The plain is filled with tense soldiers. Once proud and mighty, now shaken and doubtful, they watch their captain, disturbed, as he approaches his tent. He settles his horse and prepares to enter the fortress, mumbling to himself, unaware of the sea of eyes following his every move.
Whispers ripple through the ranks, shaking morale. Sir Raddick raises his voice to gather the men.
- Do not fear! The hostages are safe, the Princess included. We have no reason to believe otherwise, and I will not tolerate you thinking so. We came knowing it would be difficult. Do not be fooled by the ease of our journey so far. The real battle begins now! This battle is a negotiation. That is all we intend, but it is not all we are prepared to do. Vice-commander, you will come along.
- Yes, Sir!
- Men, we will return with the hostages — safe and unharmed.
A loud cheer rises, filling the plain, before the army disperses back to their tents.
Within minutes, the three knights lay down their weapons before the great gate of the fortress: Sir Camillo, the Captain; Sir Raddick, commander of the battalion; and Sir Neitles, vice-commander.
They are searched one by one before passing through the gate.
Once inside, they are escorted up to the castle doors and dragged into the Grand Hall. The three men study the room with silent caution. They can't help but notice the handcrafted ensign — a brick tower crowned by a cone-shaped roof, guarded by two crossed hammers. Beneath it, Master Igion stands tall and unyielding, with Darian and Cornelious slightly behind him.
Camillo's composure falters. His fingers grip the hilt of his sword as if holding himself together. His eyes dart across the hall — no trace of the princess. If she has been taken back to where the hostages are, her life may already be at risk.
- What did you do with the princess?! Bring her here immeadiatly!
- How dare you not greet the Master?! Insolent beasts.
Darian's voice strikes like a hammer. Master Igion's gaze burns into the standing men.
- How do such inferior beings expect our kindness when they show such disrespect? The Dwarven Masters have existed long before humankind itself. Ancient races deserve reverence — and their leaders must be honored. Do not dare diminish the stature of the elder before you.
The knights bow to the dwarf. Sir Raddick, calm and deliberate, appeases the grey Lord.
- Greetings to the Dwarven Masters. With due reverence, I beg for your forgiveness. Please, do not harm the star of our empire nor the rest of our people. We hope to proceed as planned — without bloodshed.
After a brief hesitation, Sir Camillo follows their lead, lowering his head reluctantly.
- Greetings. I ask that we begin the negotiation. What are your demands?
- We do not intend to keep the hostages, nor exchange them for anything. We only ask that you leave our sight — and our forest — in peace.
The golden knight stands. Sir Raddick and Sir Neitles raise only their heads, listening as the main voices speak.
- We shall leave when the princess is safe.
Sir Raddick clears his throat loudly. Sir Camillo's mind is fixed only on the princess — and the sword that would make his head fly, if his men harmed her along with the other hostages. But Raddick's sense of justice sparks an idea. Camillo needs to reach the hostages before his men do — to "save" her himself.
- ...And the hostages, of course. I need to see them — now.
- The hostages are unarmed. We will release them once you withdraw your army.
- How will we know you are not tricking us? The hostages may already be dead!
Sir Camillo's voice echoes through the Grand Hall — too sharp for a man merely negotiating. His anger and urgency ripple through the fortress. Darian and Cornelious exchange glances before Darian resumes his furious act.
- You will do as we say, if you don't want harm to come to your precious princess!
- You intend to behead the princess right in front of us? Is that why you brought us here?
Cornelious steps forward, hiding a light smile under his brown beard.
- Lord Igion, perhaps we should let them check where the hostages are kept.
- You're right, this is going nowhere. We'll do as you say, Master Cornelious.
The dwarves head to the north side of the fortress, followed by the three men whispering behind them.
- Captain, something doesn't feel right...
- Brother, don't start with your feelings and your so-called commander's great instinct.
- Commander... what?
Sir Neitles lets out a contained laugh. Sir Raddick is unaware of his fame and honorable gossip among the knights, which only fuels Sir Camillo's jealousy.
- You three, keep quiet! And don't even think of trying anything.
At Darian's growled warning, the men straighten and continue walking in silence. Each turn looks the same. Even the castle's most seasoned knights begin to lose their sense of direction. The same old, dark grey bricks stretch across every corridor. Every door they pass reveals the same walls, the same smell, the same faint glow from the glassed candles. Blackened iron fixtures appear often too, along with old wooden furniture scattered here and there.
They reach a long corridor that feels different. The air grows colder — and oddly fresh — with each step. Even the candle flames, trapped behind their glass cages, flicker uneasily. A faint scent of earth and iron fills the passage — the unmistakable breath of a fortress built deep beneath the mountain.
They stop before a pair of thick wooden doors reinforced with familiar blackened iron. Darian pushes one open, revealing a low-ceilinged chamber below.
The place is simple, but not cruel. A single narrow window — barred with thick iron — lets in a thread of pale light from above, slicing through the gloom. Along each wall lie a dozen small beds, almost touching one another. Each is covered with humble but clean blankets and modest pillows, all neatly arranged. A thin veil of dust gathers in one corner, and a faint trace of mold creeps along the lower stones — old, but not neglected.
From the corridor, the knights can only glimpse the distant shapes of the humans held within. Chained to the floor, the hostages remain perfectly still.
Sir Camillo narrows his eyes, squinting into the half-darkness. Raddick's brow furrows. Something feels off — too still, too quiet — but before he can speak, Darian gestures toward another passage branching off to the right.
- The princess is kept apart, for her safety.
At his words, their focus shifts instantly. They follow him to a smaller cell just beyond. The air there feels less cold, touched by the faint scent of polished metal and old wood. Though still carved from stone, the room bears more care — a carpet of dwarven weave beneath her feet, a sturdy oak bed draped in finer linen, and a candleholder carved with runes glowing faintly red.
Behind the bars, the princess sits upright. Her dress is torn, but her poise remains unbroken. Her hands and feet are tied, and her head still covered by the coarse sackcloth.
The knights kneel before her as soon as they see her.
- We bow before the royal star of the Empire, Princess Claudette Anes Bonesses.
Sir Camillo's eyes dart across the room as a plan forms in his mind. He can still take the princess and proceed with his plan — he only needs to take her with him, claiming it as a guarantee for the hostages' safety. Then, his men sneaking inside will kill the hostages as they return to the battalion outside the walls.
- We want the princess released. She leaves with us. Now.
Darian's rage bursts again at the knight's demand.
- You don't get to make demands! You saw they're alive. Now get your filthy troops off our grounds!
From the corner of his eye, Sir Camillo catches movement in the corridor. Cornelious's head shifts slightly, following it as well. The knight snaps his attention back, uneasy.
- Ye-yes... We saw them — and how our princess is being held! This is no place for Her Highness! She is comming with us.
As Sir Camillo raises his voice on the words Her Highness, a fully clad black shadow peeks from around the corner of the corridor, then disappears after a single nod.
Darian steps forward, bristling. Cornelious lifts a hand, stopping him once again. He glances at the Lord, wearing that same faint, knowing smile.
Then the Lord speaks up.
- If you take the princess with you, will you retreat your men?
- I shall do as agreed if you let the princess leave this dirtiness! Do it as a guarantee that you will release the rest of the hostages.
Lord Igion lets out a small sigh before agreeing to the terms.
- You may take the princess and your troops out of our sight. Half of the hostages will be brought to you once your retreat begins, and the other half will be escorted to the far side of the river, where they too shall be released.
The knights nod. Cornelious opens the cell and unties the knot at the princess's feet, dragging her gently out. Sir Camillo steps closer, and the girl flinches at the echo of his armor. Before the golden knight can notice, Darian stops him.
- We will take her to the walls.
As Camillo opens his mouth to object, Lord Igion steps in front of him. Even from below, the dwarf's presence is intimidating. Camillo steps back slightly and silently agrees, as long as the princess follows right behind.
They walk back through the same endless corridors, this time in heavier silence — thicker, more oppressive. Sir Camillo's thoughts race; he prays his men are smart enough to stay hidden.
Finally, they reach the walls. The great gate creaks open, and suspense spreads through the army outside. Every soldier tenses while the knights are handed their weapons back. The clang of metal echoes faintly in the wind.
Sir Camillo kneels before the girl, still covered. His hand rises toward her as his head bows low.
- Princess, please take my hand.
- You fool, she can't even see.
Darian's mockery cuts through the heavy mood, and the soldiers burst into laughter along him — until their captain's pride snaps. Camillo's face reddens as he grabs the princess by the arm, shoving her forward and shouting:
- Soldiers! Raise your swords! They killed allthe hostages — only the princess is safe! We must bring them justice!