317 Dark Inheritance (Part 3)
The coffee shop was quiet, save for the hum of the espresso machine and the occasional murmur of conversation. It was the kind of place where the world outside faded into obscurity. A small pocket of peace amidst the chaos of the city. Paul sat by the window, his fingers wrapped around a plain black coffee that had long since gone cold. He had chosen a seat in the corner, facing the entrance. Old habits died hard.
The door chimed as it opened, and the woman he had been waiting on stepped inside. She spotted him instantly, making her way over with the confidence of someone who had nothing to fear. Paul watched her approach, carefully studying the way she carried herself. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation. She had the look of someone who had made a tough decision long before stepping through that door.
She slid into the seat across from him, after ordering and placing a caramel macchiato on the table with a deliberate grace. “You came early.”
“I don’t like surprises,” Paul replied, his voice even. “You said it was important.”
Clara sighed, stirring her drink before speaking. “You already know what this is about, don’t you?”
Paul studied her for a moment before answering. “The people from your… home. They’re making their move.”
Clara nodded, her expression carefully neutral. “And you knew about them long before this meeting. Didn’t you?”
There it was. The unspoken truth finally given voice. Paul didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Instead, he exhaled slowly, setting his cup down. “I’ve known for a long time, yes.”
Clara’s eyes narrowed slightly. “How long?”
Paul leaned back in his chair, glancing out the window as if weighing his answer. “Long enough to understand that my world isn’t as alone as I once thought. Longer than I’ve known most people in my life.”
Clara didn’t look surprised, only frustrated. “And you never said anything? Never asked me for any details? Never told anyone else?”
Paul met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Was there ever a need to?”
She exhaled sharply through her nose, leaning forward. “You could have tried.”
“And what? Sound like a lunatic? Tell people there are other worlds, that this life we live might be something far greater than anyone ever imagined? I wasn’t about to waste my breath on people who weren’t ready to hear it.”
“My friends I left behind. They’re convinced this world, and our world, are just pieces of something much larger. That the walls between everything are thinner than we think.”
Paul took a slow sip of his coffee before replying. “They’re not wrong.”
Clara frowned. “You’re really saying that? A man who spent his whole life mastering a game now believes it’s more than just that?”
Paul chuckled, but there was no humour in it. “Clara, I spent years playing all sorts of games, training to be the best. And I was. You know that. But even at the height of my career, something always felt… off. Like the game wasn’t just a game. That it was testing something more than just skill. Then came Pantheon Online, and that feeling only got stronger.”
Clara drummed her fingers against the table. “You think it’s real?”
“I think ‘real’ is a word we need to take with a grain of salt,” Paul said simply. “What I know is that people like us aren’t the only ones asking questions. And they’re not the only ones with answers.”
Clara’s jaw tightened. “So why now? Why tell me this now when you’ve kept quiet for so long? I came here ready to expose myself, but you already knew.”
Paul exhaled through his nose, his gaze flicking to the coffee shop’s other patrons. They were background noise, unimportant. But old instincts told him to be cautious. “Because you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t already know too much. And that means you’re in danger.”
Clara’s fingers tightened around her cup. “You think they’ll come for me?”
Paul’s silence was answer enough.
Clara scoffed, shaking her head. “So what, you’re here to warn me? To tell me to back off? I, we, thought you might be someone willing to work with us.”
“No,” Paul said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m here to ask if you’re ready. Because if you keep going down this path, there’s no turning back. This isn’t just about a game anymore. It never was.”
Clara held his gaze, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded. “I know. And I’m not backing down.”
Paul nodded once, approvingly. “Good. Then let’s make sure you’re prepared.”
The conversation shifted then, moving into strategy, possibilities, and the names of those who might be able to help. They spoke of worlds beyond their own, of forces moving unseen, and of the war that was brewing not just in Pantheon Online, but in the spaces between.
By the time they left the coffee shop, night had fallen. Paul watched Clara disappear into the city, knowing that their fates were now entwined. He had spent a whole career mastering weapons, but this? This was something different. A battle of knowledge, of secrets, of understanding.
And for the first time in years, he felt the thrill of a fight worth winning.
“Looks like I’ll need to accelerate their training programs,” Paul grinned as he looked forward to the day he may be able to rejoin the battlefields. “Things are finally getting interesting.”
—
The wind howled through the trees at the break of dawn, sending leaves skittering across the terrain. Skalr tightened his grip on his sword while feeling the reassuring weight of the runestones in his pockets. The Skardian warriors flanked him, battered from the constant fighting. To his side, Fjora crouched low, her keen eyes scanning the gaps between the trees.
‘These damned elves just never give up.’ Their pursuit had not wavered since the retreat began, and now, they were closing in again. Lithe figures slipped between the trees like wraiths with their bows drawn and metal gleaming in the sunlight.
“They won’t stop,” Fjora muttered, adjusting her stance as she readied her club. “They don’t tire the way we do.”
“They don’t have to,” Skalr growled. “We just need to remind them we’re not easy prey.”
A sharp whistle cut through the air. ‘A signal?’ Skalr barely had time to duck before arrows rained down around him, thumping as they struck the trunks nearby. The warriors around him scattered with their shields raised. However, even as the volley fell, the elves moved in.
The first came at Skalr fast, too fast for a normal man to react. A sword flashed towards his throat, but he twisted at the last moment, his blade deflecting the strike with a sharp clang. The elf moved like water, already shifting into another attack, but Skalr was a wall of fury. He slammed his shoulder forward, catching his foe off guard and sending them stumbling.
One heartbeat later, his sword cleaved through soft flesh, and the elf crumpled.
To his left, Fjora charged like a wounded bear between enemies, her club swinging in brutal arcs. A Skardian warrior fell with an arrow in his throat, but another stepped forward to take his place, roaring as he swung his axe in wide, punishing strokes.
The chaotic battle churned as a deadly tune of steel and screams played in the forest that morning for all to hear. But Skalr knew they were outnumbered. If they let the elves set the pace, they would be overwhelmed. He reached for a runestone in his pocket and pressed his palm against its cool surface.
Power thrummed through him as his skin tingled. Skalr whispered the old words, the ones passed down among Runelords of ages past, and the runes carved into the stone flared to life. The air around him shifted, charged with energy and heavy with the promise of pain.
The ground beneath the elves trembled. It started as a subtle vibration, but within moments, it became a violent quake. Loose stones rolled, the soil cracked, and the elves lost their footing. Some managed to leap clear, their agility saving them. But the others faltered, their balance disrupted just long enough for the Skardians to strike.
Skalr roared and drove forward. His sword sang through the air, carving a path through staggered enemies. One elf, regaining their balance, raised a dagger to strike. However, Skalr reached out and gripped their wrist, the runestone in his palm burned against the elf’s skin. A pulse of raw force erupted from his grasp, sending the elf flying back into the trunk of a tree with a sickening crunch.
To his right, Fjora took advantage of the disruption to crush as many elves into a sickening meat paste as she could. The Skardians, emboldened by their god-blessed leader, sliced through the disoriented elven line.
An elven commander barked orders from the rear, but Skalr had already pinpointed him. He turned his focus to the next runestone on his belt, one carved with the sigil of storms. He crushed it in his fist and felt the energy surge through his limbs. A moment later, the sky above rumbled in response.
Lightning split the bright skies. A blinding arc of white-hot fury struck the elven rear lines where the commander stood. The sheer force of it shook the trees and sent the elf tumbling lifelessly to the ground. Smoke and the smell of cooked meat wafted from his corpse. A murmur of fear rippled through the remaining elves as their disciplined front wavered in the face of Skalr’s display.
Skalr stepped forward, bloodied and grinning. “Run while you still can,” he bellowed, voice carrying over the battlefield. “Or stay, and let your gods watch you die.”
For the first time, hesitation flickered in the elves’ ranks. And then, as if some unspoken signal passed between them, they began to retreat, melting back into the trees as swiftly as they had come.
‘I hope that’s enough to finally give us a break.’ Skalr’s shoulders sagged from the exertion. “Damn, why’d you have to scare them off like that?” Fjora complained with a frown as she stared into the forest with longing.
“Fjora, do you ever think about the warriors instead of yourself? We’re all tired. There’s no guarantee we could’ve won if we kept fighting.”
“I suppose,” she groaned as she looked at the tired faces surrounding them. “What now?”
“Now? We catch up to our Gods and ensure the princess is safe. We need to retreat from the North. I wouldn’t mind a bit of rest in Eraldsfen.”