Our escape is a long march through the wastelands. We are not pursued. Kaelen must be too busy securing the remaining loot in the Ash Pit and tending to the wounds of his fractured company. But we know it is only a reprieve. A bounty will soon be on our heads. In the Untamed Lands, loyalty is a commodity that is bought and sold.
We are a strange troupe. Lyanna, the scholarly mage, has become our de facto strategic leader. Borin and his few loyal dwarves are our muscle and our experts in mountainous terrain. The few mercenaries who followed us are pragmatic veterans who sensed which way the wind was blowing. And I... I am the guardian of the artifact, the wild card, the strange source of power they have decided to follow.
The egg is our silent compass. Through our bond, I feel it guiding us. Not with a clear intent, but by instinct. It seeks a warm place, a place of terrestrial energy, a place conducive to its hatching.
For several days, we march north, deeper into regions that even Ritcher's maps no longer describe. The monsters are stranger, the ambient magic more unstable. But we are an effective unit. The discipline of the mercenaries, the sturdiness of the dwarves, and the magical power of Lyanna create a solid defensive core. My role is that of the hunter. I scout ahead, find game, and eliminate threats before they reach the group.
The dynamic between Lyanna and me is changing. The mercenary hierarchy is gone. We are partners. In the evenings, around the campfire, we talk for hours. I tell her more about Gluttony, about my ability to analyze and devour. She is fascinated, noting everything in a small leather-bound journal. In return, she teaches me the basics of magical theory. She teaches me to feel the flows of mana, to identify the schools of magic, to understand the difference between arcane, divine, and primordial energy.
"Your power," she says one evening, looking at the egg resting near the fire, "is of a primordial nature. It is the oldest, rawest magic. The magic of life and death, of growth and consumption. That's why you can communicate with it. You speak the same language."
This revelation gives a new meaning to my skill. It is not just a curse or a tool. It is a connection to the very fabric of the world.
We finally find what the egg was looking for. In the heart of a volcanic mountain range, we discover a hidden valley, an oasis of green and warmth in the midst of desolation. Hot springs bubble, creating rivers of steam. Geysers erupt intermittently. The valley is saturated with geothermal energy. It is a perfect natural incubator.
In the center of the valley are ancient ruins. Not a fortress or an academy. A temple. A simple circle of stone monoliths engraved with primitive draconic runes. This is the place.
The egg is calm. It has found its nest.
We make our camp in the ruins. It is a defensible location, with a source of hot water and abundant game in the small forest that thrives on the heat. It is a refuge. Our refuge.
"We can't stay here forever," Borin says, though he seems to be enjoying the warmth that reminds him of the forges of his youth.
"No," Lyanna agrees. "But we can stay here long enough to grow stronger. To prepare."
Thus begins a new phase of our existence. We are no longer fugitives. We are settlers.
The dwarves, in their element, begin to fortify the ruins, to dig shelters into the rock. The mercenaries establish patrol perimeters. Lyanna spends her days studying the temple runes, trying to decipher their meaning.
And I train.
I spend my days in the surrounding mountains, hunting the volcanic creatures. I fight Fire Salamanders, Magma Golems, Sulfur Basilisks. Every victory brings me experience, every devoured essence strengthens my affinities.
You have devoured the essence of [Fire Salamander].
Your fire resistance has been increased.
You have devoured the essence of [Magma Golem].
Your [Stone Skin] skill has been strengthened.
My level skyrockets. 8. 9. I become stronger, faster, deadlier. My mastery of my skills is refined.
But the biggest change is in my relationship with Lyanna. We are no longer just allies. We have become friends, confidants.
One evening, as we sit atop one of the monoliths, watching the stars that shine with a special brilliance in the clear mountain air, she confides in me.
"I ran away from my family," she says softly. "Like you, in my own way. I come from a line of powerful mages in Kryndal. I was expected to join the Royal Academy, to become a pillar of the magical establishment. But their rules, their restrictions... it was a cage. They were afraid of real magic, of the primordial magic you carry within you. I chose exile and the freedom of knowledge over the security of servitude."
Her story echoes my own. Two souls who have fled their respective cages.
"I think I was right to bet on you, Reinhardt," she says, turning to me. There is a glint in her green eyes that I have never seen before. A glint that is not curiosity, nor friendship.
She leans toward me. The world around us seems to fade. There is only her face, illuminated by the light of the stars and the distant veins of lava.
Our lips meet.
The kiss is shy at first, then more passionate. This is not the idealized, unattainable love I felt for Roxis. This is something real, tangible. It is the kiss of two outcasts who have found a refuge in each other. It is a sharing of secrets, a mutual recognition.
When we part, we remain silent, our foreheads resting against each other. The hunger within me is calm. For the first time in my life, I feel... complete.
This moment of peace is interrupted by a sound. A crack.
We turn sharply. The sound is coming from the center of the stone circle, where the egg rests.
We rush over. The royal egg, which had been silent for weeks, is vibrating. Glowing cracks are appearing on its shell. The orange glow from within is becoming more and more intense.
The words in my mind are no longer those of a frightened child. They are those of a prince about to be born.
The hatching has begun. And we have no idea what is about to emerge.