The Sky — One Hour Before Dawn
The winds in the heights howled like a tormented spirit.
Milerni soared at a tremendous altitude, her massive black wings tearing through the grey clouds as if sailing through a sea of mist. Behind her, Liren clung tightly to the transformed bird's back, her arm wrapped around the sleeping Freila to keep her from falling into the open void.
The air was cold here. Cold as the breath of the dead.
Liren looked down. The earth was far below, merely vague shadows and small points of light twinkling like fallen stars. The Dwarven Kingdom was not yet visible.
Milerni (her voice in Liren's mind, tired but sharp): Kinrith is approaching. I can feel the winds dying behind us.
Liren: How far between us and him?
Milerni: I don't know. His silence leaves no trace. But he's close. Closer than we expected.
Liren: Can we reach before he strikes?
Milerni: I don't know. But I'll try.
She beat her wings harder. The wind whistled like an arrow shot from a giant's bow.
And below, the contours of the mountains began to take shape like the teeth of a sleeping beast.
---
The Kingdom of Kharad-Val — Eastern Gate
Milerni landed on a rocky outcrop fifty meters from the main gate.
It wasn't a graceful landing. She nearly stumbled, and her wings trembled violently before folding back into her human body. Her transformation was swift, but her face was pale, and her golden eyes flickered with obvious exhaustion.
Milerni: "The wind passages around this mountain... are twisted. Warped. As if someone is strangling the winds with their fingers."
The Black Knight: "Kinrith."
Milerni: "Yes. His silence reaches here even while he's far. The dwarves feel it, even if they don't yet know its source."
The Black Knight descended slowly from Milerni's back, his eyes examining the massive iron gate, the ancient runes carved on its sides, the flickering torchlights beyond the walls.
Then Liren descended, carrying Freila in her arms.
The child was still asleep. In Liren's arms, at an altitude of thousands of feet, facing winds that had traveled distances between worlds, Freila slept as if in a bed of down. Her small face was calm, her fingers stubbornly clutched at Liren's cloak, her breath steady as the rhythm of distant drums.
Liren looked at her. For a moment, she forgot fear.
Liren (to herself): How do you sleep, little one? How does one who has seen what you've seen sleep?
The Black Knight: "She won't hear him."
She raised her head. He was looking at her, or at the child, or at both.
The Black Knight: "Kinrith's silence doesn't reach one who sleeps in the arms of someone they love. I don't know why. Perhaps because love is louder than fear."
Silence. She didn't know how to respond.
At the gate, something moved. The sound of metal striking metal, then the slow creak of ancient pulleys.
A small opening in the gate slid aside, revealing a pair of sharp blue eyes.
A Rough Voice: "Who are you? And what are you doing at the gates of Kharad-Val before dawn?"
The Black Knight stepped forward once.
The Black Knight: "I am a messenger of death. And these are my companions. We come to save you from him."
Silence. Then the blue eyes blinked.
The Rough Voice: "...Wait here."
The opening closed.
Liren: "Did you have to start with that?"
The Black Knight: "Dwarves appreciate honesty."
Milerni: "Dwarves appreciate staying alive. And you started with 'messenger of death.'"
The Black Knight: "Same thing."
The great gate opened.
---
The King's Hall — One Hour Later
King Borin Ironfoot was a short man. But when he entered the hall, Liren felt as if a mountain was moving.
His long white beard was braided with golden threads hanging down to his belt, and his bare arms were covered with scars from ancient battles. His single eye—the other covered by a patch of hammered iron—examined them one by one like a jeweler inspecting gemstones that might be fake.
King Borin: "Knight of the Black Sun. Daughter of Voide. A woman carrying a child." His eye stopped at Liren. "And you... your face is familiar."
Liren stiffened.
King Borin: "Did you come with the Titans when they burned my fathers' halls?"
Silence. Then:
Liren: "Yes."
She didn't deny it. She didn't make excuses. She simply confessed.
King Borin looked at her for a long time. A very long time. His hand gripped his throne.
King Borin: "Then you are the enemy."
Liren: "I was."
King Borin: "And what are you now?"
Liren looked at Freila, who had finally woken at the sound of the king's voice, and was rubbing her eyes with a small hand—confused, frightened, but not crying.
Liren: "I don't know yet."
Silence.
Then, suddenly, King Borin laughed.
Not a mocking laugh. The laugh of an old man who had heard a thousand stories and expected a different ending.
King Borin: "Four hundred years I've lived, and this is the first time a former enemy admits their crimes without blaming others." He shook his head. "Perhaps there's hope for you after all."
He looked at the Black Knight.
King Borin: "Tell me about this coming silence. And about your plan to face it. If you convince me... I'll give you a smith to sharpen your weapon."
The Black Knight: "And if I don't convince you?"
King Borin: "I'll give you a grave to shelter you from the silence."
The Black Knight smiled. A small smile, barely visible.
The Black Knight: "Fair enough."
---
Two Hours Later — Guest Chamber
The room was small, but warm. The hearth burned with a calm orange flame, and the floor was covered with polar bear furs. On the walls hung ceremonial axes and ancient shields, silent witnesses to centuries of dwarven history.
Freila sat on the edge of the stone bed, staring at the fire in silence.
Liren: "Are you hungry?"
Freila: "No."
Liren: "Thirsty?"
Freila: "No."
Liren: "What then?"
Freila raised her head. Her eyes were wide, but there were no tears in them.
Freila: "Nini... I remembered something."
Liren froze.
Freila: "The man who used to hit me at the tavern... he always said I didn't deserve a name. That I didn't deserve anything." She paused. "But my mother... she told me a name. Before she died. She said I was Freila. And that she loved me."
Liren: "..."
Freila: "Why did I forget that? Why did I only remember it now?"
Liren couldn't answer.
At the door, the Black Knight stood. No one knew how long he had been there.
The Black Knight: "Because Kinrith is approaching. His silence always precedes him. It begins with forgetting small sounds first. Mothers' voices. Children's names. Then people forget how to breathe."
He looked at Freila.
The Black Knight: "But you remembered. That means your mother's voice was loud. Louder than his silence."
Freila stared at him. Then, slowly, she smiled.
Freila: "Thank you... Sir Knight."
He didn't respond. But he didn't leave either.
---
Moments Later — A Whisper in the Shadows
Liren approached the Black Knight with slow, cautious steps. She looked at him, then at Freila who had returned to staring at the fire, her small fingers playing with the edge of her cloak.
Liren lowered her voice so the child wouldn't hear. It was almost a whisper, barely audible.
Liren: "Kanid..."
He didn't look at her. But he tilted his head slightly, a sign that he was listening.
Liren (whispering): "The family... that I annihilated. The Reven family." She paused. The words seemed to stumble in her mouth. "Was... was it her? Was Freila... their daughter?"
Silence.
A long, heavy silence. As if the air itself had frozen in place.
The Black Knight finally looked at her. His eyes were sunken in shadow, but they burned with a faint light—an ancient, tired light, carrying answers she wasn't sure she wanted to hear.
The Black Knight (in a very low voice): "No."
The word was like a drop of water in a desert. Small, but carrying life.
Liren trembled. She hadn't known she was holding her breath until now.
The Black Knight: "Freila's family was from a neighboring village. A small village, with no name. They were killed by..." He paused. Searched for the right word. "...others. Not you."
Liren: "But the seal... you said it was from the Reven family."
The Black Knight: "The seal was with her when I found her. Perhaps one of the survivors from my village took it and gave it to her for protection. Perhaps she found it in the ruins. I don't know."
Liren: "So she... she's not from..."
The Black Knight (interrupting with a sharp whisper): "She's an orphan. No family. No past. Only a name her mother gave her while dying, trying to protect her."
He looked directly at her.
The Black Knight: "Just like you."
Liren trembled. His words were like a knife stab, but they didn't hurt. They were... liberating.
Liren (whispering with a choked voice): "Thank you."
He didn't respond. Only nodded slightly, barely perceptibly.
Then he left.
Liren was left alone at the door, looking at Freila who still sat before the fire, her small face illuminated by the warm flame, her eyes dreaming of things she didn't know.
Liren (to herself): She's not among my victims. She's not among those I killed.
She breathed deeply for the first time in hours.
Liren (to herself): She's just... Freila.
---
The Forge — Before Sunset
King Borin's forge lay in the heart of the mountain, where rivers of volcanic lava flowed through carefully carved channels, and where the fires had never been extinguished since the kingdom's founding.
The Grand Smith, Drukk Bronzefinger, was an aged dwarf with arms like tree trunks and a beard burned by thousands of sparks. He looked at the crystalline shard the Black Knight placed before him, then at the knight, then back at the shard.
Drukk: "This... this is not a gemstone."
The Black Knight: "No."
Drukk: "This... is something from there." He pointed his thumb upward, toward the surface, toward the outside world. "From the Rift."
The Black Knight: "Yes."
Drukk: "You're insane."
The Black Knight: "That wasn't a question."
Drukk: "No. That was a diagnosis."
Drukk was silent. Then he took the shard between his thick fingers, raised it before his eyes, studied it like a doctor examining fatal wounds.
Drukk: "Do you know how many smiths have been killed by shards like this? They devour the soul before touching metal."
The Black Knight: "I know."
Drukk: "And you ask me to sharpen it? To make it more lethal?"
The Black Knight: "I ask you to make it a sword. A sword that cuts silence."
Drukk looked at him for a long time. Then, suddenly, he laughed.
Drukk: "Damn you, knight. Damn your foolish courage." He placed the shard on the anvil. "I'll do it. But not because I believe in your cause."
The Black Knight: "Why then?"
Drukk: "Because I'm seven hundred years old, and I've never sharpened anything from the First Rift before. I'll do it to see if my old hands can still work miracles."
He raised his hammer.
Drukk: "Now step back. The sparks from this thing might kill an ordinary human."
---
Night — Guest Chamber
Freila was sleeping. Milerni was on the roof, watching the winds. The Black Knight was at the forge.
Liren was alone with the fire and her thoughts.
A light knock at the door.
King Borin: "Am I disturbing you?"
He entered without waiting for an answer. He stood before the hearth, his hands clasped behind his back, his single eye staring into the flames.
King Borin: "Do you know how many of my people were killed in the Titans' attack on Kharad-Val?"
Liren: "No."
King Borin: "Twelve thousand. Among them my father, three of my brothers, and my only daughter."
Silence.
King Borin: "I used to wish I could see you tortured. I used to wish I could be the one to torture you."
Liren: "And what changed?"
He looked at her.
King Borin: "The child. Freila." He paused. "She looks at you the way my daughter used to look at me."
Liren flinched inwardly.
King Borin: "I don't know how a killer can become a mother. I don't know how blood can transform into love." He shook his head. "But I know that if my daughter were alive, she would be Freila's age now. And she would look at whoever protects her the same way."
He turned to her.
King Borin: "So I won't touch you. Not for your sake. For hers."
Then he left.
Liren was left alone with the fire, and with two names heavy on her heart:
Freila.
And a king's daughter whose name she didn't know.
---
Dawn — The Second Day
The sound of the hammer filled the great hall.
Drukk Bronzefinger hadn't slept that night. He hadn't eaten. He hadn't drunk. He only struck, and struck again, and sharpened, and sharpened again.
And the crystalline shard was changing.
It was no longer just a strange piece of glass. It was taking shape. A curve. An edge.
Drukk (to himself): Damn you, knight. Damn this insane metal.
But he didn't stop striking.
And in the guest chamber, Freila opened her eyes.
Freila: "Nini... I'm hungry."
Liren, who also hadn't slept that night, looked at her and smiled. It was a small smile, tired, unaccustomed to her face.
Liren: "I'll bring you breakfast."
Freila: "Will we stay here?"
Liren stopped at the door.
Liren: "Until the knight finishes preparing his weapon. Then..."
Freila: "Then we'll face the silent monster?"
Liren: "...Yes."
Freila: "Will you be there?"
Liren looked at her. At the child who had forgiven her without understanding the meaning of forgiveness. At the child who chose to trust her despite all evidence pointing to the contrary.
Liren: "I'll be there. Until the end."
And she left.
On the roof, Milerni closed her golden eyes, feeling the winds die one by one.
At the forge, Drukk struck the hammer one last time, and the sword's blade opened for the first time.
In the throne room, King Borin ordered his soldiers to prepare.
And somewhere, very far and very close at the same time, a shadow that made no sound walked.
Walked toward them.
To be continued...
To my dear readers and fans of the world of "The Dark of Fantasy,"
I am writing to you today with a heart full of gratitude mixed with deep regret. I offer my sincere apologies for the sudden and unjustified hiatus in updating the story for a full 19 days. I know that many of you were eagerly awaiting the fate of our characters, and my delay was a clear failure on my part to honor your enthusiasm and interest.
I don't want to make excuses; instead, I want to be completely honest with you, as I owe you transparency. During the past period, I went through a phase of reevaluating myself as a writer. I felt an urgent need for personal and professional development to be able to deliver the best to you in the upcoming chapters.
Amidst this reflection, I also became engrossed in a new literary project close to my heart: the novel "The Emperor Who Buried His Heart Twice." It's a work in which I've found a special passion, and I hope it lives up to your expectations. This preoccupation, along with a period of laziness and reluctance to write for personal reasons, made me neglect my primary responsibility towards you.
I know that 19 days is a long time without a doubt, and I completely understand your feelings of frustration. I hope you can accept my apology, and I assure you that this period served as a recharge of my creative energy. I have returned with a clearer vision and a more mature style to continue our journey together through the darkness of "The Dark of Fantasy."
I have returned to writing with all my passion, and I will work to compensate you for this delay with strong and exciting chapters.
Thank you for your patience and continued support; you are the fuel that drives me to keep going.
With my sincerest apologies and appreciation,
[Ahmed Saad]