As dawn brings a salty breeze over Pritha, Ignis and King leave the Boar Hat tavern behind. The city awakens slowly—merchants opening shops, guards changing shifts—but the two adventurers waste no time with farewells. Supplies packed—dry rations, healing potions, an updated map with sea routes—they head for the capital's floating port, where ships of all kinds sway on the calm waters of the gulf.
Their destination is no longer Eldoria, as initially planned. During the night, Ignis reviewed his old notes, consulting a discreet arcane tome in his room. Samael's prophecy echoed in his ancient mind: shadows lengthening, chains creaking, the Demon of Darkness awakening.
Eldoria has libraries, yes, but for planar seals, nothing surpasses the dwarves of Puzentia—master forgers of eternal runes, guardians of ancient portals. Ratavabaros, the coastal capital of the dwarven kingdom, is the right place: there, in the seaside forges, bearded sages can offer keys to reinforce the seal... or weapons to face the inevitable.
Ignis: (looking at the map, tracing the coastal route) Change of plans, King. Let's go by boat to Ratavabaros, in the Kingdom of Puzentia. The dwarves know seals better than any elven mage. If the Demon is stirring, we need runes that can withstand hell. And by sea, we cut days of travel short.
King: (nodding, touching the Valknut necklace to his chest) That's a good idea. The dwarves have enormous respect for the Great Thor.
They board the "Iron Tide," a robust dwarven merchant ship with a reinforced mithril hull and sails embroidered with wind runes. The captain, a jovial dwarf named Grom, greets them with a firm handshake and a mug of rum.
Grom: (laughing) A dragonborn and a Goliath from the Nordic realm? My trip just got interesting! We set sail with the high tide. To Ratavabaros in three days, if the sea gods smile upon us.
The ship sets sail at midday, leaving Pritha behind. The sea is calm at first, gentle waves lapping against the hull, seagulls circling in the blue sky. Ignis stays on deck, feeling the salt in the air—copper dragons love the sun's glare on the ocean. King, despite his bulk, adapts well, helping the crew with ropes and sails, his strength making tasks light.
But on the second day, a storm arrives—dark clouds rolling from the horizon, winds howling like wolves. The ship rocks violently, waves crashing on the deck. Grom shouts orders, dwarves rushing to reinforce the sails.
Grom: Hold on tight! This is a tough one!
King grips the mast, the Valknut necklace gleaming brightly—a pulse of divine energy, as if Thor were sending a subtle lightning bolt to calm him. He remembers the fight against the wolves, the divine rescue; this is just further proof.
Ignis, immune to seasickness, extends her hands—she uses Gust of Wind that blows the sails in the right direction, stabilizing the ship for crucial moments.
Ignis: (shouting over the wind) Hold course!
The storm passes at nightfall, leaving a starry sky and a placid sea. The crew applauds, Grom offering an extra round of rum.
Grom: You saved my ship! The dwarves owe you one.
On the third day, Ratavabaros rises on the horizon: a vibrant coastal city, grey stone walls kissing the sea, harbors teeming with ships, smoke from forges rising to the sky. Towers adorned with runes gleam in the sun, and the scent of salt mixed with molten metal greets them.
They disembark, Grom shaking hands in farewell.
Grom: Return whenever you wish. Ratavabaros is peaceful, but always open to allies like you.
After disembarking at the bustling port of Ratavabaros, Ignis and King plunge into the heart of the coastal city. The smooth, cobblestone streets gleam under the midday sun, lined with sturdy granite and mithril buildings, with balconies opening onto the sea where dwarves smoke pipes and exchange stories with elven sailors.
The sound of the waves mingles with the distant clang of hammers, and the salty air carries the scent of fresh fish, hot metal, and baked bread. Like a peaceful border of Puzentia, Ratavabaros pulsates with friendly commerce—merchants shouting prices for enchanted gems, dwarf children darting between the legs of tall visitors.
The guards lead them directly to the forges district, where the Great Council awaits them in a hall open to the sea, overlooking the waves crashing against the walls. But before they reach it, a striking facade catches their eye: a blacksmith's shop with a huge wrought-iron sign, decorated with gleaming runes and a stylized boar wearing a hat. The letters engraved in gold read "FFF – Blacksmiths' Blacksmiths".
A burly dwarf, with a red beard braided into tiny horseshoes and a soot-stained apron, emerges from the open door, wiping his hands on a cloth. He goes behind the counter—comically much taller than him—climbs onto a wooden stool, and attends to them. Blacksmith: (Hoarse but warm voice, laughing loudly) Welcome, my dear strangers! I am Janclécio, owner of this establishment. The Blacksmiths' Ironworks — where we iron everything that needs iron! What brings a gleaming dragonborn and a giant from the north to my humble forge? Weapons? Armor? Or just a new horseshoe for the horse?
Ignis stops, intrigued by the creative name and the smell of enchanted metal emanating from the forge — a mixture of sea salt and arcane magic.
Ignis: (Smiling slightly, fangs glistening) Janclécio, huh? Your establishment seems promising. We came to Ratavabaros seeking knowledge of ancient runes. Planar seals, to be precise. You seem like the type who knows a thing or two about forging the impossible.
Janclécio: (Laughing, beating his chest proudly) Ah, planar seals? That's fine stuff! My family has been forging runes since Puzentia was just a mine! But that's a bit beyond our reach, but we'll do our best. Come on in! Let's chat while I show you my beauties. (Shouting to someone inside the forge room) Hey Jorge! We have visitors!
They enter the forge—a spacious area with forges open to the sea, where the breeze cools the molten metal. Shelves are overflowing with enchanted axes, shields with protective runes, and even magical horseshoes that make horses run faster. Dwarven apprentices work at a steady pace, hammering with precision.
Janclécio: (picking up an ornate hammer) The Kingdom of Puzentia is peaceful, but our forges are legendary. Seals like that of the Demon of Darkness? I've heard stories. Sealed in the Ethereal, that infinite void... but cracks? That costs blood and sweat to fix. The Great Council knows best, but I can offer a clue: use maritime anchoring runes. The sea here in Ratavabaros inspires—it stabilizes the void like anchors in a storm.
King, touching the Valknut necklace, feels an affinity—Thor's divine balance resonates with the dwarven runes.
King: (deep voice) Show us how to forge one. If the prophecy is true, we need allies like you.
Janclécio demonstrates, forging a simple protective rune while recounting dwarven legends about the original seal. In the end, he presents them with two: one for Ignis, which shines with eternal fire, and one for King, which pulses with thunder energy.
Janclécio: (shaking hands) Go to the Council now. Tell them the FFF sent you. And come back for a drink—dwarves love to celebrate!
With the runes in their pockets, they proceed to the Great Hall, strengthened by the forge's hospitality. Ratavabaros, with his peaceful, coastal spirit, prepares them for what comes next in the fight against the shadows.
The path to the Great Council Hall is a gentle climb up stone staircases carved directly into the cliff face. As they move away from the FFF, the sound of Janclecio's anvil becomes a rhythmic echo, mingling with the cries of seagulls. The runes given by the blacksmith warm in Ignis and King's pockets, as if recognizing the proximity of a greater source of power.
Upon reaching the top, the Council gates open. Unlike the dark dungeons many associate with dwarves, the Hall of Ratavabaros is a triumph of aerial architecture: rock crystal columns support a vaulted ceiling that reflects the blue of the ocean, and the polished marble floor is inlaid with lapis lazuli that forms the star map of Puzentia.
In the center, seated in a semicircle of stone thrones, are the five Elders. In their midst, a dwarf with a finely braided white beard tinged with gold threads and eyes that seem to hold the wisdom of millennia. It is High Councilor Helga Deephammer.
Helga: (Her voice echoes through the hall, clear and authoritative) Stop, travelers. The wind carried the scent of ozone and copper scales even before you crossed the harbor. Grom's messenger already warned us of your arrival, but what Janclecio gave you... (she points to the hidden runes)...that says more about your intentions than any words.
Ignis steps forward, his posture imposing and diplomatic.
Ignis: Councilor Helga. We did not come seeking gold or glory. We came seeking stability for a world that is beginning to crack. The seal of the Demon of Darkness is giving way. What was once an eternal prison is now a sieve letting darkness leak out.
The elders exchange worried glances. One of them murmurs about "the tremors in the Ethereal Realm" they felt deep in the mines last week.
Helga: (Standing) If the seal is weakening, the solution lies not only in Puzentia, but beneath it. There is a relic, the Adamant Anchor, forged by the gods when the world was still lava. It is the focal point of all the seals on this continent. But there's a problem...
King: (Crossing his arms, his hand instinctively on the hilt of his weapon) Problems often have teeth or traps. What is this one?
Helga: Access to the Anchor Chamber was sealed centuries ago because a "corrosion" began to sprout from the shadows. We sent guards, but they return speaking of voices that do not belong to this plane. If you are the heroes that Janclecius' runes suggest, we will need you to descend to the roots of Ratavabaros and purify the Anchor.
At that moment, a dull rumble vibrates beneath everyone's feet. It's not an ordinary earthquake; it's a pulse of electrical energy that makes the hall lights flicker.
Ignis: (Looking at King) It seems the time for conversation is over. Something is attacking.
Helga: (Signaling to two elite guards) Take them to the Elevator of the Depths. If the Anchor falls, Ratavabaros will be the first to be swallowed by the abyss.
The elevator hits the bottom with a dull thud, but what awaits them in the roots of Ratavabaros is not the chaos of claws and teeth that the "corrosion" suggested. The air here is icy, still, and silent, interrupted only by the rhythmic crackling of a bluish flame.
In the center of the monumental chamber, before the Adamant Anchor—a black metal structure that pulsates like a mechanical heart—is not a raging beast.
There he is: a Lich.
His silhouette is tall and slender, shrouded in black silk cloaks that seem to absorb the little light in the place. He has no flesh, only bones polished like ancient ivory.
In the center of his exposed chest, where a heart should be, floats a sapphire gem that emits an icy, mesmerizing blue glow. But the most disconcerting detail is what he holds with skeletal delicacy: a black cat with lustrous fur, purring peacefully as the Lich strokes its head with bony fingers.
Lich: (His voice doesn't come from his mouth, but echoes directly in Ignis and King's minds, like the sound of parchment being torn) "Curious... The dwarves sent a dragon spark and a storm's breath. I thought they'd send something more... noisy."
Ignis: (Keeping her hands lit, but not attacking, intrigued by the undead's aura of order) "Who are you? And what is a master of death doing at the base of the anchor that sustains this world?"
Lich: "I am Malthazar. And this..." (he slightly lifts the cat, which opens a yellow eye at the heroes) "...is Mephisto. We are here because the Demon of Darkness is a noisy and uncouth neighbor. He is forcing the cracks, yes. But if he gets through, there will be no more libraries, no fish for this little one, and no silence for my studies."
Malthazar turns to the Adamant Anchor. King realizes that the Lich is not destroying the seal, but rather carving fine necromantic runes around the cracks, trying to "patch up" reality with negative energy.
King: (Lowering his axe slightly, but maintaining his guard) "Are you trying to repair the seal? A Lich helping the living?"
Malthazar: "Make no mistake, Goliath. I help myself. Death is eternal, but the Void the Demon brings is absolute nothingness. Even death needs a plane of existence to flourish."
He points to a throbbing fissure at the base of the Anchor, from which a viscous, black smoke begins to erupt, taking shape.
Malthazar: "My containment runes are ready, but I need a source of pure life energy to fuse the Adamant again. The fire of a dragon... or the faith of a Nordic warrior. If you have come to fight, fight what is trying to escape from there. I will maintain the structure, but you must be the hammer."
Meanwhile, the cat approaches one of the dwarves, who immediately senses something coming from it. The cat rubs against him, and nothing happens. But when the dwarf decides to pet it, the cat is intangible, made only of darkness. This darkness possesses the dwarf's body, devouring him.
The lich takes advantage of this to attack with its electrical magic. The atmosphere of forced cooperation shatters in a second. What seemed to be a moment of gothic tenderness reveals itself to be a cruel and predatory trap.
The dwarf guard accompanying them, lowering his guard before the feline's harmless appearance, extends his hand with a sad smile. The moment his fingers touch Mephisto's fur, the cat's purr transforms into a static hiss. The animal dissolves into a mist of living pitch, which snakes up the dwarf's arm like shadow serpents.
Dwarf: "But what...?! Argh!"
The scream is stifled as darkness invades his eyes and mouth, devouring him from the inside out. In seconds, the guard's body collapses, leaving only the metal of his armor pounding on the stone floor. The darkness returns in the form of a cat at Malthazar's feet, licking a paw made of pure void.
Malthazar: (His blue gem glows with a frenetic intensity) "Pure life energy is hard to find... but agony serves as an excellent catalyst! Fools... did you really think I would share the fate of the world with mortals?"
The Lich raises his skeletal hand. Bluish-purple lightning bolts begin to leap from his fingers, ricocheting off the chamber walls and striking the Adamant Anchor, but not to repair it—he is overloading the seal with Arcane Electric Magic to channel the portal's power to himself!
Ignis: (Leaping aside, his scales glowing under the electricity) "King! He doesn't want to close the seal, he wants to steal the essence of the Demon of Darkness! If he absorbs what's inside, he won't just be a Lich... he'll be a god of death!"
Malthazar: "Steal his essence? You beings of flesh have such a... limited and predatory vision. Why would I steal from my own brother?"
An arc of electricity strikes the ground near King, cracking the marble.
King: (The Valknut necklace pulsates furiously in red and gold) "He made the mistake of using thunder against a son of the North. Malthazar! You will pay for the dwarf's blood!"
The atmosphere of family tragedy offers no respite, only a more sinister justification for Malthazar's violence. The revelation that the Demon of Darkness is his brother only makes his attacks more frenzied and brutal.
Malthazar raises his arms and the hall trembles. The crystal ceiling cracks, and the electricity he channels from the Anchor ceases to be bluish, becoming a blinding white, charged with the hatred of ages.
Malthazar: (Screaming mentally with the force of a hurricane) "You will not pass through the ashes of my blood! If you want my brother's end, you will have to cross my own hell!"
King is the first to advance. He ignores the static that burns the hairs on his arms and leaps. In mid-air, he spins his axe with the force of an avalanche. The Lich counters the blow with a whip of lightning that wraps around the blade, but King doesn't let go.
He uses his own body as a conductor, letting Malthazar's energy flow through him to grab the Lich's skeletal neck with his free hand.
The electrical discharge is deafening. King's Valknut necklace shines so brightly it seems as if a Nordic sun has risen from the depths of the earth. He delivers a brutal headbutt to Malthazar's ivory skull, shattering part of the undead's jaw.
Ignis doesn't miss the opportunity. She sees the opening while King holds the Lich captive. She positions herself on all fours, her claws digging into the marble, and her copper scales glow with an incandescent red. She doesn't let out an ordinary breath; She expels a jet of concentrated magma, the fire hits the Lich's back, melting the black cloak and fusing the bone vertebrae with the metal of the Anchor behind him.
Malthazar lets out a silent scream that makes King's ears bleed. In a sudden movement, the Lich explodes in a wave of electric shock. King is thrown against the crystal columns, shattering several of them with the impact of his back.
The Lich, now with half his face disintegrated and his chest ablaze, floats towards Ignis. He ignores the fire. His bone fingers lengthen like claws of pure energy and he plunges his hand into the Dragonborn's shoulder, discharging a voltage that causes her nervous system to momentarily collapse.
Malthazar: "I have seen empires fall! You are but dust before my watch!"
Mephisto the cat, sensing his master's pain, transforms into a whirlwind of black smoke that blinds Ignis, while the Lich prepares a final lightning bolt, aimed directly at her chest.
The cracking of Malthazar's bones is not the sound of defeat, but of a shell breaking. The Lich's skeletal body expands violently, his ivory ribs opening like the jaws of a beast. The blue gem in his chest explodes in a supernova of energy, and the flesh he lacked is replaced by a dense substance made of compressed storm clouds and black lightning.
Where once stood an undead mage, now rises the Storm Demon. He is four meters tall, with horns made of molten obsidian and eyes that are slits of pure electric vacuum.