12 days before the Accusation.
In the backyard of the church of the Almighty Glorious Life situated a beautiful garden filled with multitude of different scents and colors from the flowers. It radiated a brain calming light, warm and radiant, and at the center of the garden was Volhcard who sat on the cobbled floor.
He stared deep into the sky, taking in the warmth of the sun and the soft breeze of the wind. At this very moment, his lips curled into a soft smile and with rose in hand, he caressed it. Volhcard wanted to give it to Fraye, a way of thanking her of the food and walk they had the other day.
Creak!
The back doors creaked open, Dareth walked out from it and took in the warmth of the sun even if he had no skin. He could still feel it, slowly he walked over to Volhcard and tapped the dwarf on the head with his staff.
"The young lady is waiting outside. You shouldn't keep a girl waiting." he chuckled, seeing the stunned look of Volhcard who quickly stood up and nearly tripped over himself as he ran to the front doors of the church.
There, standing outside, was Fraye. Radiant in the sunlight, her hair flowed with the breeze as she smiled at Volhcard. Draped over her left arm was a basket filled with fruit, biscuits, and bread—quite the assortment, though not solely for the two of them, but also for the animals in the park.
The young dwarf was utterly smitten with the elf's beauty, quietly wondering whether he deserved any of this. With a deep breath, he pushed those thoughts aside and gently took Fraye's hand.
"You're quite beautiful at this hour, Fraye," he said, trying to hide the blush warming his cheeks.
She giggled, walking down the steps with him as they made their way toward the park."Hmm... what's with the compliment? You're usually so awkward with those," she teased, glancing around at the trees lining the cobblestone road and at the children running about.
"Well, it's just that I—"
Fwoosh!
A hooded figure darted between them, nearly knocking Volhcard aside. Chasing after the figure was a breathless dwarf waving a rolled-up newspaper.
"Bastard..." he panted, leaning onto his knees before shooting the pair a strained sneer. "Sorry 'bout that, you lovebirds—"
"Oh, but we're not a couple," Fraye quickly added with an awkward chuckle.
The older dwarf eyed Volhcard suspiciously."A follower of the Almighty Glorious Life, are ya? Listen here, you two better be careful. Word is there are some folks lookin' for an elf-and-dwarf pair. Keep your eyes open."
He straightened, dusting off his shoulders.
Volhcard clasped his hands together, bowed his head, and offered a small smile."Thank you for the warning, kind sir. We'll take heed. Blessed be the Almighty Glorious Life."
The older dwarf nodded and hurried off, continuing his pursuit.
"You think that person he's chasing is a thief?" Fraye asked.
"If they are," Volhcard replied softly, "I hope they change their ways—should they ever be caught."
The dwarf finally caught up to the hooded figure he had been chasing. The two stood by the city docks, the waves lapping softly against the wooden pylons. The dwarf glared at the cloaked figure, a furious grin twisting across his lips.
"Ya really damned messed up, stealin' from my shop," he spat, saliva landing at the figure's feet.
"Hand over the Florinian Crystal, and all'll be well."
From beneath the cloak, a left hand emerged—green-scaled, taloned, more claw than limb. A hiss slipped from beneath the hood as the creature scraped its talons against the wooden planks.
A foul, rotting stench wafted from the claw, the unmistakable scent of decaying flesh. Unease crept in. The dwarf stepped back and produced a small hammer from his belt.
"Ya best toss me the crystal," he warned, tightening his grip, "or I'll be crackin' your skull in."
"For a dwarven shopkeeper," the figure rasped, its voice dry and serpentine, "you don't really know what you're selling, do you?"
The words struck a nerve. A vein throbbed visibly on the dwarf's forehead.
"The hells are ya sayin', hah?"
"The Florinian Crystal—such a prized piece of ore. Do you even understand why it's valued? Where it truly came from?"
The jab only fueled his anger. He tapped the hammer against his palm, letting out a low, mocking laugh.
"Of course I do. Who doesn't?" He clicked his tongue. "It comes from the bloody west of this quaint home o' mine—Thylmar. Land of me fellow dwarves. Though those bastards out there are savages, brutes, I say."
Unseen by him, a faint smirk curled beneath the hood.
"Like you?"
That snapped the final thread of his restraint.
With a roar, the dwarf charged, swinging the hammer straight into the figure's gut—only for it to vanish in an instant.
The hooded figure reappeared behind him. A claw seized the back of the dwarf's head and slammed it into the wooden boards. The creature shoved his face into the water, yanked him back up, and laughed softly.
"That's one lesson, I suppose," the figure mused. "But you see, it isn't called the Thylmarian Crystal. It's the Florinian Crystal—named for Lady Therese Florinia."
The hood was pulled aside, revealing a male humanoid lizard. Sly grinned.
"Don't bother screaming," he added calmly. "I cast a spell—everything inside this dome is silent and unseen."
He leaned closer.
"Allow me to continue our lesson, dear student."
"Lady Therese Florinia was the 348th Mother Queen of all Elves—and the very reason your kind split into two kingdoms. Thylmar of the Savages, and Vyolmir of the Scholars. Her design. Her peace."
Still raging, the dwarf tried to swing again—but Sly caught his arm effortlessly.
With a cruel grin, Sly crushed the dwarf's hand. Bone burst through flesh as blood poured freely. The dwarf screamed, raw and broken, like a newborn's wail. Sly closed his eyes, savoring the sound as though it were music.
"Such a shame," he murmured. "You might have lived if you'd simply given me the crystal. All that potent mana—swirling, waiting to be used—instead of rotting away in the hands of some worthless noble."
The dwarf sobbed and thrashed. Sly merely laughed before smashing his head through a weakened section of the dock.
The body twitched as blood stained the water below. Sly released him, letting the dwarf sink beneath the surface, then calmly pulled his hood back into place.
From within his cloak, he retrieved a scroll and flicked his fingers across it. A small portal of bluish mana spiraled open. He stepped through, clapping his hands as the mana dome shattered into drifting motes of light.
That surge of mana was felt by every mage in the city—including Volhcard. A sudden sense of dread settled in the dwarf's chest as he walked beside Fraye toward a nearby café.
Using a communication spell, Volhcard reached out to his master.
"All the mages on the kingdom's council are investigating the source of the mana surge," his master replied.
"Is that so? Master, is there anything I can do to help?"
"There's no need. Everything is under control. Simply enjoy your date."
With that, the mana link dissolved. Volhcard exhaled softly before adopting a more relaxed expression, careful not to alarm Fraye.
At the heart of the city, the massive white mansion known as the Scholar's Keep buzzed with activity. Magicians hurried through its halls, frantically searching for answers to the unexplained disturbance.
On the lowest floor lay the council chamber, where the scholars of Vyolmir convened in heavy contemplation. All eighty-eight members of Vyolmir's magical order—each possessing vast knowledge of arcane arts and Relisquae—sat in tense silence.
At the chamber's center stood Dareth, skeletal fingers gliding across the pages of a thick, leather-bound tome. Above him, the ceiling displayed the cosmos itself: swirling stars and shifting constellations that mapped the World.
Surrounding him were tier upon tier of seats, eighty-eight in total. Rising above them were ten elevated thrones, adorned in gold and starlight.
These ten were known across the continent as the Ultima Decem—the leaders of the council, peerless in wisdom, unrivaled in power, and direct advisors to the King of Vyolmir.
At their center sat Tholdir Magnesson, the Last Remaining Pure Dwarf in Vyolmir—a title celebrated within the kingdom yet deliberately concealed from others, lest it stir conflict with their brother-rival realm, Thylmar.
The dwarves who inhabited the city were not pure-blooded, but halflings and gnomes—kin to dwarves, yet lacking their full strength and resilience.
Unlike pure dwarves, halflings and gnomes possessed mana. True dwarves held none. Instead, much like the monks of the Karkellin Archipelago who studied Qi—the flow of life energy—pure dwarves mastered Qi Arts, disciplines powered by vitality itself. Tholdir was one such master.
Rising from his seat, the dwarf fixed his gaze upon the hollow eye sockets of the skeletal mage before him. Silver eyes gleamed with centuries of wisdom, framed by long hair cascading down his back and a beard that brushed the floor.
"Do you have an explanation for this matter, young Dareth?" he asked. His voice was deep, steady, and carried a calming authority.
The skeletal mage bowed slightly, a dry chuckle escaping him before he answered.
"Yes. I do," Dareth replied. "The mana surge that occurred nine minutes ago was caused by none other than the Mischief Mage himself—Aldir."
Silence fell over the chamber.
Not a single breath was heard.
Only the scholars' expressions remained—fearful, enraged, and utterly intrigued.
"The monster sent one of his loyal followers to retrieve an item of great importance," Dareth explained. "In doing so, they were likely discovered—hence the surge of mana required for their escape."
Fear and revulsion spread across the chamber as every gaze fixed upon him.
Their murmurs were abruptly cut short by the sharp tap of Tholdir's staff. The weapon was a long rod of dark wood, entwined with thorny vines, a simple white orb set at its center—now glowing faintly with mana.
Tholdir's eyes narrowed into a measured glare, though his expression remained composed. Still, dread tightened around the elder dwarf's heart. Even hearing Aldir's name carried weight enough to unsettle him.
That name was steeped in history within the world of Relisquae. A mage of immense brilliance and boundless depravity—one who possessed unparalleled mastery over magic, yet bent it wholly to his own ambition.
"Then what do you believe he intends to do with the artifact he stole?" Tholdir asked, carefully steadying his voice.
With a quiet laugh, Dareth released the book in his grasp. It hovered midair before them, pages fluttering until it stopped on a single passage—one that drew the attention of every scholar present.
"Paradise," Dareth said. "He seeks paradise for Vyolmir by destroying it. In doing so, he intends to awaken the Floating Paradise."
"Impossible!"
"What blasphemy is this?!"
Gasps and shouts rippled through the chamber. Panic seized nearly everyone—everyone except Tholdir.
He struck the floor with his staff once more. Silence fell instantly, followed by a crushing wave of mana radiating from him.
"Explain," he growled, fixing Dareth with a piercing stare.
"The Floating Paradise," Dareth began, "is a concept conceived by our forefathers. They foretold a calamity in Vyolmir's future—one so severe that the kingdom itself would undergo metamorphosis, ascending into a new realm known simply as the Floating Paradise."
"And why," Tholdir scoffed, his gaze never wavering, "would he desire such a catastrophe?"
Dareth hesitated, then spoke plainly."He wishes to witness the Vessel of Atlas—the God of Space. By beholding Atlas, he can briefly absorb His residual mana and gain the power necessary to fulfill his ambition."
Thud.
The sound of Tholdir's staff hitting the stone floor echoed throughout the chamber. His face was unreadable. The scholars—and even Dareth—stood frozen in tense silence.
"…Dismissed."
At his command, the room emptied in haste. Scholars rose from their seats and fled, Dareth among them. Once the chamber lay vacant, Tholdir collapsed from his throne, gripping his staff tightly as he landed heavily on the floor.
With a sharp downward motion, he struck the ground. A portal tore open before him.
From it stepped Aldir.
"Master, it seems we have been discovered," Tholdir said calmly, dropping to one knee and bowing his head.
Aldir said nothing except for the sound of him tinkering with a silver coin in his right hand.
Aldir merely smiled, amused, as he surveyed the room. He flipped the silver coin and idly twirled it between his index and middle fingers.
"As expected," Aldir mused. "Such intuition befits one of the greatest mages this world has known. Still, no matter."
The coin vanished into his palm.
"We proceed to the next stage of our plan."