Interlude: A Dark Place

MEANWHILE, inside the chamber of the Dread Dragon, the rumbling of metal grating against the ground reverberated like an earthquake. How many years had it been since the massive door guarding the entrance was last opened?

It was a question that fell on deaf ears, as the monumental gate allowed for two humanoid figures to walk through its threshold.

One of the visitors wore a dark robe, richly decorated in gold and crimson, with the heraldry of a chained sun. It was the symbol of the Cult of Croxas.

The other man wore a suit of brigandine armor and chainmail, beneath a courtly leather surcoat, emblazoned with the image of a great tree — the sigil of the royal family of Sylphadim.

They entered the chamber side by side, their stride firm with confidence, until they stopped in their tracks just a few steps in.

Then, silence.

It was an unpleasant, painful pause, as the pair gazed at what lay beyond them. Or rather… at the object glaringly absent from its resting place atop the sacred altar, surrounded by magic circles long gone dim.

“Ah, I never took you to have such a sense of humor, Ritekeeper,” said the second, more elegant figure. “You were instructed to show me the Great Dragon for inspection, yet all I see here is an empty chamber. That’s a knee-slapper, isn’t it?”

His voice was warm and welcoming, like that of an old friend, but the smile on his face was one that would conceal a dagger before the fatal plunge.

“L— Lord Silvano!” the man stammered. “I swear to the Dark Master, I shall get to the bottom of this! The Great Dragon, it was here intact the last time I—”

“The last time you checked?” the elegant figure interrupted, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Do tell me, when was it that you did so?”

“Six months ago, my Lord…” admitted the Ritekeeper.

“Six months…” repeated Silvano. “If memory serves me right, you were supposed to visit on a monthly basis. What happened?”

“It was six months ago personally,” the Ritekeeper replied. “Every month after that, my acolytes were entrusted to—”

“You relegated it,” Silvano concluded. “You were tasked with the safekeeping of the Great Dragon. It is the single, most holy task in the entire Order, and you relegated it to your minions.”

Silvano’s voice was unshakeable, dripping with restrained wrath. The Ritekeeper shuddered at the sight, dreading the fate that would befall him.

“I shall make this right, my Lord!” the Ritekeeper begged him. “I shall marshal the banners! Raise the spirits from their graves! On my soul, I will hunt down the impudent heretic responsible for this blasphemy!”

His words rang with the desperate resolve to put everything at stake, but Silvano shook his head in stone-cold silence. He raised his hand to the air, crackling with magic. At the snap of his fingers, the dread figure of a Death Knight manifested next to him, his armor as dark as the abyss, his blade as cold as winter.

“N— No!” cried the Ritekeeper. “Lord Silvano! Mercy!”

“Take him to Radomir,” Silvano ordered. “Tell him I do not need him back.”

“My Lord!” exclaimed the Ritekeeper, but before he could react, the Death Knight extended his hand towards him. A dark, terrible energy emanated from his grasp, like a dreadful shadow, imprisoning the mortified robed man in its clutches.

“AGH! AAAGH!!” the Ritekeeper screamed, struggling to escape with his own magic as the darkness seared his flesh, but to no avail. The grasp of the Death Knight held firm, its armored figure unshaken as it left the chamber with its prisoner in tow.

As the cries of agony echoed in the distance, Silvano was left in the chamber alone. He walked deeper inside, ready to meticulously inspect the dragon’s resting place.

“This is a disaster. If the Cabal catches wind of this…” he muttered, surveying the great chamber in its glorious emptiness. An outline of dust betrayed the dragon’s figure where it used to be, dotted with footprints and traces of mana, but not even a bloodstain remained of the great beast.

It was obvious someone had broken in and done the unthinkable.

But how?

“There was a guardian here,” Silvano recalled, holding his fist to his chin. “Did it vanish into thin air?” he asked, finding no evidence of a fight, or any sign of the guardian in question.

… And as his scrutiny began to escalate, the magic eye hidden in the chamber’s ceiling discreetly vanished from existence, its energy dissipating into fine mist.