The dwarves, though lacking the swift stride of the elves, moved with a great advantage: the mountain was their home. Thanks to their knowledge of Erebor's levels and shortcuts, they burst into one of the open chambers much sooner than expected. There was no sign of the Eldens in that sector, but they soon found trouble.
Clinging to the vertical wall like a colossal, nightmarish creature, an enormous monster reacted to their arrival. The beast turned its long neck and unleashed a piercing roar that made the air vibrate in their lungs.
"Come here, you mangy lizard!" Dwalin challenged, clashing his axe against his shield.
"Where the hell are the Eldens?" Gloin asked, frantically searching for their allies.
"Doesn't matter now, run!" Bofur roared.
The provocation worked. The beast leaped into the void, unfurling its wings with a sound like tearing canvas to drop upon them. With the precision of a rehearsed drill, the dwarves dove back into the roofed corridors, denying the dragon the advantage of its aerial wingspan. A tide of flames licked the tunnel entrance just as they took cover behind reinforced stone walls.
But the sons of Durin had not come to hide. Splitting into small groups, they flanked the beast, taking advantage of the chamber's multiple exits. The dragon tried to take flight again, but a rain of arrows fired by the sisters struck its face, forcing it to close its eyes and hindering its ascent.
"Grah-zug-da!!" Bifur bellowed with his axe raised, drawing the dragon's fury.
The response was a blinding flare, but Bifur, agile despite his appearance, rolled under a column just in time. At that instant, from one of the upper staircases, Bofur and Bombur threw themselves into the void. Enhanced by the supernatural power of the troll runes, their bodies fell with the weight of siege boulders onto the dragon's back just as it rose a few meters from the floor.
The impact was brutal. The dragon let out a raspy groan as it was forced down by the unexpected weight. In a violent twist, it shook itself in mid-air, throwing both dwarves against the stone floor. However, the runic resistance allowed them both to roll and stand up almost instantly.
Dwalin, seeing the beast enraged and ready to incinerate his companions, hurled a mace with precision toward the monster's eye.
"Take that, you giant newt!" Dwalin shouted.
Before he could celebrate the hit, Filian knocked him down with a violent tackle, saving him by milliseconds from being crushed by the lash of the dragon's tail.
The dwarves were fighting an incredible battle, using their numbers to disorient the beast. Thanks to the troll runes, their striking force was now capable of jarring the dragon, and their resistance allowed them to endure impacts that would have killed any other mortal. But the air was growing increasingly hot and exhaustion was setting in; they knew their luck wouldn't be infinite.
The dragon exhaled one last tide of fire before retreating. The dwarves dove behind any stone outcropping, avoiding incineration by millimeters, though the scorching heat seared their lungs and turned their armor red. When the roar of the flames ceased, only the echo of heavy flapping remained. As they emerged from their shelters, the chamber was empty; the beast had vanished into the shadows of the upper vaults.
"Is it gone?" Kilian asked, removing his mask and wiping sweat from his brow.
"It must be afraid of us," Bofur huffed, trying to inject some spirit into the group. "It's not even as big as the legends said. If we regroup with the Eldens and their strange arts, that worm won't stand a chance. Where have they gotten to?"
"No... don't get overconfident," Dwalin warned, gripping his axe handle with white knuckles. "That dragon is cunning. It doesn't run away from a few hammer blows."
Dwalin scanned the blackness of the ceilings with growing nervousness.
"Come on, let's find that lizard. The worst thing that can happen is losing sight of it; the worst predator is the one you can't see. Everyone, eyes sharp!"
The group advanced under Dwalin's command, moving through halls where the silence was more oppressive than the noise of battle. They crossed a side corridor and nearly collided head-on with the Elden detachment advancing in the opposite direction.
"Finally!" Bofur exclaimed at the sight of his allies' gleaming armor.
"What are you doing here? Where is Bilbo?" Gloin asked immediately.
"We chased the dragon, but it outwitted us in the upper galleries," Ansbach replied coldly. "The hobbit is still in the treasure chamber; his trail is lost among the mountains of gold."
"Hm... Smaug escaped you, we gave him a surprise, and he fled again," Dwalin snorted, though the feeling that everything was being too easy made his stomach churn. "And your lord? Where is Miquella?"
"He took a divergent path," Ansbach replied tersely, exchanging a look with his companions. "And Malenia? She was supposed to be waiting with you."
"She went ahead a while ago. Who knows where she's wandering now; that woman knows neither fear nor maps," Bofur commented with a grimace.
"As did the elves and Latenna," Filian added.
"Enough talk. We must reunite with the rest before the dragon hunts them down separately," Dwalin ordered.
The Eldens, recognizing that the dwarves possessed an instinctive connection to Erebor's architecture, allowed them to lead the way. However, they did not lower their guard; in the Elden world, when a powerful enemy disappeared, it was usually the prelude to something worse.
...
Miquella traversed the deepest chambers of the mountain with the freedom of a shadow. His step was ethereal, a silent caress upon the stone floor. This section of the fortress, designed with the intimate scale of the dwarves, was a natural refuge where no dragon could ever penetrate. Without major obstacles, the demigod reached a vault where, upon a solitary pedestal, rested an ironwood box. Inside, a multitude of white gems emitted a cold, pure glow: the Jewels of Lasgalen.
Sketching a satisfied smile, Miquella extended his hand. As his grace recovered its former splendor, magics as complex as space and gravity once again bent to his will. With a slight gesture, the jewels vanished, stored in his personal dimension—a metaphysical corner where the Ranni doll would have to share space somewhat tightly for a while.
With his promise to the Elven King fulfilled, Miquella didn't waste a second. Trina, from the dream plane, sent him urgent warnings: the air was thick with sulfur and despair. He had to return to the fray.
...
Bilbo crawled along the slopes of gold, his ragged breathing the only sound that dared break the chamber's silence. He had been saved by a miracle thanks to the Elden, but he was fully aware that he was no warrior; he lacked the strength to face a winged calamity. His only hope was to fulfill his task while the din of battle gave him a clear path. Or so he hoped.
As he searched through the piles of gold, a hiss of air displaced by immense wings froze him in place. But this time, survival instinct was faster than dread: he turned with agility, unsheathing Sting. The blade glowed with a faint, warning blue.
Looking up, he saw the beast once more, gliding beneath the vaults. The dragon no longer bore its former unblemished majesty; now, a long, bloody scar ran across its face, from eye socket to jaw—the work of Elden steel. Bilbo cursed his luck: the predator had returned right to where he was.
The dragon seemed to savor the scent of the halfling's fear. Its irises of fire locked onto Bilbo, and it veered violently in the air, diving toward him. However, before it could get close, an arrow flew like a silver bolt, striking directly into the open flesh of its facial wound.
The creature unleashed a roar that mixed pain with blind fury. The impact diverted its trajectory, forcing it to look for the aggressor. It had no time to focus its vision: a new flurry of projectiles, fired with supernatural aim, began to hammer its face.
It was Legolas and Tauriel. The elves moved among the shadows of the columns with mercurial fluidity, harassing the dragon without rest and becoming its primary distraction.
Forgetting the hobbit entirely, it roared with hate and changed course to pursue the Silvans, but it was interrupted by a third salvo of arrows coming from a completely opposite direction. With uncontrollable rage, the dragon exhaled a flare that illuminated the entire citadel while searching for its new attacker. There, moving at a speed that defied her disability, was Latenna. Riding upon her wolf, the Elden archer fired with a rhythmic and lethal cadence.
Caught in a triangle of crossfire between the three archers, the dragon found itself besieged. Although the arrows could not pierce its chest plates, the constant punishment on its previous wounds drove it mad with pain. The hunters shifted, drawing the beast away from the central chamber and luring it into shadowed areas to avoid its fiery retaliation.
Bilbo let out a sigh of relief, seeing the danger move away once more. The dread remained, rooted in his bones; he knew that until he left that mountain, peace would be only an illusion. He stood up, determined to use the respite to find the jewel, but fate had other plans.
Beneath his feet, the ground began to vibrate. A metallic sound, like a million bells clashing together, filled the room. The mountains of coins began to slide, creating avalanches of gold.
...
In the heart of the workshops, Thorin struggled with the rusted mechanisms of the forges. Erebor's heat had been extinguished decades ago, and restarting such a colossus of stone and iron seemed a task of days, not minutes. However, fate decided to light the fire in a much more violent way: a dragon burst into the great forge with a roar that shook the very foundations of the mountain.
Thorin turned, ready to spit his hatred at the being that took his kingdom and family. But, upon fixing his eyes on the creature gliding beneath the vaults, his muscles tensed and his blood turned to ice. He did not move. He did not roar. He stood petrified, his eyes wide with a sudden and horrific realization.
The dragon puffed out its chest, revealing the glow of an internal bonfire about to burst.
"Thorin!" Balin's shout echoed from the workshop entrance, snapping him out of his trance.
Thorin dove behind the parapet of one of the forges just as the beast released its breath. At the same time, the arriving dwarves threw their explosive bombs. The bursts of light and shrapnel blinded the dragon, diverting the torrent of flames. The fire did not reach Thorin, but it directly struck the coal bunkers and the forge burners, starting the ignition process in an accidental and violent way. The machines of Erebor roared back to life, fed by the breath of their own enemy.
The Eldens and the rest of the dwarves burst into the workshop, joining the siege. Miquella's warriors sought heights from which to drop onto the monster's scales, while Filian and Kilian harassed its eyes with arrows. The dwarves, spurred by the return of heat to their home, activated water levers, carts, and heavy siege machinery to corner the beast.