Draconic Awakening

As the light of day slowly faded into darkness and the radiant lights of the Mesa shone greatly about the expanse of the Realm, the party and their newest addition, Ragnar, stood prepared and ready for the battle to leave Wendigo's Crust.

They had all gathered before a part of the Mesa Ragnar had not seen before. Despite him not venturing through the place much, he was sure he would have seen it at least a few times, but still, the reminder of how strange the realms were made him understand this passage might appear out of nowhere during a particular moment in the night.

Arya turned to the party, being the one in the lead, and with a nod she gave her final words to her group, "Stay close together, don't let your guard down, and not a word unless necessary."

With that, she began to move forward with Klein following from behind, then Cleaver, and lastly Ragnar.

The young Lord recalled all Arya had told him during the day—how she could not trust any of her protectors, and yet she had been sleeping comfortably under their watch. It was strange.

However, this was the life of those born with noble blood.

Ragnar could recall his own suffering as the bastard son of the Rok family. His mother was a whore that had had close communion with the Lord by mere luck, and she had been killed by his stepmother for being far more alluring than she was—a stupid reason to kill someone, if anyone asked Ragnar.

But throughout the old Ragnar's life, he had almost been killed a few too many times to count—some of his guards turning on him and attempting to slit his throat. Luckily, he had his dumb brothers there to protect him and sometimes guards loyal to his father.

No one needed to tell him who would try to kill him, if not from his possessive stepmother.

However, when he entered the academy, all those brutal attempts had stopped, and he was welcomed into the warm embrace of title bullying.

Even recalling this, he was sure his stepmother was not the one that killed the old Ragnar. Fang Zhen knew murderers, and if it was Ragnar's stepmother who had orchestrated that murder, his body would have been torn limb from limb—a slow, agonizing torture till he died eventually of pain...

Well, Ragnar quickly took his mind from these thoughts as he was about to enter into the small cave in the ground. He turned his head around and stared at the surface of the Mesa one more time, knowing this was the only string of comfort he had gotten since entering the realm. It made him a bit oblivious to the idea of leaving it.

Still, Ragnar remained as cold as ever, taking one last picture of it into his head as the lights of the torches dimmed quickly under whatever strange enchantment they were under.

And now, he concentrated on the insides of the cave.

The cave was narrow at first and very dark, going down deep into the depths of the Mesa.

However, after a short trek down, the group finally reached a part of the cave where everywhere was wider—wide enough for them to walk side by side and still have plenty of space to spread out.

From the ground, small rock spires, spikes, and pillars erected, making the place very surreal and scary looking.

The roofing of the grave caves had blue crystals embedded in them, their glistening blue glow falling down on the group. They weren't very bright but were enough to light the path forward.

In this section, Arya backed off from the front of the line, turning to Cleaver and nodding to him. He understood the message she was passing almost immediately and stepped forward, taking the lead of the group.

He clearly had the most experience sneaking through the vile tunnels, and soon he proved to the party why he was allowed to take the lead.

The hotheaded hunter took the group through various twists and turns—narrow passageways that later led to much wider ones—meeting a number of desperate tunnels sometimes and going through the best ones he had already navigated. Sometimes they would meet themselves with tight corridors that they had to squeeze through; other times they would meet themselves with passageways where the flooring was torn up, leaving a large pit of darkness beneath and, a few meters away, the continued path. But they managed to scale through all that, and soon Cleaver began to slow down in his lead.

Throughout this journey, Ragnar was simply mesmerized by the work this group had put into learning their way through the tunnels of the obsidian Mesa. And all that was thanks to Cleaver.

I would hate if he was the one I would have to kill, he has talent, Ragnar pondered.

A while after the various twists and turns, the group finally reached a particular end to their narrow path, entering into a much more expansive cavern filled with more stone spikes, spirals, and pillars than before. However, these were not the only things present here...

In this massive expanse were realm beasts. Wendigo? Yes! But not like any Ragnar had ever set his eyes upon.

The hunched monsters in this cave were not pale—they were obsidian, rock-like skin, four hands that hung down, each having fingers that carried long, dagger-like claws, their jagged teeth coming out of their mouths like tusks.

And in this expansive cavern stood not just one, or a dozen, but hundreds of these ruthless abominations standing in wait for prey to come their way.

Ragnar's eyes grew wide, turning to Arya, who had her gaze directly on him.

He knew what she was going to say and, for some reason, felt his throat form a lump at their numbers. "So this is it—we'll have to kill these bastards to survive."

"All of them," Klein made sure to spell out.

And Arya, taking the lead again, summoned in her hand her C-grade blade, taking a stance and frowning at the enemy.

It was at this moment some of the horde began noticing the intruders in their nest—many growling, others letting out an incessant shrill that alerted the rest to the presence of the intruders.

"Hold your ground, men! One of us will live from this encounter and the other will die!" Arya yelled out, grasping her blade with both hands, and on her body forming a dark metallic armour that covered her from head to toe, including a helmet that made her look more menacing.

Ragnar and the others summoned their own weapons, readying for battle alongside their leader.

Ragnar summoned his short sword this time. He wasn't liking the numbers and had no idea what grade the Wendigos were, though this did not bother him much.

He frowned and stared at the encroaching hordes charging at them with the ruthless determination of starvation in their glares.