling down like silk. Shadows trailed along her pale skin, curling into threads of mist that clung like a thin shroud.

Olath froze where he stood, his small chest heaving as he gaped at her. His eyes darted from her glowing blue-violet gaze to the curve of her horns and the faint traces of violet fire dancing across her skin.

"What in the gods' names…" he whispered. "What is she?"

Stephan exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. He had expected this question, but even so, he wasn't sure where to begin.

"She's… different," he said at last. His eyes flicked briefly toward Death, then back to Olath. "Her name is Death. She's my soul servant. I forged her in the mountains of the Soul Desert."

Olath blinked, still processing, his brow furrowing. "Soul servant?" His voice rose an octave. "You mean...you bound her soul?"

"Yes," Stephan answered plainly. "She was a calamity once. A dragon that nearly killed me. But I defeated her and harvested her soul. What you see now… is the result."

Olath took a half-step back, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to speak. His eyes stayed locked on Death, who stood calmly, watching him with those pale, glowing eyes that gave away nothing.

"You forged this?" Olath muttered, almost to himself. "This isn't just magic, Stephan. This is…" His words trailed off, his face pale. "Do you even know what you've done?"

Stephan's jaw tightened. "I did what I had to. If I hadn't, I wouldn't be here. Neither would you."

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing against the walls of the old castle. Finally, Olath shook his head, dragging in a shaky breath. "Then let me tell you how I ended up in the hands of those elves, because something here doesn't make sense."

Stephan's gaze sharpened. He leaned forward slightly. "Go on."

Olath swallowed. "I was scouting the edge of the desert. Alone. That was my mistake. Two of them came, white armor, gold trim, hair pale as snow.I knew immediately that they were Elves. They shouldn't have been there. They never come that deep into the desert. But they moved like theywere searching for something.Before I knew it, they had me bound. They didn't even speak to me. They just dragged me like I was already dead."

His small hands clenched into fists at his sides, trembling with the memory. "Elves never roam the Soul Desert. It's too harsh, too far from their dominion. Orcs, maybe...you might expect them here. But elves? No. They keep to their forests, their crystal cities and their sacred groves." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The Soul Desert is not heir place."

Stephan frowned, every word sinking deep. "And yet they were there."

"Yes," Olath said grimly. "As though they were hunting. As though they were sent. They weren't looking for me." He lifted his eyes, meeting Stephan's. "They were looking for something, or someone...else."

Behind them, Death stepped closer, her voice soft but certain. "They were not wanderers. I felt it in their energy. Their intent was sharp. They did not stumble upon you. They came with purpose."

The ruins groaned faintly in the wind, as though the castle itself agreed.

Stephan's hand curled into a fist at his side.

The elves hadn't appeared by chance.They had come with a mission. And somehow, that mission was tied to him, maybe.

"We will deal with this when we get to Magodilin," Stephan said firmly, cutting off further questions. His voice echoed faintly in the hollow courtyard before he turned toward the castle doors. With a push, the massive slabs creaked open, and he led them inside.

"This way," he said, crouching to slip into the shadows.

Olath followed reluctantly, muttering under his breath as his wide eyes scanned the dark walls. Death, silent brought up the rear.

The secret passage sloped downward, the air growing damp and heavy. Soon they reached the mouth of a long, black tunnel, its walls rough and wet, lined with faint scratches that almost looked like claw marks.

"As you know, Olath," Stephan began, his tone low and deliberate, "these tunnels are infested with Sanguivores. Last time we fought through them. This time… we'll avoid that. We'll move fast. No stopping. We run until we reach the end."

Olath paled. His hand twitched toward his dagger. "Run? Stephan, I can't run...I've got short legs!"

Stephan smirked faintly despite the danger. "Don't worry. Death will carry you."

The boy glanced nervously at the tall woman, who merely tilted her head and extended one hand toward him. Her fingers were long, claw-like, but steady. "Come," she said simply, her voice soft but brooking no argument.

Olath hesitated, but when the first faint, wet skitter echoed from deep within the tunnel, he scrambled onto her back without protest. Death lifted him easily, settling him against her shoulders as though he weighed nothing.

Stephan exhaled slowly, flexing his hands. A faint golden glow shimmered along his arms, outlining the veins. He no longer needed the flickering light of torches, Grief had taught him to channel Ki into his senses.

In the pitch dark, the tunnel came alive for him. Every crevice, every jagged stone, every echo of shifting movement painted itself into his mind's eye. The ground beneath him was no longer a blind path, it was a map of flowing energy, a living road only he could see.

"Stay close," he whispered.

Then he surged forward, his footsteps light but swift, his Ki guiding him deeper into the black.

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