The fortress came into view as they rounded the bend—a colossal, ancient structure carved directly into the mountainside, as if it had always been a part of the rugged cliffs themselves. Its towering walls, dark and foreboding, were etched with runes, some glowing faintly with lingering magic.

Scars from long-forgotten battles marred the stone walls, deep gashes from siege weapons and ancient magics leaving their mark. Yet despite the wear and tear of countless wars, the fortress still stood tall, a silent guardian over the region. Its towering spires stretched high into the sky, piercing the clouds like dark fingers grasping at the heavens. The stronghold gave off an air of impregnable strength, as though no force had ever, and could ever, breach its defenses.

"That has to be it," Kale said.

"Those runes…" Liliana said. "They're no decoration. Those are wards. Serious ones. Likely meant to keep out more than mortals."

The walls of the fortress were thick, their imposing surfaces covered in faint veins of orange metal that shimmered with an otherworldly glow.

Kale pointed at it. "What's that?"

"Bardichalcum," Liliana said. "Named after the twin gods of smiths, metalworking and stonemasons, Bardek and Hekkan. This metal doesn't exist naturally in the world. It's said to be a divine gift, drawn directly from their domain. Anything it bonds with becomes stronger, almost indestructible. It carries their blessing, ensuring what's built with it can endure nearly anything."

Kale frowned, his eyes following the glowing veins. "So whoever built this fortress had powerful friends."

Liliana nodded. "Very. Bardichalcum isn't just practical, it's symbolic. Using it tells everyone that the fortress wasn't just built to defend against armies. It was meant to withstand anything."

Rika gave a low whistle. "I wonder if I could get some of that for my warhammer."

"Only if you've got a god or two in your pocket. And even then, don't expect them to give it up easily."

"Figures," Rika muttered, shaking her head.

As they approached, the fortress loomed even larger, its imposing presence dominating the landscape. Along the ramparts, heavily armored guards moved, their dark steel armor polished to a mirror-like sheen. The crests atop their helmets varied in design—sharp-edged and ornate, likely denoting rank, or perhaps lineage. Their cloaks, though tattered and frayed from relentless exposure to the elements, still managed to catch the wind, giving them an air of grim authority.

Ahead, massive gates stood, their presence as much a part of the mountain as the fortress itself, reinforced with thick iron bars and stone hewn from the cliffs.

Faded symbols of protection and power adorned the iron and metal, their carvings barely visible beneath layers of weathering and time. Yet, even in their worn state, they exuded a latent energy, a warning to any who might approach uninvited.

Kale slowed, his eyes fixed on the fortress's imposing defenses. "Doesn't exactly scream 'welcome,' does it?"

"It's not meant to," Liliana said.

Rika tilted her head to take it all in. "Looks like they mean business. Think they'll roll out the red carpet for us?"

"Let's find out," Kale said as he moved towards the gates.

The guards stationed at the top of the walls spotted them, their attention immediately drawn to the group. As they approached the gates, two heavily armored guards stepped forward. "What do you want?" one of them asked.

Kale stood at the front. "We need to go inside to see Morrgar Doomblade."

At his words, both guards froze for a moment before bursting into laughter. One leaned slightly against his spear, shaking his head, while the other wiped at his helmet's visor, as if to clear away tears.

The group's confusion only deepened as the laughter subsided, and one of the guards straightened. "No one sees Morrgar."

"It's important," Kale insisted. "We've traveled a long way. Tell him—"

The guard held up a gauntleted hand to silence him, though the smirk beneath his helmet was almost audible. "Doesn't matter how far you've traveled, stranger. The answer's the same. Morrgar Doomblade doesn't take visitors."

Liliana floated closer. "Doesn't or won't? There's a difference."

The second guard chuckled. "Doesn't. Won't. Can't. Call it what you like. Morrgar doesn't deal with the likes of you."

Kale was getting annoyed. "You don't even know why we're here."

The guard shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Even if Morrgar did take visitors, and I'm not saying he does, you'd still need permission from King Rothgar just to set foot past this gate."

Liliana sighed. "And let me guess—no one sees King Rothgar either?"

"Correct," the guard replied. "Not unless you're someone of great importance, which, frankly, doesn't look to be the case."

"It's a matter of life and death!" Kale protested.

The guard shrugged again, unimpressed. "It always is. Look, we can't just let a pack of strangers wander in, not when there's a war going on. Not even ones who look as harmless as you lot."

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Kale's mind raced for a solution. The guards weren't going to budge, not without something to convince them. His eyes fell to the weapon at his side. It was a risk, but it was all he had. Slowly, he pulled Aeloria's Promise from its sheath and held it out in front of him.

Immediately, the guards shifted into a defensive stance, their weapons at the ready.

"Wait!" Kale quickly raised his hands, offering the blade. "Show this to Morrgar, and he'll see us."

"Are you sure you should be just handing that weapon over?" Liliana asked.

"It's the only way to get inside," Kale replied.

The guard eyed the blade for a moment, then sighed. "Fine." He took the weapon carefully and disappeared behind the massive gates.

Thirty long minutes passed as the group waited in tense silence. Finally, the guard returned, still holding Aeloria's Promise.

"King Rothgar will see you now."

Kale frowned. "But we need to see Morrgar."

"King Rothgar will see you now," the guard repeated, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

***

Kale, Rika, and Liliana exchanged glances as they were led deeper into the fortress. Morrgar's temple was somewhere inside, but first, they would need to face King Rothgar.

As the trio stepped into the throne room, the massive doors slammed shut behind them with a resounding thud that reverberated through the hall. The chamber was vast, its vaulted ceilings rising high into shadowed recesses, evoking a sense of both grandeur and unease. Towering stone pillars lined the hall, each etched with ancient symbols of war, conquest, and power. The markings, though weathered by time, still retained an undeniable presence, their meaning almost palpable even without understanding them.

At the far end of the hall, seated on a throne carved from blackened stone and adorned with glowing orange runes, sat King Rothgar. He leaned forward, his broad frame casting a commanding shadow across the floor. His eyes, aglow with an intense orange light, seemed to burn like molten metal, their fiery gaze impossible to ignore.

He was an imposing figure—his white hair and beard, streaked with silver, seemed almost to glow in the dim light. A scar cut across his weathered face, a reminder of countless battles that had forged him into the king he was.

His armor was made of dark, heavy plates, and at the center of his chestplate, a fragment of bardichalcum was embedded. It radiated a steady, fiery glow, its surface alive with subtle ripples of light that swirled and pulsed in time with his measured breaths. It wasn't simply an adornment, it seemed fused to him, as though the bardichalcum had bound itself to his very essence, marking him as something beyond mortal.

Rothgar appeared as though he had been forged from fire and stone. Every detail—from the glow in his eyes to the bardichalcum embedded in his armor—spoke of a strength that was absolute, a force that compelled both awe and submission with its sheer intensity. He wasn't just a king; he was power incarnate, a ruler who seemed as eternal and indomitable as the mountain itself.

As the group approached, Rothgar stood slowly, gripping Aeloria's Promise. Without taking his eyes off Kale, he raised a hand, commanding the guards to leave.

The guards filed out of the room, their armor clinking as they departed. Once the last one had left, Rothgar spoke.

"I was going to ask where you got this," Rothgar said, his voice low and dangerous. "But I see."

He stepped forward, his presence filling the room, his eyes fixed on Kale with an intensity that felt almost overwhelming. "Why have you come here, bladeweaver?" he asked as he handed the blade back to Kale.

He knows, Kale thought.

He was stunned. Not only had Rothgar recognized Aeloria's Promise, but he had addressed him as a bladeweaver. His mind raced, trying to process how Rothgar could know, until a sudden realization hit him. Rothgar was a bladeweaver as well. The aura, the power radiating off him—this was no ordinary king. He looked more menacing than anyone Kale had encountered, even more so than Brakkan and the man in Orestios's temple. The fiery glow in his armor and eyes made him seem as though he was born of the flames themselves.

"How did you…?" Kale began, his voice trailing off. "You're a bladeweaver? And a king? I thought the bladeweavers were being hunted down."

Rothgar let out a cold, humorless laugh that echoed off the stone walls. "The people here have no idea what a bladeweaver is. And if they did, they wouldn't care. You are a long way from home, boy. This is Hekkaran. No one here hunts bladeweavers, they don't even know our kind exists."

Kale opened his mouth to respond, but Rothgar's fiery gaze pinned him in place.

"Now," Rothgar said, "tell me who sent you and stop wasting my time."

"Brakkan Ironhand sent us," Liliana said.

Rothgar turned toward her, his expression twisting with disdain. "I was not speaking to you, blood mage. Keep your foul magic out of my sight."

Liliana didn't flinch, meeting his glare without hesitation. The room suddenly felt charged with tension, a silent battle of authority and defiance.

Rothgar turned back to Kale. "Brakkan is not one for social calls... what does he want?"

Kale straightened. "He sent us to warn you. Xeroth has returned, his corruption is spreading."

Rothgar scoffed. "Whatever whispers Brakkan has heard, they're nothing more than that—whispers. There's no sign of Xeroth's presence here, no sign of his rot. If he's returned, he's keeping to the shadows. His influence must not be spreading as much as you fear."

Kale opened his mouth to protest, but Rothgar cut him off, raising a hand. "Enough. We have more pressing matters to deal with. The Izawac have become more brazen, and their traps have been springing up across our borders. Xeroth is nothing but a ghost. My focus is here, where the real war is."

Kale frowned. "We were attacked by stone mages on our way here."

Rothgar's gaze flickered with interest. "Stone mages, you say? They sent their golems after you, then?"

"Just the one," Rika said. "But it was a big one, it was practically a mountain."

Rothgar looked her up and down as if weighing her words. "And you beat it? Interesting."

For a moment, silence settled over the room as Rothgar mulled over this information, but it was clear he remained unimpressed by their warnings.

"So, you won't help us?" Kale asked.

"No," Rothgar said flatly. "My army is needed here. I don't have the resources to chase ghosts and rumors."

Kale clenched his fists in frustration. "But Aeloria—" he started to protest, but Rothgar cut him off again, raising his hand.

"Aeloria has been silent for a long time, boy," Rothgar said with the cold resignation of a man who had abandoned hope in something that once shaped his world. "Her light no longer guides us."

His words lingered in the air, carrying the bitterness of old wounds and long-buried beliefs. Rothgar's eyes burned, but it wasn't with reverence, it was with the hardened resolve of someone who had moved on from what had failed him.

"She is gone, and the world did not stop turning," he said. "If you seek her light, you're chasing the warmth of a sun that has already set."

The finality in his voice was absolute, a wall Kale knew he wouldn't breach easily. Yet, even in Rothgar's dismissal, Kale sensed something unspoken, an ache buried beneath the surface, too deeply entwined with the man's pride to be acknowledged.

Liliana and Rika exchanged a glance, but neither spoke. They had sensed it too.

"Can we at least speak to Morrgar?" Kale asked.

Rothgar regarded him for a moment. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "I don't see why not. You'll find him in the temple." His lips curved into a faint smile. "You can't miss it, it's the one with the big statue of Aeloria out front."

Rothgar gestured dismissively with a hand, his focus shifting as if the conversation was already beneath him. "Go, and don't waste his time, or mine."

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