Rhelga's gaze remained fixed on the enormous root.
"Years after Vyragon fell, those two humans went further. They chose to challenge the Disciples themselves." A dry chuckle escaped him. "They were brave. Stupid, but brave. What shocked me most was seeing the human still wielding Drake. The moment I saw that sword in his hands, I thought… this must be the Dragon King's doing."
Indura's smile was quiet, almost private.
"I had no choice but to help them," Rhelga continued. "And in doing so, it cost me." He looked down at his dark, withered arm, the skin tight and lifeless from wrist to shoulder. "It took everything we had combined. We created an artifact capable of casting the Disciples into the deepest reaches of the universe. But it was not easy."
Indura folded his arms, listening in silence.
"The humans and I poured everything into that seal. We survived by the thinnest margin imaginable while trying to bind all seven. It nearly killed us." Rhelga's voice lowered. "I believed we had won. Then, at the final moment, one of the Disciples resisted with everything it had left and tore free before the seal could fully close. It fled."
Indura's eyes narrowed.
"A Disciple escaped?"
Rhelga nodded once.
"Of the seven, that one was the worst. If I have ever seen anything that could truly be called evil, it was that creature. It went deeper than the others. Far deeper." He turned his head toward Indura. "It left weakened. And because of that weakening, the skies of Chaos turned crimson once more."
Indura's gaze dropped to Rhelga's ruined arm. He exhaled slowly through his nose.
Rhelga looked back at the root.
"That act did not only leave me in this state. It reached my kind as well. The Disciples' remaining followers hunted the elves without mercy. Many were slaughtered. The rest were imprisoned. They remain imprisoned to this day… on this very continent."
Indura's eyes sharpened.
"So that is what those elves meant."
Rhelga turned sharply.
"Those elves?"
"I met some old elves on the way here," Indura said. "One of them spoke a little of what your people are enduring."
Rhelga stepped closer, urgency breaking through his usual composure.
"Were they alright? How did you find them?"
Indura's eyes widened slightly at the intensity in the old elf's voice.
"They were travelling. We came across them by chance."
Rhelga released a long, shaky breath of relief. The tension in his shoulders eased, if only a fraction.
Indura watched him for a moment.
"Do you believe every elf was captured?"
Rhelga's answer came softly.
"I do not know. I have remained down here since the day I received this wound. It has drained most of my remaining lifespan… and it continues to do so. I have not been able to help a single one of my people. That guilt has lived with me for hundreds of years."
Indura glanced at Shadow, then back to Rhelga.
"The elves are not all captured," he said. He paused, then added, "There are many of them in the South."
Shadow drew a short breath. He leaned in slightly and whispered, just loud enough for Indura to hear.
"Actually... Crimson Reach, along with the other cities… fell when the Sky Warriors descended. So many of those elves are long dead."
Indura's eyes widened.
Oh.
For a moment he said nothing. The memory of the southern battle — the devastation, the barriers, the aftermath — returned with sudden clarity. He had not truly considered what that battle had left behind.
Rhelga's voice cut through the silence, hopeful and strained at once.
"Is it true? There are still elves in the South?"
Indura's golden eyes darted once to the side, then back to the old elf, as if searching for the right shape of the truth. He then stepped closer and placed a hand on Rhelga's shoulder.
"My old friend... There is nothing more you need to worry about."
Rhelga looked up at him, confusion clear in his green eyes.
"I… do not understand."
Indura turned and walked toward the open doorway. Just as he reached the threshold, he paused, then looked back over his shoulder.
"What would happen," he asked quietly, "if the elves were… all freed?" A brief pause. "Would the Disciple find out?"
Rhelga froze.
For a moment the only sound in the chamber was the slow, heavy pulse of the great root. Then the old elf's voice came out low and careful.
"Indura… are you planning what I think you are planning?"
A grin spread across Indura's face.
"It is."
Silence stretched between them. Rhelga's throat worked.
"Indura…" His voice cracked. "I thank you but..."
Indura met his gaze and smiled, simple and certain.
"Of course." He tilted his head slightly. "But answer me again. Would my actions reach the Disciple?"
Rhelga cleared his throat, forcing composure back into his voice.
"Yes. Your actions will reach the Disciple." He drew a steadying breath. "Because a few of your former followers — those who turned to the darkness — now control this region. They have received power directly from the Disciple. They are not weak."
Indura's expression stilled. He stepped away from the doorway and back into the chamber.
"Are the dragons not the rulers of these lands?"
Rhelga raised one eyebrow.
"No."
Indura and Shadow exchanged a brief glance.
"The dragons hold influence," Rhelga continued, "but they do not rule. Vyragon was the one who made the situation appear the same across every region. It was never true."
Indura folded his arms.
"So… does that mean there is silence in the other regions?"
Rhelga looked down at the stone floor.
"I do not know. I wish I had the right answer for you." He lifted his eyes again. "With you here, freeing the elves would not be impossible. But it would be far more complicated than a simple rescue. The moment the Disciple learns you are alive…" He let the words hang. "It could start a war."
Indura snapped his fingers softly, as if remembering something inconvenient.
What was I thinking!
A short chuckle left him.
"I almost forgot." He scratched the back of his neck, still smiling. "I just remembered how weak I still am compared to my true self."
Rhelga's expression softened into a tired but genuine smile.
"You do not need to stand at your peak. Not yet. But…" His tone grew more serious. "You will need at least two more cores awakened if you wish to stand a real chance against the Disciple."
Indura closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. When he exhaled, the faint tension in his shoulders eased. His golden eyes opened again, clearer than before.
"So," he said quietly, "what should I do?"
Rhelga rested both hands on the head of his staff.
"We would have to plan carefully. Awakening even a single core takes time. And the longer we take… the longer the elves continue to suffer."
Indura's golden eyes narrowed slightly.
"If you put it that way, it sounds like you are choosing to let them suffer a little longer."
Rhelga lowered his gaze to the stone at his feet.
"I know. I understand how it sounds. But I have already lost too many. I have come too far not to understand that, with the stakes as they are now, my personal feelings would only get in the way."
Indura watched him in silence for a moment.
Something quiet and unfamiliar moved through him — a thin thread of respect, almost pride, at the old elf's words. He had never heard such words before. Not with that kind of worn, deliberate clarity.
He answered softly.
"Sure… sure."
His gaze drifted back to the massive root pulsing against the far wall of the trench.
"While we try to sort that out," he said, then paused. "What is this root's purpose?"
Rhelga turned toward the open doorway.
"It would be better to discuss that somewhere else."
Indura sighed once, but he did not argue. He turned and began to follow. Rhelga stepped through the threshold ahead of him.
Shadow walked after them at a slower pace.
Just before reaching the door, he stopped.
Indura and Rhelga had already crossed into the outer chamber. For a moment Shadow stood alone on the platform, silver eyes fixed on the colossal root. The slow, heavy pulse of it seemed to answer something deep in his own nature. Without a word, darkness peeled away from his body and shaped itself into an exact copy — same cloak, same quiet presence, same silver eyes.
The clone turned its head once toward the original, then stepped off the edge of the platform and dropped into the endless black of the trench without a sound.
Shadow watched until the darkness swallowed the falling figure completely. Then he turned, expression unchanged, and walked through the doorway after the others.
Behind him, the great root continued its patient, endless rhythm, as if nothing had changed at all.
---------------
The forest outside the domain was quiet under the afternoon sun.
Golden light filtered through the high canopy in long, slanted beams, turning the air into a soft haze of green and gold. A gentle breeze moved through the leaves, carrying the clean scent of moss and warm earth. Birds called somewhere in the distance, but even their songs felt subdued, as if the woods themselves remembered quieter, fuller days.
Indura sat on a low boulder near the cave mouth, one knee drawn up, arms resting loosely across it. Rhelga stood a few paces away, staff planted in the soil. Shadow remained slightly apart, silver eyes half-lidded, as if listening to something only he could hear.
For a long moment none of them spoke. The stillness between them was not empty — it was heavy with everything that had been said underground.
At last Rhelga broke the silence. His voice was softer than usual, almost distant.
"These trees used to be full of noise. Elven children running between the trunks, laughter, arguments, songs. Nature itself seemed to move with them. It was… beautiful." He paused, eyes moving across the quiet branches. "Now I am the one being hunted."
Indura looked down at the ground. He picked up a small stone, turned it once between his fingers, then flicked it. The stone shot forward and punched cleanly through a thick trunk with a sharp crack, vanishing into the undergrowth beyond. He sighed.
"How long will it take to awaken the rest of my cores?"
Rhelga turned toward him and tugged thoughtfully at his beard.
"With how new your body still is, you will not have to go through the creation process."
Indura's eyes narrowed.
"Creation process?"
"Do not mind it," Rhelga said. "It is something your past self had to endure. You are lucky. All you need to do is absorb mana of sufficient quality and density. The cores will awaken in time."
Indura's mouth curved.
"I do not fully understand what you mean, but I will take it."
Rhelga gave a short chuckle.
"Would you like another story related to those cores?"
Indura shook his head.
"Maybe next time. I have already heard enough for today. Possibly for the next few days as well."
"It is no use trying to avoid your history forever," Rhelga replied.
Indura waved the comment away with one hand.
"I will ask when I feel like it. Every time I hear something about the past, those same memories flood in. It is becoming a headache."
Rhelga raised an eyebrow.
"You can truly see the memories?"
Indura was quiet for a moment. He opened his palm and studied it.
"I do not just see them. I can almost feel them. Like I was right there."
A gust of wind passed through the clearing, stirring the leaves. Shadow remained silent, watching Indura with unreadable silver eyes.
Indura rose from the boulder, stretched his back, and rolled his neck until it gave a soft crack.
"For now it does not matter. There is still the matter of the elves."
"As I said," Rhelga answered, "that matter is complicated." He rested both hands on his staff. "The elves are held in four different places across this continent. Each zone is controlled by one of the corrupted followers. Each of those followers carries a blessing — more accurately, a curse — granted by the Dark Disciple."
He paused, choosing his next words carefully.
"In other words, if any one of those followers is pushed into a situation that threatens their life, the curse will either manifest to eliminate the threat… or return to its creator."
Indura folded his arms.
"Then I can simply take them one at a time."
Rhelga nodded once.
"If even one of those blessings is destroyed, every other bearer will know at the same instant."
Indura froze.
The faint smile that usually lived at the corner of his mouth disappeared. His golden eyes narrowed, fixed on nothing in particular, as if a fragment of something old had just surfaced.
Rhelga noticed the change at once.
"Why are you looking like that?"
Indura blinked, then gave a small, dismissive nod.
"Oh nothing... I just remembered something. It does not matter. Only an old memory."
Rhelga stepped closer. The usual weariness in his green eyes sharpened into something keener.
"I travelled at the Dragon King's side for thousands of years. I know the weight of his words… and the weight of yours." He studied Indura's face. "Have you already encountered any of your former followers?"
A vast shadow swept across the clearing.
The afternoon light dimmed as something enormous passed overhead. Rhelga stepped sharply away from Indura, both hands tightening around his staff. Green light flared in his eyes as he stared upward, body coiling with old combat instinct. The shadow returned, larger this time, drawing closer with the slow certainty of a descending storm.
Indura tilted his head back and smiled.
From above the canopy, a black dragon forced its way through the upper branches. Wings folded tight against its body, it dropped in a controlled fall, punching through the last layer of leaves and landing hard enough to send a deep tremor through the earth. Dust and loose leaves exploded outward. The dragon rose to its full height, long neck curving downward until a pair of deep brown eyes fixed on Rhelga.
Rhelga let out a short, disbelieving chuckle.
The dragon exhaled through its nostrils, a warm gust that stirred the old elf's hair and beard. Then it lowered its massive head until its snout nearly touched the ground in a clear, deliberate bow.
Rhelga walked forward without hesitation and placed one weathered hand against the smooth scales between the dragon's eyes.
"Look at you," he murmured, voice thick. "Still alive after all this time… You stubborn, magnificent creature. I thought the darkness had taken you for certain."
The dragon gave a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the ground.
Shadow stepped quietly to Indura's side. His voice was barely more than a breath.
"You do not have to worry about the thing that was killed."
Indura glanced at him.
Shadow continued, still watching the reunion ahead.
"It is not dead yet."
"How do you know?"
A thin smile touched Shadow's mouth. He lifted the edge of his dark cloak just enough for Indura to see. Within the deeper darkness that clung to the fabric, something pulsed weakly — a crumpled, half-dissolved mass of violet-black energy, threaded with faint, dying runes. It was the remnant of the blessing Vespera and Sabrel defeated earlier, now suspended in a state between life and true death, carefully held inside Shadow's domain.
Indura's eyes lingered on it for a moment. Then he smiled and looked back toward Rhelga.
"Impressive," he whispered. "I was already worrying that everything was about to go wrong."
"I simply had a bad feeling about letting it die cleanly," Shadow replied. "Dark things of that nature rarely vanish without consequence."
Indura released a quiet breath of relief.
A sudden gust of cold wind cut through the clearing, sharp enough to sting the skin. Leaves spun in tight circles. From within that wind a clear voice spoke.
"There you are."
Sabrel stepped out of the swirling air as if parting a curtain. She wore a fitted ensemble of deep blue and silver — a short, lightly armored dress with reinforced shoulders and elegant bracers, practical yet unmistakably regal. Her long white hair streamed behind her in the lingering breeze. Frost still clung to the edges of her sleeves.
Her golden-white eyes found Indura first.
"I have been looking for you."
Then her gaze shifted to the old elf standing beside the black dragon. Rhelga had gone completely still.
Sabrel tilted her head.
"And who is this old-looking one?"
Rhelga took a slow step forward, eyes narrowed, studying her face as if measuring it against a memory centuries old.
"Sabrel…? Is that you, little one?"
Sabrel's expression remained politely blank.
"Who are you?"
"Do you not remember me?"
She narrowed her eyes, leaning in slightly for a closer look, then shook her head.
"Hmm. No. I do not know who you are."
Rhelga sighed, the sound carrying both disappointment and fond exasperation.
"I am Rhelga. I was the one who always walked at the Dragon King's side."
Sabrel gave a small, noncommittal nod.
"That does not ring any bells."
Rhelga walked the remaining distance until he stood directly in front of her. He looked up — a slow, mischievous smile spread across his weathered face.
"You have gotten a lot taller. Just like your brother."
He raised one finger.
Green light gathered at the tip. In the next instant, a small, translucent serpent of pure emerald mana burst into existence, coiled once around his wrist, then shot straight toward Sabrel's face with a dramatic, hissing flourish — the exact same childish scare-trick he had used on her centuries ago.
Sabrel's eyes went wide.
She let out a short, involuntary scream and stumbled backward a full step, hands flying up.
Rhelga's smile turned triumphant.
"There it is. You always screamed whenever I did that."
Recognition flooded Sabrel's face like a wave. The tension in her shoulders melted into something far more complicated — memory, irritation, and a sudden, sharp ache of familiarity.
Rhelga opened his arms wide.
"Come here, little one."
Sabrel stepped forward. She extended both hands as if to accept the embrace… then planted them firmly against Rhelga's chest and shoved.
The old elf flew backward, crashed through one thin trunk, then another, and finally landed in a sprawl of leaves and broken branches. He sat up slowly, one hand pressed to his lower back, an expression of pure, wounded dignity on his face.
Sabrel stood, arms crossed, though the corner of her mouth was twitching.
"I always hated your tricks."
A single tear slipped from the corner of her eye despite her best efforts. In the next heartbeat, she vanished in a blur of white and blue, reappearing on her knees in front of him. Her arms wrapped tightly around the old elf's shoulders, face buried against his neck.
Rhelga coughed once from the impact, then smiled and patted her back with his good hand.
"You have really grown strong."
A few paces away, Indura and Shadow watched the entire exchange in silence.
Shadow's voice was quiet, almost contemplative.
"I really cannot unsee it."
Indura glanced at him.
"Unsee what?"
Shadow kept his eyes on the embracing pair for another second, then quickly turned his head toward Indura.
"The resemblance. But—" He lifted both hands slightly. "It is not what you are thinking."
Indura raised one eyebrow, golden eyes narrowing with mild suspicion as he studied Shadow's carefully neutral expression.
The black dragon rumbled softly in the background, as if amused.