Varzak's lips twisted into a crooked grin, the scar stretching from his forehead down to his neck pulling taut in a grotesque contortion.
Across his ashen, corpse-like skin, that scar writhed and twitched, warping his entire face into the semblance of a broken mask.
"Dark Elf…" he rasped, voice hoarse and grating, dragging like metal against stone. "Such a sweet memory… or rather, a rotting one."
Thaliondir's brow furrowed, his golden eyes flickering with irritation. That mocking expression on Varzak's face made his blood boil, as though he were being ridiculed in another's stronghold. Which, in truth, was exactly the case. He was in the den of the Fallen Elves, and his right to speak here was fragile at best.
It made his skin crawl.
But he couldn't allow emotion to cloud his purpose. His mission outweighed everything: seize the Dark Elves' fortress.
Yet nothing was going as planned. He had barely received his orders before being dispatched straight to the fourth floor, with hardly any troops at his disposal.
The terrain was unfamiliar, the enemy entrenched within the thick walls of their fortress. Every step felt like stumbling blind in the dark.
Yofel Fortress, the final objective. Thaliondir had only heard of it through the words of the elders.
A colossal stronghold perched upon a lake at the heart of a volcanic mountain, its black stone walls fused seamlessly with the rock itself.
A position nearly unassailable, easy to defend and nearly impossible to storm, surrounded on all sides by the vast waters of the caldera lake, a nightmare for an army of Forest Elves who had always relied on deep forests and solid ground.
That was why Thaliondir had no choice but to turn to Varzak.
A man who once bore the name of Dark Elf, once even hailed as a promising candidate to inherit Yofel itself.
But he had failed. And instead of dying with honor, Varzak had chosen the path of corruption: casting aside his faith, betraying his kin, and being reborn into a warped, abhorrent Fallen Elf.
Thaliondir did not know the exact horrors Varzak had endured, but he could imagine the filth and disgrace.
One look at that twisting scar, one glance at that perpetual sneer, and he knew, this was the embodiment of decay.
And the thing that stung him most of all… was that he now needed to rely on such a creature.
Yes, even among the Forest Elves there were those who had abandoned the light, choosing to become Fallen Elves in pursuit of power. But for Thaliondir, even the thought of once sharing blood with them was repulsive.
Varzak, as if reading the contempt in his eyes, laughed, a raspy, jagged laugh that scraped across the cavern walls like rusted iron grinding together.
"Don't forget, Thaliondir… you were the ones who came to us. Not the other way around."
His clouded violet eyes gleamed, piercing every flicker of expression across the Forest Elf commander's cold face. "I know the unease of an impotent man all too well. Don't bother hiding it. To me, this isn't a weakness… it's an opportunity."
Thaliondir ground his teeth but said nothing.
Varzak tilted his head, that crooked grin tugging at the scar until it twitched grotesquely.
"Ah, I almost forgot…" His voice dripped with deliberate mockery. "One of the strategy scrolls went missing yesterday. Likely stolen from the human sailors your people were so quick to trust."
Thaliondir's eyes flashed with sudden ferocity, as though his blade might leap from its sheath.
Varzak did not flinch, on the contrary, he looked amused. "Sounds dire, doesn't it? But think carefully. Add today's little mishap to the pile, and it might actually play to our favor. That boy revealed himself. When he returns and spreads the word, they'll convince themselves our plans shifted because they were exposed."
His tone dropped, heavy and deliberate, each word sharpened with calculation.
"And there is nothing more convincing… than a lie the enemy chooses to tell themselves. The perfect deception… always begins inside their own minds."
Thaliondir remained silent, his hands clenching tightly beneath his cloak.
Varzak ignored the glare, turning toward the cave mouth. Through the gray mist, the shadowy outlines of unfinished black wooden warships loomed faintly.
"We'll attack as planned… or perhaps sooner. Unfortunately, progress doesn't favor us."
His bony finger pointed toward the hidden docks shrouded in shadow. "We need more human sailors. Quietly. Only they can steer these vessels to open water."
Varzak made no attempt to deny it, Elves were inept at naval warfare. The only path to Yofel was across the lake.
For a moment, silence. Only the sound of the waterfall echoed into the cavern.
"There are those who'll sell their lives for a pouch of gold. And there are those…" His voice twisted, low and cruel, "who need nothing more than a chain around their neck to drag a ship straight into the depths of hell."
Varzak's grin widened again, distorted like a bleeding wound, thickening the air with the stench of betrayal.
.....
Ren leaned against the side of the gondola, every breath tearing at his chest.
The arrows had been pulled free, yet each wound still bled relentlessly.
Pain burned along his skin, crimson trails soaking into his clothes, dripping onto the thin wooden planks of the gondola, shattering into crimson pixel-dust as they fell.
His health bar dropped steadily, the [Bleeding] effect gnawing at his strength with every second.
But that wasn't all. The paralysis toxin laced on the arrows spread through his body, freezing his joints one by one, until even gripping the oar felt impossible.
His vision blurred. The night itself wavered like rippling waves.
Ren slumped forward, his body reduced to faint, fading warmth, surrendering to the river as the gondola drifted listlessly across the pitch-black water.
The sound of oars, of waves against wood, everything grew distant. Only his heartbeat remained, slow and weary, as though it might stop at any moment.
Half-awake, half-dreaming, Ren could no longer tell what was real and what was illusion.
The tiny boat rocked gently across the silent waters. Ren's eyes slid shut, breaths short and ragged, until he sank into bottomless darkness.
And in that darkness, a voice echoed.
"Running away again, are you?"
Ren's eyes snapped open.
Before him was no longer the fog-draped night sky of the fourth floor, but a place both familiar and alien, like a sealed-off memory now laid bare.
Whitewashed walls under the flicker of fluorescent lights, the cold stench of antiseptic.
"Looks like… a hospital." Ren thought, his eyelids heavy, able to see only faint silhouettes, blurred as if hidden behind frosted glass.
Then came the voices, layered, accusing, relentless:
"You're useless."
"Why do you always run away?"
"I don't need your pity."
"You'll never… never be able to understand."
Ren shook his head, teeth clenched. But his feet were pinned to the pale floor, too heavy to lift, as if his entire body was nailed down by the past.
The voice did not stop. It rang clearer this time, no longer muffled like a distant memory.
Ren froze. He realized… this wasn't just a recollection. This was a voice he had actually heard, not long ago.
It wasn't loud, yet it cut sharp like a cold blade, slicing into his consciousness.
"So then… what am I to you, really?"
A figure appeared at the end of the corridor, vague and wavering, long hair stirring in a breeze that did not exist.
Those eyes, though blurred, made Ren's chest ache.
He wanted to call out, to speak a name, but his throat locked. No sound escaped.
Suddenly, the ground beneath him quaked, then split open. Giant shards of mirror cracked away, dragging Ren down into the abyss.
He reached out, grasping desperately, but found only empty air, freezing cold, surrounded by whirling fragments that reflected countless condemning faces.
And just before darkness swallowed him whole, a whisper brushed against his ear, neither warning nor curse...perhaps both:
"Don't let hesitation stop you again… Don't let it repeat, not even once."
.....
"R..." Ren's lips trembled, his throat constricted. In that instant, he jolted upright, as if torn away from the abyss.
"Are you alright?"
A different voice came from beside him, pulling Ren fully back into reality. A few players from a larger gondola had drifted close, one of them holding his shoulder, shaking gently.
"We found you unconscious on your boat," one said, suspicion flickering in their eyes. "At first we thought someone had abandoned it in the middle of the lake."
Ren blinked rapidly. The real world spun in his vision, the sound of water lapping against the hull whispering both near and far.
A shiver ran down his spine, the echoes of that dream still lingered in his ears.
He forced himself to pull a strained smile onto his pale face, his doll-like eyes flickering with faint life.
"Sorry…" Ren's hoarse voice broke out, "I must have dozed off."
"Thanks for waking me," he added slowly, his tone faint, as if relearning how to breathe. "Otherwise… I guess I might've fallen into the water while asleep."
His gaze flicked quickly to the interface, pausing on the Durability bar of his small boat.
It was intact, but the flashing warning digits made him exhale, a long breath tinged with fragile relief.
He gave a weary smile, bowing his head to thank the players who had roused him.
"It's nothing," one of them waved it off. "Just be careful next time. If that's all… we'll be going ahead."
Ren nodded. He stood in silence, watching the larger gondola drift away, the rhythmic dip of oars echoing, until it vanished from sight.
Only he remained, adrift on a small, swaying boat, over the lake that now shimmered with the first warm rays of dawn.