Arkin didn’t move. His pipe sat ready in his hand, his staff resting beside him like a watchful beast. His eyes—sharp and unblinking—remained fixed on Spud.
“You said the stranger retrieved the box after the second blast,” Arkin said, each word chosen with care. “Did he have it the whole time? Or did it appear then?”
Spud held the magician’s gaze. “Yes, sir. He used magic first. Then he took out the box.”
His eyes drifted to Arkin’s staff, curiosity tugging at the edge of his thoughts.
A hush settled over the chamber. Arkin whispered an incantation—words old as stone—and with a subtle flick of his hand, a small flame danced from his fingertip. It lit the bowl of his pipe with practiced grace. Smoke curled around his beard, casting flickering shadows over the deep lines of his face.
Spud and Timmy stared, caught between awe and caution. Arkin, bathed in ember-glow and drifting smoke, looked almost otherworldly—part man, part myth.
“What was he holding before the box?” Arkin asked, voice low, threading through the silence like a question meant for the room itself.
“Nothing, sir,” Spud replied, frowning slightly.
Arkin’s brow creased. “That’s… not how magic works,” he murmured. His gaze drifted beyond Spud, as if seeking answers in the air. “Not by any principle I know. Even a whisper of magic needs form. Shape. Intention. Magic without structure feeds on its source. It burns the one who casts it.”
A throat cleared in the gallery—sharp against the silence. The Duke’s posture straightened. Whatever humor had softened him earlier was gone.
“He wore a large robe,” Spud added, remembering. “Like yours, but heavier. I only saw his hands when he brought out the box. If he had something before that, I missed it.”
Arkin nodded, slowly, as if each motion required thought. “Perhaps he’s using a form of magic older—or stranger—than I’ve seen.”
He leaned forward now, his voice edged with urgency.24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD58053fmHw
“Did you get a clear look at the box? Tell me everything you remember.”
Spud did his best, describing the object in careful detail. The room held its breath with him.
“Could you draw the symbols?” Arkin asked after a pause.
“I think I can manage one or two,” Spud said, frustration creeping into his voice. “I didn’t see all the sides.”
“That’s more than enough,” Arkin replied with the barest hint of a smile.
“Not today, of course,” the Duke interjected lightly. “Not tomorrow either—big day for us all.”
Laughter broke the tension again, but it was quieter this time, brittle at the edges.
Arkin nodded. “We’ll catch up another day.”24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjR9dBkjksh
Still, his eyes never left Spud.
Then his voice deepened. “This invisible barrier that saved you—it had to come from somewhere. And it doesn’t make sense. Why would the same man attack you, then protect you?”
“I don’t know where it came from,” Spud said softly. “But I feel like it was the man in the robe of stars and moons. Who else could it have been?”
“But he didn’t appear until afterward,” Arkin pointed out. “The storm. The tree roots. The barrier. They came first.”
Spud hesitated. “Sorry, sir. I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“What are you getting at, Arkin?” Turon cut in, voice sharp. “We need to figure out who did this. Who that army was. If any of it puts us in danger.”
“Settle, son,” the Duke said calmly. “Arkin knows what he’s doing.”
Arkin inclined his head, voice even. “My apologies. I let my magical curiosity stray. You’re right—we must move from the unexplainable to what can be known.”
Then he leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with renewed interest.
“The image within the portal—the one the stranger jumped into. Do you remember it?”
“Yes, sir. I remember it all,” Spud replied, his voice steady.
“The armor the soldiers wore—you said you’ve never seen it before. But you’ve never left Convota, correct?”
“No, sir.”
“Describe it,” Arkin said. “Maybe we can trace its origin.”
Across the room, Fronan, the Duke’s Master Swordsman, leaned forward, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Spud closed his eyes, drawing the memory forth.
“Each group had a color set—like ours, but different. Their armor was made of a metal I’ve never seen. It had patterns—intricate, beautiful. Some had shoulder pads shaped like dragons and snakes. Others had knee pads that looked like eyes and fangs.”
A sudden, jarring hush fell, smothering the faint crackle of the hearth and the murmur of distant voices. Spud’s words painted a vivid, unsettling picture: foreign warriors, unlike any seen on Midterra. They moved with an otherworldly grace, their armor gleaming with strange, intricate artistry, promising both beauty and a visceral threat.
The Duke’s gaze clouded. He wasn’t looking at Spud anymore—but at something only he could see.
“Dragons and snakes?” Arlep’s voice cracked the silence like dry bark. His usual levity was gone, lips pressed in a line. “We’re all thinking it. That doesn’t sound like anything from Midterra. Are we talking… invaders? Aliens?”
They moved like clockwork,” Spud said, eyes narrowing in thought. “All but the cloaked ones. They weren’t with the army—just drifting. Like shadows that forgot their bodies.
Arkin leaned in, his stare locked on Spud as if trying to pull the memory straight from his skull. His hands rested motionless on the table, but tension radiated from him like heat.
“I’ve crossed every corner of the kingdom in my youth,” said Fronan, the old knight. His voice was slow, awe-scraped. “Never seen their like. Not even in old tales.”
“Quite alien, indeed,” murmured the Duke. He stroked his beard without realizing it, his eyes dark with calculations.
The air thickened as Arkin leaned forward, his voice barely a whisper—yet it commanded the room. “The man inside the portal. In the hut. Did he appear alien to you, Spud?”
Spud hesitated, a slight wrinkle appearing between his brows. “No, sir. Not in how he looked.”
“Anything else strange, then?” Arkin pressed.
“Everything,” Spud said softly. “He looked like a man—but the room bent around him. The books moved on their own. Like magic followed him. Like it obeyed him.”
The Duke’s voice, quiet and heavy with unspoken dread, cut through the silence. “Do you think you were still on Midterra?”
Spud hesitated. “I… I don’t know, sir. It was all swirling with magic. Like nothing I’ve ever seen.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t look away. He glanced at Timmy—who sat frozen, hanging on every word, just like the rest.
Vaneppe leaned forward. “But Spud said he did magic just by raising a hand. Who has that kind of power?”
Arkin’s voice dropped to a hush. “Only one man has ever been said to possess such power. He hasn’t been seen in over forty years. Many believe he’s dead. Others… believe differently.”
“Who are you talking about?” Vaneppe asked, her voice taut with curiosity.
Arkin’s gaze remained fixed on Spud, searching for confirmation in the boy’s eyes.
“There are whispers,” he said slowly, “of a sorcerer who once walked Midterra. A being whose magic bordered on myth. They called him… Myrddin the Stargazer.”
A collective gasp swept the room.
The name landed like thunder.
Myrddin—the Stargazer. A figure of legend. Revered. Feared. Said to have bent the stars to his will. Said to have vanished when the world grew too small for his vision.
Spud’s breath caught.
The robe. The constellations. The effortless magic.
Could it be?
Arkin sat back, his pipe forgotten. “That concludes our discussion for today,” he said, his voice calm but heavy with meaning. “Thank you.”
He looked to the Duke. “We all need to prepare for tomorrow. If there are further questions, we’ll inform you.”
He turned to Spud and Timmy, his eyes kind. “You may leave. Thank you both again.”
The heavy doors closed behind them.
Spud and Timmy walked in silence, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the stone.
“Do you think it was really him?” Timmy whispered.
Spud shrugged, his mind a storm of questions. “The robe. The magic. It fits, doesn’t it?”
He paused.
“But if it was him… why now?”
And in that quiet hallway, the legend of Myrddin stirred once more.
*
Timmy’s voice trailed off, his gaze drifting over the vast, silent valley below. His eyes glazed, lost in tangled memories—the story of his brother, their bond, and the stranger who saved them all those years ago hanging heavy like stubborn mist.
The fire burned low, sending long shadows flickering over moss-covered stones and twisted roots. Above them, towering trees stood like old guardians, their branches whispering secrets on the night wind. The forest was deep and still, broken only by the crackle of flames and the occasional rustle in the underbrush.
No one spoke.
The silence was thick—not empty, but full. Full of weight, of memory, of things too heavy for words.
“They say,” Borin muttered, scraping a twig slowly through the dirt beside the fire, “that Myrddin still walks this world.”
The fire sputtered, flickering over their faces. Grimnir blinked, lifting his head from the embers. Elron’s brow furrowed, eyes fixed on Borin.
“Not as a man, nor as a ghost neither. Nay,” Borin said, voice low and rough like gravel. “Some claim he took his own heart and bound it up with the stars. Others… well, they say he walks backwards through time—slippin’ through the years like a wraith in the fog.”
A cold wind drifted through the trees. The fire hissed, and someone shifted uneasily in the dark.
Timmy turned slowly, narrowing his eyes at Borin across the fire. There was something in the man’s voice—too sure, too steady—not just tale, but truth whispered from memory.
Then, like a stone dropped into still water, Elron’s voice cut through the quiet.
“Ye reckon this Emrys fella’s the Myrddin Stargazer, eh?” Elron asked, his tone rough but curious. “Like they’re one an’ the same?”
Timmy spun sharply this time, eyes narrowing, a flicker of irritation flashing across his face—a silent glare for bringing up a question they’d all been skirting.
His jaw tightened, mouth a hard line. He looked back to the fire, its orange glow carving sharp lines on his face.
Behind them, the trees murmured like restless spirits. Above, cold stars blinked distant and uncaring—watching, always watching.
“No clue,” Timmy said, voice clipped. His shoulders squared, bracing beneath the weight of not knowing. It wasn’t just the question—it was the ache of uncertainty gnawing at him. His words were a shield, forged from doubt and fatigue.
The silence returned, thinner now—fragile as glass.
Grimnir sighed softly, a wistful sound heavy with meaning. He sat on the cool grass, his round face thoughtful.24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW0YIzlApXW
“I can’t wait to relax with a proper mug o’ ale,” he murmured, voice thick with longing. “By the beard o’ my ancestors, it’s been far too long.”
Elron chuckled, a deep, warm sound, like mountain stone shifting.24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgU4efac4Vm
“Aye, ye speak the truth there, lad,” he said, eyes sparkling. “A fine ale is a balm for the soul, no mistake.”
Grimnir looked up, brows furrowed. “But… I didn’t reckon kings partook o’ ale.”
Elron grinned, wide and knowing.24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7UNTzvP6Ju
“By my beard and axe, lad, I’m the King,” he declared. “I can drink whatever I bloody well please, and that’s the truth of it!”
Laughter burst out—sudden, genuine, healing. Even Timmy cracked a smile, the tension in his jaw loosening for the first time that day.
“You’re definitely not what I imagined a King to be,” Timmy said softly. “And that’s a good thing. I’d fight beside you any day.”
Elron returned the smile, his granite-grey eyes crinkling with warmth. “Aye, and I you, lad,” he replied, voice steady with loyalty. In that moment, the bond between them deepened—quiet, unspoken, forged in shared peril.
Elron leaned back, his gaze fixed on the distant peaks. “So, lad,” he said thoughtfully, “what do you reckon we’ll truly unearth once we set foot in Morjanon?”
Timmy’s expression darkened again, the smile fading.
“You’ll find your wife. Your throne,” Timmy muttered, eyes distant. “As for me—I’ll find out when it happens.”
The words fell flat. Not bitter—just… empty.
Elron’s smile faltered.
The words landed like a closed door.
But the dwarf king didn’t press. He simply nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Aye, lad,” he said softly. “We’ll find out when it happens.”
Timmy’s reaction was immediate—and explosive.
“NO, WE WON’T,” he snarled, his voice crashing like thunder. “I told you back at the camp—I’m fine on my own. I don’t need an escort.”
Darwin jumped to his feet, fists clenched, face flushed with righteous fury. “Aye, enough of that,” he snapped, louder than necessary. “Don’t talk to me like that, father. He’s the king.”
But Elron raised a hand—calm, steady. “Haud yer tongue, lad,” he said quietly. “This ain’t a brawl.”
He turned his eyes on Timmy—no fire there, only weight: the kind that comes with age, with hard choices, with loss.
“Nay, lad,” Elron said softly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just meant I’m here. Solid as the mountains. If you need a strong arm… or wise counsel.”
The words hung between them like smoke—thick with meaning, but without pressure.
Timmy said nothing.
He stepped past Darwin without a glance, shoulders tight, every move precise, controlled—but heavy with something unspoken. Anger, yes. But beneath it, maybe pain. Maybe grief.
“It’s time to move,” he said, voice flat, leaving no room for argument.
His boots crunched dry earth as he walked to the horses, never looking back.
Elron stood watching, a familiar pang settling in his chest—regret. Not for what was said, but for the words that couldn’t reach the boy.
He sighed, eyes drifting to the trees beyond. He’d seen men crumble under lighter burdens. But Timmy carried his weight like a blade—sharp and ready. Too ready.
Darwin hesitated, jaw clenched, then sat back down, firelight catching confusion in his eyes.
“Didn’t mean to stir a storm,” Elron murmured to himself. “But that lad’s got thunder in him.”
He looked to Darwin, nodding quietly.
“Aye, thank ye, lad. But let it be. He needs space.”
Darwin nodded, eyes lingering on Timmy’s retreat.
“Only tryin’ to help,” he muttered.
Elron sighed, heavy as a thousand shifts in the mines, gathering his gear with the practiced grace of a craftsman—deliberate, measured.
“Right then, lads,” he rumbled. “We’ve lingered long enough. Morjanon awaits. And the mountain won’t wait for any of us.”
They mounted. Leather creaked, horses snorted softly beneath the fading twilight. A heavy silence settled—not empty, but thick with shared burdens, unspoken fears, and the long road still ahead.
As they rode, the landscape shifted around them, narrowing and darkening until—there it was. Morjanon.
The colossal city rose against the horizon, its silhouette sharp against stone and shadow. The towers of Torin’s Domain loomed above, casting long, jagged fingers of dusk across the valley.
Torin’s Domain—a vast, rugged chain of mountains, standing like ancient sentinels—formed a natural barrier between worlds. Nestled within its heart, Morjanon pulsed with life.
Despite the familiarity, awe stirred deep in Timmy’s chest.24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgTo4ZiaUsJ
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