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Gruinhill, once renowned as the “Town of Forge,” lay to the southwest of the empire’s capital. Surrounded by rolling hills and rocky mountains, its natural landscape served as a protective barrier. Once rich with ore, the nearby mountains had long been stripped bare, leaving only scars behind. The town was populated mainly by craftsmen, most of them dwarves, although their traditional work had largely been replaced by heavy machinery.
In the main office of Gruinhill’s town hall, a dwarf and a human sat face to face. Despite the hood shadowing his features, the human’s strikingly handsome face and golden blonde hair were still partially visible. He smiled patiently, awaiting the dwarf’s response.
The dwarf, however, looked anything but pleased. His expression was tight with frustration, and beads of sweat glistened in his bronze-colored beard. “I’ll say it again, human. Gruinhill was built by our ancestors, stone by stone, brick by brick. You’re asking to destroy our home.”
“Yes,” the human replied calmly, “and I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it, Nolan. The sacrifice your people make will never be forgotten. The spots you’ve marked will be untouched by the destruction, and this town will be the first to be rebuilt once the war is over. You have my word.”
Nolan stared into the man’s eyes, searching desperately for any trace of deceit, but found none. He sighed heavily, rubbing his bald head in resignation.
“I’ll never understand you humans,” Nolan muttered. “Your kind came with promises of prosperity, only to enslave us to forge your weapons. And now, once again, you come with promises—this time to free us from the very chains you placed upon us.”
“I am a sworn brother of the Dragons before I’m the son of man,” the man declared with unwavering resolve.
Nolan pondered those words, letting out another deep sigh. “Then I suppose the day of reckoning has come for this country, and the Scaled Ones will be the judges… I’ll make sure my people evacuate to the old mines by midnight.”
“I appreciate it,” the hooded man replied, standing from his chair and heading for the door.
Before he could leave, Nolan called out one last time.
“By the Lords above and below, I hope you know what you’re doing, Adalhard.”
The human—Adalhard—offered no response and quietly exited.
At dawn the following day, hundreds of dragons of various sizes appeared on the horizon. The hills and mountains that once fortified Gruinhill offered no protection against the airborne creatures as they unleashed torrents of magic from the skies. The humans’ weapons and sorceries, once formidable, proved powerless against the dragons’ impenetrable scales. That day, humanity was reminded of the terror of the Old Calamity.
In mere hours, the town of Gruinhill—the largest weapon producer on the continent—was reduced to rubble. Overseeing the destruction was a single, silver dragon—Pendragon, aka the Chief of Dragons, the loyal steed and brother of Adalhard the Hero.
♢♦♢♦♢
“…do you really have to go? We could still take my sister’s offer and run—”
Before the woman could finish, the man gently took her hands, his grip firm but tender.
“I’ll be fine. I promise.” He kissed her hands softly before continuing, “You’ll be safe with your sister. Take the boat and stay with her. Once this is over, I’ll come to you—both of you.”
His eyes then fell on the little girl clutching her mother’s skirt. “Are you going to be gone for long, Daddy?” she asked, her voice small and unsure.
“It’ll be over before you know it,” he assured her, gently stroking her hair, his touch filled with all the love he could muster.
“But if we leave, how will you find us?”
“I will find you,” he said with quiet certainty. “There’s no place in the world that could hide my queen and my princess from me. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I love you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you both more than anything in this world.”
Those words lingered in the air, echoing through the silent stone cell as the dream faded.
Over the past few days, fragments of memory had continued drifting into the entity’s mind, each one sharpening his resolve to free the girl. If only he could recall how he summoned that powerful surge that ended the two guards’ lives, he’d tear down these walls and carry her to freedom.
Back then, it had been pure instinct. Unimaginable power had surged through him effortlessly, and yet now, when he wanted it most, nothing stirred. He’d become little more than a helpless observer, bound to watch over her without any means to act. All he could do was think—and, truthfully, thinking was never his strong suit.
As a ghost-like entity, he thought he’d be able to phase through walls, drifting freely to gather information that might lead to her escape. But, frustratingly, these walls were as solid to him as they were to the girl. It felt as though the stones were crafted with some special material that restrained even beings like him, trapping him just as securely. Then again, he could speculate all he wanted, but none of it mattered unless the door of the cell opened.
“Four-Eighty, step out. You’re required somewhere else.”
With a grating squeak, the door swung open with absurd ease, and the entity’s disbelief grew. Not only was the moment absurdly anticlimactic, but it was infuriating for an entirely different reason.
‘…Where were you?’ he demanded, though he knew his voice was unheard. ‘She hasn’t eaten for days! Why didn’t you bring her anything?!’
Indeed, it had been quite some time since the guards appeared. It was probably no more than a day since her last meal, though without sunlight, time seemed to stretch endlessly. Hunger made every second feel painfully prolonged, each tick a slow crawl through her exhaustion.
The guards, of course, were unaware of his outrage as they entered, grasped the girl by her thin arms, and dragged her out of the cell. The entity doubted they were escorting her to a warm meal but followed closely regardless—he didn’t have much choice. It was the first time he’d been beyond that cold, confining cell since awakening in this strange world.
Almost immediately, he noticed the rows of empty cells lining the corridor, each as grim and bare as hers. It wasn’t hard to imagine what—or rather, who—these cells had once held; Children. Others like her, subjected to whatever horrid experiments this place imposed. The cold realization settled in as he mulled over her designation: Four-Eighty. Was she their four hundred and eightieth victim?
The guards led the girl through a series of seemingly endless, winding corridors, each turn blending into the last until the entity lost all sense of direction. The entire place felt like a sprawling labyrinth designed to disorient any who dared venture through it. There wasn’t a single window in sight, only the cold stone walls illuminated by dimly glowing crystals embedded along the passageways.
“Hold on. Where are you taking her?”
A voice with a strange accent suddenly halted the guards, who stiffened, looking as nervous as children caught misbehaving. The entity turned, equally surprised, to see an Asian-looking, middle-aged man dressed in what appeared to be a pure black kannushi robe.
For some reason, the first thought that crossed his mind was, Is he from another world too?
“…Uh, Doctor Haumann requested her presence in the operation room, sir.”
“And why wasn’t I informed?” the priest asked coldly. “As her supervisor, anything concerning a Shrine Maiden must go through me without fail.”
The guard exchanged an uneasy glance with his companion, who gave a noncommittal shrug. “He… specifically asked us to avoid involving Priest Yayoi, sir. It’s a direct order from His Majesty himself.”
The priest’s gaze sharpened as he looked at the guard.
“…Very well. But I’m coming with you. She is our precious Shrine Maiden, and even if it’s an order from that fool of an Emperor, I won’t have him tampering with her unsupervised.”
The priest joined the guards as they continued down the corridor. The entity studied him more closely. Everything about this man—the robe, the name, the accent, and even his use of the term ‘Shrine Maiden’—stirred something within the entity, a faint echo of recognition he couldn’t quite trace. It was as if he’d encountered something like this before, somewhere just out of reach in his blank memory.
Lost in thought, the entity barely noticed as they entered a vast, unfamiliar room. Unlike the cold, unfeeling stone corridors, this space was brightly lit, with polished ceramic floors and smooth, painted walls. Numerous light crystals illuminated the area, casting a clean, sterile glow across the room. It felt more like a clinic than anything else.
They entered another hallway marked by a plaque reading ‘Quarantine Wing’ and a small notice underneath: ‘Proceed with Caution.’
“Ugh, I never liked this place,” muttered one of the guards.
As they walked, the entity noticed that this corridor was also lined with cells, each fronted by a glass barrier. Unlike the previous cells, these weren’t empty. From the first cell came the soft sound of a child’s sobbing.
“Mama… mama… I’m cold…”
Inside, a young boy, no older than eight, sat curled in the corner, shivering as he cried. The entity’s mind was still on the boy when a rhythmic thud caught his attention from the next cell.
“Hrrum… gii gii gii…!”
Thud!
“Gii gii gii…!”
Thud!
Another child, close to the girl’s age, repeatedly bashed his head against the white wall, despite the blood trickling down from the injury. More disturbing still, half of his face had morphed into that of a wild boar, as he emitted guttural, animalistic cries.
As the thuds and grunts faded into silence, a more sinister sound emerged from the next cell. There, an early teenager girl hung suspended midair, upside down, her eyes wide open but showing only the whites as they tracked the group passing by. Her mouth moved ceaselessly, chanting words in a language that sounded like Latin. The air around her grew darker and colder, as though something unholy had taken hold of her and was brimming with a fury eager to be unleashed.
With a gulp, the guards pressed onward. The next cell was—silent. Even a pin drop would echo louder than that flesh thing that was stalking beyond the glass barrier. Towering to the point of having to crane its neck against the ceiling, the creature was utterly devoid of skin, its sinewy, stitched muscles pulsing in grotesque display. Exposed rib cages jutted outward, protecting what seemed to be three tiny hearts beating rhythmically in its chest. A viscous, yellow-green mucus seeped from its abdomen, forming a slick stain on the ceramic floor. Its face consisted of nothing but a gaping maw, filled with countless razor-sharp teeth; yet somehow, the entity sensed its unnerving gaze, watching them intently despite the lack of eyes.
In the brief moment the guards froze in terror—
WHAM!!
With terrifying force, the monster lunged, slamming itself into the glass with a speed and strength that left the guards rattled. Had it not been for the barrier, they would have been dead in an instant. But their horror deepened as they noticed a hairline crack forming in the glass, though the creature finally retreated to the center of its cell.
“Let’s… let’s just go,” one guard stammered.
“Good idea.”
The group moved toward the next cell, where the most unsettling figure yet awaited them: a tall man in a white lab coat. “Peter Haumann,” called the priest in annoyance.
{ ♥ }
