Dawn of Ruinhorn

The ground trembled again, more violently this time.

“Anna… what does that mean?” Maren asked, her form as a sword now hovering anxiously by Anna’s ear. “I think… I think I’ve heard that before. It sounds like something Lady Orivaneia used to say when she was sad.”

Anna gave a slow nod. She then turned her back on the sea of sleeping slaves, her focus shifting entirely.

She walked towards the pile of human corpses, the guards that Pietta and Nima had killed. She stood before them for a moment, then looked back at her small, terrified, and utterly confused team.

“Can anyone burn this?” she asked, “Let the fire consume all of this humanity.”

Pietta, her face pale and her expression a mixture of confusion and grim understanding, stepped forward. “I can,”

She touched the stone floor. Slithering from the rock fissures were black, oily tendrils of flame. They moved quickly and silently over the bodies, consuming them slowly.

“Nima, Maren,” Anna commanded, her voice cutting through the grim spectacle. “Ensure the fire does not spread to any other part of the mines.”

Immediately, Nima raised her hands, and a thick, shimmering curtain of mist and dense, humid air formed a perfect perimeter around the dark pyre. Maren zipped to the other side, creating a crackling barrier of blue, holy energy, a secondary containment field.

“Anna … why?” Uetum whispered, horrified by the strange, grim ritual. “Why are we doing this now? The mine is collapsing!”

She didn't answer.

The rumbling from above was more frequent now.

Anna stood, watching, waiting.

The quiet, tense resolve was too much for Helartha. The spymaster’s composure finally broke, and she rushed to Anna’s side, her face a mask of desperate pleading.

“Please,” she begged, her voice cracking. “I understand we can’t save everyone. But my family… my grandfather is right there in that tunnel. If this mine is truly going to fall, can we at least get him out? Let me search for him?”

Anna turned to her, “It wouldn’t matter if we found him. We can’t get him out.”

“What? Why not? We can carry him! Uetum is strong, I can—”

“It’s the slave mark,” Anna cut in, her voice sharp and absolute. “Its power source isn’t in this mine.” She gestured to the thousands of sleeping figures around them. “If it were, all of them should be free.”

Helartha followed her gaze. On the necks of every sleeping slave, the cruel magical rune still pulsed with a steady, undiminished light.

“The source of that curse is somewhere else,” Anna explained, her voice a cold torrent of logic. “Somewhere safe and powerful, probably deep inside the royal castle itself, strong enough to maintain a magical link to over three hundred thousand individual marks.”

She then delivered the final truth. “And the command is to ‘keep mining until Ars Terran is found. If we try to force them to leave this mine before that impossible condition is met, the mark’s final protocol will activate and they will simply combust.”

“No…”

.

.

.

On the horizon, the first light of dawn appeared as a red, bloody slice.

The view was frighteningly clear from the royal castle's highest balcony. Running directly toward them was the Ruinhorn, a living mountain of pulsing, corrupt energy and cracked, obsidian skin.

With every thunderous step, the green fields and farmland beneath its feet turned black and withered. Its roar washed over the city walls, shaking the very foundations of the castle.

“Archers, loose!”

The morning sky was arced by thousands of arrows. It was not even manage to irritated the beast, all broke or bounced harmlessly off its impenetrable hide.

In the royal war room, King Mae gazed at the enormous map that was laid out on the oak table, but his gaze kept darting to the balcony window and the impending disaster.

At his side stood the pillars of his kingdom.

Commander Ingeldamu, “My lord,” he reported, his voice a low growl, “the outer defenses will not hold. Its hide is impervious to conventional projectiles, and the corruption it spreads is neutralizing our forward earthworks. I have positioned the heavy ballistae and catapults on the main wall, but I fear they will serve only to anger it.”

High Prelate Grizellum, “This is not a beast of flesh and bone, Commander,” he declared, his voice ringing with dogmatic certainty. “It is a manifestation of Morvane’s own will. Steel will fail where faith will succeed. We must have faith! The Saint will save us!”

“We are out of time for faith! We need her power, not just a prayer! Where is she?!”

“Silence! Both of you!” King Mae’s voice cut. He looked at his commanders, his face a mask of royal resolve. He had to lead, even with the end of the world thundering at his doorstep.

“Ingeldamu, you will continue with the military defense. Do whatever it takes to slow it down,” he commanded. “Grizellum, you will assemble your clerics at the Great Sanctum. Prepare the city’s central holy ward. If that beast breaches the walls, your magic is the only thing that can protect the people.”

The two men bowed, their argument settled by the King’s will, and hurried to their duties.

There was only one man left. The King's personal shield, Sir Nennoch, the strongest knight in the realm, had remained silent during the entire conflict, his hand steadily resting on the greatsword's hilt.

“And you, my friend?” the King asked, his voice now weary.

Sir Nennoch stepped forward and knelt on one knee, his gaze steady and fearless. “My duty is to protect you, my King,” he said, “But if the walls fall, and the clerics’ ward fails… my plan is simple.”

“I will make sure the beast is dead by the end.”

The world was shaking.

Deep in the Power Conduit Chamber, the seamless metal walls of the cell vibrated with a deep, violent tremor that was more felt than heard.

“Something is happening outside,” Zebril said, “A major attack.” She looked at the crystal, “Don’t worry. This place is indestructible. That crystal will save us all.”

Ura, who was sitting calmly on the stone slab, looked at the throbbing, unnatural light. “Yeah…” she said, her voice laced with a skepticism. “I hope so.”

Suddenly, there was a frantic clanging at the cell door. “There you are!” a familiar, earnest voice shouted from the other side.

It was Jarce, accompanied by Apu. They were trying to pry the massive lock open. “Don’t worry, Captain! We will save you!”

A wave of hope washed over Zebril. But it was extinguished as quickly as it came.

“Stand down, Sir Jarce.”

Olomyar’s cold, authoritative voice cut through the noise. He stepped into view, blocking Jarce and Apu’s path to the door.

“Do not open that cell,” the Vice-Captain commanded. “They are criminals.”

“Criminals?! Olomyar, that is Captain Zebril! She has served this kingdom faithfully for thirty years! And that witch is a guest under Lady Anna’s protection! Have you forgotten they both just helped save this barracks?!”

“I have forgotten nothing,” Olomyar sneered. “I have a suspected traitor and her foreign accomplice. Opening this cell during a full-scale assault is a security risk I will not authorize. That is final.”

“Listen to that! That is the sound of our home being torn apart by a monster we cannot stop! We need every capable leader and every powerful asset we have right now! Captain Zebril’s command experience, Lady Ura’s power… leaving them to rot in a cage while our men are dying is strategic suicide!”

He pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at the Vice-Captain. “Your personal paranoia is going to get us all killed! I will not stand by and let our best people die in a cell because of your pride!”

“That is an accusation of treason, Sir Jarce,” Olomyar said.

“Then so be it!” Jarce retorted, drawing his own sword, “I will not let you do this.”

From inside the cell, a sound of light, detached amusement broke the tension. It was Ura, laughing.

“This is all very amusing,” the witch said. She looked directly at Jarce, “Come on then, Sir. Help this damsel in distress.”

Her words made Jarce more determined, and he took a half step forward before yelling as a burst of brilliant magic—a blazing yellow light—came flying from the side and hit him in the chest.

Unconscious, he fell to the ground. The young squire fell to the ground. Baltram, whose hand was still smoking from the spell, gave a vicious chop to the back of Apu's neck also.

Ura's wry grin disappeared, to be replaced by a deeply disappointed expression.

“Huh?”