Draconic Awakening

The darkness of night stood prominently over the massive expanse of Wendigo's crust, its surreal presence creeping into every corner, nook, and cranny of the entire place. All but the massive obsidian Mesa.

This was where the torches had been lit and the four hunters stayed.

Ragnar and the other three sat around in a circle together as each of them shared their stories and experiences during the nightmare.

Ragnar sat at the far opposite of the group next to Klein and the princess, while opposite the hot-headed Cleaver. He was silent while dressed in the normal outfit the storage ring had given. After killing Hagi, he had exchanged their wears and placed the given outfit back in the ring in case anything was to happen, such as this.

And now he found solace in the warmth it gave him.

Meanwhile, listening to the explanation given by Klein and Hina, the three had appeared into the realm close to themselves in Wendigo's crust, appearing near a horde of grade one Wretchborns, which they mutilated.

Their journey through the crust was not as severe as his, though similarly terrifying, as they had to evade multiple Dreadlings that could have potentially desecrated their party. And that was when they found the Mesa.

This part of the story was when everything got a bit confusing. For some reason, they climbed up the massive obsidian Mesa. Upon reaching the top of the ancient figure, the torches had lit themselves up magically.

Magically wasn't the right word—no… disturbingly they lit. The cursed torches shone their forbidden rays over the night of Wendigo's crust, calling as many Wretchborns as they could to the bottom of the Mesa, thereby trapping the party.

Their only way to escape was through the gate, and that was a worse option than facing a horde of Wendigos at the bottom of the cursed Mesa.

Ragnar gritted his teeth and stared at the lights that had given him a bit of hope through his travels in the crust. Seeing the glow from afar and learning about it were two different things. This place was cursed. The Mesa of hope, seemingly alive, had pulled off the most sinister trick ever—trapping the party between the choices of battling the army of Wendigos or clearing the gate.

The option to be chosen was clear; still, the reason why this dumb party of hunters had not yet crossed the gates remained very disheartening.

The young Lord let out a sigh and then a silence lingered in the air. He made sure to keep his gaze on Hina, fitting the possible pieces of the puzzle to who she was; still, he was missing a large amount of the puzzle to even jump to conclusions.

"This whole land is cursed." Ragnar finally broke the silence, falling back first onto the soft grass. This was the softest bed he had gotten for days.

Klein nodded slowly and took in the obvious statement he had already come to terms with for days now. "This has to be one of the very worst First Realms I have ever heard—I mean, this is a worse kind of First Realm."

Ragnar could not agree more.

A First Realm usually would not be such a large land, a conducive atmosphere to live in, and not so many troubling beasts to battle against—but this First Realm is literally hell. Cold weather, powerful realm beasts… Klein thought.

Then there was another long silence, and all that filled the air was the distant cries and growls from the Wendigos, the crackling of flames, and the soothing wind of the obsidian Mesa.

Sounds they had all grown very accustomed to.

And then Ragnar let out another sigh. "Hina? Is that your middle name? Are you perhaps Princess Arya Hani—whatever the surname of your father is?"

His words clearly brought stunned gazes within the party. Despite Ragnar not being able to see them, he knew they were all shocked—all but Hina.

"How did you know?" she asked in a low tone.

Ragnar shrugged. "There is a scent we nobles give off, and the possibilities of two able-bodied bodyguards appearing so close to you—doesn't that sound too convenient?"

Arya's gaze fell a bit short of confident as she stared at the ground for a while and then back to Ragnar, retaining an emotionless expression. "It's good you know. But I would like for you to keep my secret safe, unless—"

"Don't threaten me. The moment you do that we would be considered enemies in alliance, which we are—but I prefer to know my enemy's goals. And since ours intertwine, I don't believe there is any reason for us to get into a disagreement," Ragnar was cold yet dominant.

His words made the group clearly oblivious, as Ragnar spoke without fear. He was just a mere Lord—no, a bastard! He wasn't even a rightful son of a noble, and still he spoke to royalty as though he was sick of it himself.

This infuriated Cleaver further, and he muttered in a low tone, "Friggin' bastard."

However, Princess Arya had a side of her lips curl up excitedly. "I see." She lingered for a second before opening her mouth to speak again. "Those things beneath your legs—are they your shadows?"

This question, the young Lord could tell, was on the minds of the three all this while. They could clearly see the shadows of distrust—each one stranger than the last: the dancer swirling around, the prisoner swaying in his horrid sentence, and the writer scribbling at his pages upon a shadow-formed rock.

Ragnar sat himself up and also took a look at his shadow. The dancer was bowing in respect to the princess… Unloyal prick.

The prisoner, on the other hand, was throwing out gestures of his middle finger to the princess, and the writer paid no attention to them.

"Yes, what are those? Are they really shadows?" Klein was also eager to find out about this strange phenomenon.

A smile brooded on Ragnar's lips and he spoke. "They aren't shadows; however, they are my companions."

Klein's gaze widened, and for some reason his mind trailed back to the time when he and Cleaver hurried to save Ragnar from the horde of Wendigos.

Before they had gotten down from the rope, a strange thing only he had seen occurred. His gaze grasped it, but he was unsure if it was even real—how could it be? The Wendigos crushing Ragnar against the wall suddenly began to lose their balance, falling straight on their faces in the deathbed.

The strange phenomenon had happened to a dozen or so Wretchborns, and the only trace his eyes had spotted before the quick massacre had ended was a strange darkness… a shadow, probably.

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Author's note

We will soon be entering into the second volume, as these are the final chapters. A strange thing will be revealed for us all to know.