Night stretched across the plains in deep silence, broken only by the steady hum of enchanted wheels cutting through the earth. The carriage moved without struggle, pulled by conjured horses whose forms shimmered faintly under starlight, never tiring, never slowing. Inside, exhaustion had taken hold. Cloaks shifted with the rhythm of travel, soft breathing filling the enclosed space. Days of tension and responsibility finally pressed everyone into stillness.
Julius slept upright, composure clinging to him even in rest, jaw relaxed but posture still dignified. Adam leaned into the corner, beard rising and falling with heavy breaths, age settling visibly into his frame. The others lay scattered where comfort allowed, surrendered to sleep that came not from peace, but from mental collapse.
Indura remained awake.
He rested his arm along the window frame, staring out into the vast sky where stars burned quietly.
"The winds are as smooth as ever… the stars still shine bright in the darkness."
His reflection faintly met his eyes in the glass. Beyond it, the landscape had changed — harsher soil, fractured terrain, ash dusting the ground like faded snow. Far ahead, the glow of volcanic fire pulsed on the horizon.
"Hhmm… what am I doing?"
He shifted slightly, gaze drifting toward the sleeping crew.
"Why am I seated here… travelling with humans? I only pretended for a while… but this is dragging on."
Silence followed. The carriage rolled on.
"I haven't feasted properly in a while… shall I hunt? …Or maybe I cause a commotion and fly away. I'm tiring of involving myself with human work… sigh."
His fingers tapped lightly against the frame. His expression carried neither anger nor urgency — just fatigue.
"Dwarf representative… they don't even know me. Once they see me, the lie dissolves. Pretense is painfully dull for a being such as myself."
He looked upward again, stars reflecting in his golden eyes.
"Should I simply descend upon their territory… demand the abanantium? They would hand it over… or face ruin. That would be quicker."
A grin formed — sharp, entertained by the thought.
"But then… wouldn't that expose my secret? …Sigh. Curse these humans."
He bit lightly at his nail, frustration fading into reluctant amusement.
"The meals at the royal palace are worth preserving… I cannot ruin my standing with the prince. Yes… all for the meals. I will comply… a while longer."
The debate ended there. Not dramatically. Just shelved.
Morning bled slowly into existence, washing ash-grey light across the land of lava and scorched earth. Heat shimmered above cracked ground, and the dwarven gates rose ahead — carved stone embedded into the mountain like an unmovable verdict. The carriage halted, magic dissolving as the horses faded into nothingness.
A voice rang out.
"Halt! Who goes there?"
Julius stepped forward, steady and composed.
Greetings to the dwarves. I am Prince Julius Von Trudus, heir to the throne of the Vartas Empire. I have come seeking your guidance and aid."
The gatekeeper's grip tightened on his spear.
"A prince? You travel far for someone unwelcome. Humans bring destruction wherever they tread. You are not permitted entry. Turn back."
Julius inhaled slowly, disappointment restrained behind discipline. His eyes moved toward Indura. A subtle nod passed between them.
Indura approached with relaxed confidence, a grin already present.
"Hello there, small man. Perhaps you might reconsider. Time is not something we have in abundance."
He leaned slightly closer, golden eyes locking onto the guard's.
The guard stiffened.
"Wh… who are you… Who stands before me like that…?"
Silence stretched. Pressure unspoken filled the space.
"I… I will inform my master. Wait here."
The guard retreated quickly, composure fractured.
Indura turned back toward the carriage, raising a casual thumbs-up. Relief loosened shoulders behind him. Tension dissolved into quiet exhalations.
The gates remained shut.
The air in the land of ash and lava was thick, dry, and hot. Smoke curled from the nearby volcano, casting the kingdom in an orange haze. This was not a place where humans could thrive, yet it was the home of the dwarves, masters of craft and forgery, who had shaped a life amid fire and stone. The carriage creaked along the rocky path, flanked by dwarven guards and warriors, their faces tight with suspicion. The tension in the air was almost tangible, a quiet warning of the pride and vigilance of those who ruled this harsh land.
"My master has permitted your entry; you may pass," the gatekeeper said, his voice careful and measured, yet carrying authority. His eyes never left the carriage, scanning each passenger. The carriage moved forward, the heavy wheels grinding against stone.
Julius exhaled quietly, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he looked out the window at the dwarves lining the streets. "Well, I'm surprised they feel hostile towards us," he said, his tone calm but tinged with unease. He glanced at Indura beside him, noting the way eyes followed the young man, wary, curious, yet respectful. "I'm impressed they managed to recognize you, Indura. You truly are a representative, as the advisor said."
Indura smiled faintly, hiding the slight amusement in his expression. "Haha... yes... true," he said, looking away for a moment, surveying the surroundings with a detached curiosity. The carriage moved through the capital, dwarves watching with barely concealed hostility. They recognized the carriage, the magic horses, the armored knights — unmistakable symbols of the human Empire. Resentment and anger radiated from every gaze, a silent judgment on humans' past violence and their perceived arrogance.
Outside, the capital buzzed with industry. Workshops belched smoke and sparks; dwarves, shorter than humans yet powerful and resilient, worked tirelessly. Their society was orderly, precise, built on sweat and skill. The carriage pressed on, finally arriving at the gates of the Chief's chambers. Muscular guards flanked the doors, their arms crossed, faces stern. The Chief emerged, a short, compact figure whose presence alone commanded authority. He looked like a warrior forged from stone, his eyes sharp, calculating, and unyielding.
Julius stepped out first, his posture straight, voice projecting respect and resolve. "We greet the chi—"
"I know why you're here," the Chief interrupted, his voice cutting like iron. "You've sent your letters, demanding our Adamantium. Our response has consistently been negative. Why must you come all this way yourself, vermin of Vartas? You think that because you stand here, I would permit you our precious metal?" His glare bore into Julius, judgment heavy and unwavering.
Julius felt the weight of every word, the silence of the room pressing against him. He knew the dwarves' pain, their hard work, their pride, yet he could not falter.
"One year ago, you were at war with vermins of the North... over the very core of mana that stabilizes our societies and our way of life," the Chief continued, his voice rising, fury replacing measured anger. "Have you no shame? What about us, who sweat and toil to shape our lives? What about us?!"
Julius remained still, guilt washing over him in quiet waves. He had fought to prevent the mana core from falling into the Frost Kingdom's hands, and the Chief knew this. Yet the dwarf's frustration was for the humans themselves, for the violence and arrogance they carried like a shadow.
"I'm aware of how powerful your Empire is, but today's answer will not yield," the Chief said finally, staring Julius down. "Return to where you came from. We will not hand you our precious metal." He turned sharply, walking back into his chambers, the echo of his steps final and heavy.
Julius stood frozen, the shame of defeat gnawing at him. Corondell, Arwell, and Adam all shared their silence, faces pale, mouths tight. Words failed them, leaving only the uncomfortable weight of reality pressing against their pride.
Indura watched silently, relief curling through his mind in a quiet, personal amusement. " I'm saved. I didn't have to negotiate with anyone. Truly, I am saved". He allowed himself a subtle smirk, observing the humans' solemn defeat. " Pathetic humans. Your violence has brought this upon you. The hostility of other nations, the hatred in their eyes… You have reaped what you sowed". His gaze swept the chamber, noting the tension, the shame, the quiet despair.
Julius and his entourage returned to the carriage. Outside, the dwarves' voices rose in outrage and defiance, their shouts sharp and cutting:
"Return and die, you human scum! Begone back to where you came from!"
"May death come for you, Prince of Vartas!"
"Return to your worthless king!"
"You reek of dirt and maggots, begone!"
Indura's lips twitched as he fought to suppress a laugh. "This is truly a sight… pathetic humans. No wonder they managed to anger me that day", he thought, a strange thrill of detachment and superiority washing over him. Rocks and bits of metal bounced against the carriage, the clang echoing in the enclosed space. Indura felt an unexpected sensation—something like humiliation, not for himself, but for being associated with these humans, trapped within their pride and fragility.
"Sigh… stop here. I have something to do," he said quietly.
Corondell's eyes narrowed, wary. "What is it you need outside? There's nothing but insults and hostility."
"I have to do my duty," Indura replied, calm but firm, "as your representative, as their representative. Truly, I must speak to the Chief."
Julius' expression darkened, frustration clear. "It's pointless, Indura. We came all this way out of desperation. What can you even do?"
Indura's gaze sharpened, piercing. "Your honor has been shattered, don't you think? You are a prince, soon to be King. Why let yourself feel down by the words of these pygmies?" His voice carried authority, shocking the humans around him. "You look pathetic right now, Julius. In these moments, you must stand high, strong, and appeal to that Chief."
The carriage fell silent. Corondell's face turned crimson with indignation. He grabbed Indura by the collar. "How dare you speak to the Prince like that, you commoner! You have insulted His Highness. When we return, you are to be thrown in prison!"
Arwell's voice followed, stern and sharp. "You've gone too far! Just because of your looks, you do not have the right to address His Highness in such a manner. I will personally see to your imprisonment!"
Indura's eyes flickered with a hint of controlled anger. He studied their faces, understanding their frustration, letting it settle before he exhaled slowly. "Sigh… let me off here. I'll make sure to return when I can."
Arwell began to protest, "You will return with us at on—"
Julius interrupted, voice calm but resolute. "Stop. Let him stay if he wants to stay… it doesn't matter."
The carriage halted, the horses snorting, magical reins taut in their masters' hands. Indura stepped off, feeling the weight of the hot air, the ash, the dwarves' distant murmurs. He watched the carriage recede, the humans inside like small cogs in a larger machine, and a quiet grin formed across his face.
"Now then," he murmured to himself, "perhaps I will have a word with the Chief." His boots clicked against the stone path as he walked toward the chambers, every step measured, aware, alive with anticipation.