The freezing mountain wind howled across the shattered valley.
Lyra dropped to her knees beside Ravon's unconscious body. Her hands shook violently as she pulled the last glass vial from her dimensional pouch. She popped the cork with her teeth and forced the pale green liquid down his throat.
The deep, life-threatening lacerations on his chest slowly knit together, but the basic, homemade potion wasn't strong enough to heal the internal damage caused by the dragon's strike. Ravon didn't wake up. He remained completely motionless, his breathing shallow.
We have to leave this valley, Lyra thought, her chest heaving as she fought through the void of her empty mana core. If another monster comes, we are both dead.
She grabbed Ravon's chipped sword and her wooden staff, shoving them hastily into her dimensional pouch. She grabbed Ravon by his fur collar, hauling his limp arm over her shoulder.
"I will not let you die," Lyra gritted out, her boots slipping in the snow.
She began to walk. It was agonizing, back-breaking labor. With no magic to enhance her physical strength, dragging the swordsman felt like pulling a boulder. Ravon's boots dragged through the deep powder, carving two parallel, lifeless lines in their wake.
After half an hour of agonizing progress, Lyra's knees buckled.
She tripped, collapsing face-first into the snow. Her lungs burned. Her arms felt like dead lead. She forced her hands against the ice, pushing herself back up to her feet. She grabbed Ravon's arm again, taking one more step.
A deep rumble vibrated through the bedrock beneath her boots.
Lyra slowly turned her head, looking back toward the main peak of Mount Cryostone.
A massive wall of white snow was roaring down the mountainside, gathering thousands of tons of ice and rock as it plummeted directly toward the valley.
An avalanche, Lyra realized, her eyes widening.
She gripped Ravon tighter, trying frantically to walk faster. But her exhausted legs simply refused to move. She tripped over a hidden rock and crashed into the snow, completely unable to stand back up.
The roar of the approaching avalanche was deafening.
Lyra looked at the unconscious boy beside her. I failed, she thought, the bitter realization settling into her chest.
"Thank you for treating me like a friend," she whispered to the unhearing swordsman. She closed her eyes, facing the roaring mountain. "Thank you, Mother, for everything."
She waited for the crushing weight of the ice.
The snow beneath her erupted.
Lyra gasped as the earth gave way. Two gaint, sand-colored Sandworms burst from the frozen ground directly beneath them. Before the avalanche could strike, the enormous beasts gently caught Ravon and Lyra in their circular maws.
The worms dove instantly back into the earth, burrowing deep beneath the bedrock just as the millions of tons of snow obliterated the valley above.
The Sandworms moved at high speed, weaving smoothly through the subterranean tunnels. Through the darkness, Lyra could feel the entire Cryostone range shaking above them. The ecosystem was collapsing. Multiple avalanches were tearing the mountains apart.
They are taking us out through a safe route, Lyra realized, her vision swimming as the exhaustion finally overpowered her fading adrenaline. They are saving us.
As the Sandworms breached the final boundary of the Cryostone mountains and entered the desert bedrock, Lyra's eyes rolled back, and she finally lost consciousness.
Ravon slowly opened his eyes.
He blinked against a soft, ambient light. Instead of a freezing mountain sky, a smooth, expertly carved sandstone ceiling loomed directly above his face.
Where am I? He sat up quickly. He was resting on a wide, flat sandstone bed. He immediately looked to his left. Lyra was lying on a matching stone slab beside him, breathing evenly in a deep sleep.
A profound wave of relief washed over him. We survived.
He looked down at his own body. The deep cuts and frostbite were completely gone, his skin healed seamlessly. However, a sharp, throbbing ache flared deep in his ribs and lungs when he inhaled. The external wounds are healed, but the internal damage is still there. He reached across the gap between the stone beds and gently shook the witch's shoulder. "Lyra... Lyra, wake up."
Lyra groaned softly. Her sharp blue eyes fluttered open. She sat up, her gaze darting around the unfamiliar, ancient sandstone room.
"How are you?" Ravon asked quietly.
"I am fine," Lyra answered, rubbing her eyes. She looked at him. "How is your condition?"
"Minor internal pain," Ravon said, stretching his arms. "Nothing I can't handle."
"Where are we?"
"I don't know. I just woke up too."
Lyra reached into her dimensional pouch. She pulled out her curved staff and tossed Ravon his chipped sword. "Let's get out of here."
Gripping his hilt tightly, Ravon nodded.
They stepped out of the room, keeping their weapons raised and their guard completely up. They entered a wide, sprawling corridor carved entirely from sandstone. They moved methodically, pushing open heavy stone doors to check the adjacent rooms. Every single chamber was completely empty, coated in a thin layer of undisturbed desert dust.
Finally, they stood before a towering, intricately carved double door at the end of the corridor.
"This is the last room," Ravon whispered.
He pushed the heavy doors open. They stepped inside.
It was a massive, breathtaking hall. A vibrant, pristine red carpet stretched perfectly down the center of the sandstone floor. Six massive pillars—three on the left, three on the right—carried the weight of the vaulted ceiling. Beside the carpet, neat rows of sandstone chairs were arranged, all facing the far end of the room.
At the end of the carpet sat a high, majestic stone throne.
Resting upon the throne was a solitary figure.
Lyra's breath hitched. She quickly lowered her staff. "It's a king's hall," she whispered urgently. "We need to leave immediately."
They spun around to retreat through the double doors.
"You do not need to leave in a hurry," a deep, resonant voice echoed through the hall.
Ravon and Lyra froze. Slowly, they turned back to face the throne.
The figure stood up, stepping down from the dais. He stood perfectly straight, an imposing six and a half feet tall. He wore an elegant, flowing sand-colored silk robe, left open at the chest to reveal a muscular torso adorned with heavy, ancient golden jewelry. Loose white cloth draped over his legs. His eyes were completely hidden, bound tightly behind a vibrant red scarf.
The sheer, majestic aura rolling off him was suffocating, yet entirely peaceful.
"I did not expect the two of you to heal this fast," the man said warmly.
"Who are you?" Lyra demanded, her grip tightening on her staff.
The man offered a polite, deeply respectful bow. "I apologize for my late introduction. I am Azhurak. The Protector of the North."
Ravon's jaw practically unhinged. "Azhurak?! Didn't you die fighting Cryovax centuries ago?"
"I did not die," Azhurak corrected with a faint smile. "I was simply frozen inside Cryovax's supreme-tier ice. Suspended in time."
"Then how did you get out?" Lyra asked, her analytical mind racing. "We saw you. You were trapped inside impenetrable ice."
"That is exactly what I wish to know," Azhurak said, walking slowly down the red carpet toward them. "Three weeks ago, the ice trapping me suddenly shattered, and I was freed."
"Three weeks?!" Ravon blurted out. We have been asleep for three weeks?
"Yes," Azhurak nodded. "I clearly remembered that the two of you were the last individuals to pass my frozen body. I had sensed your unique mana signatures through the thick layer of ice. When I broke free, I saw that the Cryostone ranges were collapsing into chaos. I immediately deployed my loyal soldiers to rescue you from the chaos and bring you here to my temple."
So, we are safe inside a temple, Ravon thought, his racing heart finally slowing down.
"Why did you save us?" Lyra asked skeptically.
"Because only you can tell me what happened to Cryovax," Azhurak explained, stopping a few feet away. "I can no longer sense his mana anywhere on this continent."
Ravon exchanged a glance with Lyra. "We fought Cryovax. But we lost, and he trapped us in his ice. Then we woke up here."
"He is right," Lyra confirmed. "We fought him and were defeated. When the ice broke, Cryovax was already gone. We have no idea where he went or what happened to him."
Azhurak remained silent for a long moment, his covered face turned toward them. "So, you both were involved in his sudden disappearance."
"Are you going to punish us for trespassing?" Ravon asked nervously.
"No, children," Azhurak laughed softly, the sound rich and kind. "I personally wanted to thank you for freeing me."
Ravon blinked. I never expected to get thanked by a literal God.
"As a token of my gratitude, you may ask me for anything within my power," Azhurak offered.
Ravon didn't hesitate. "Can you help us return to Arkenfall?"
"Yes, I can easily make that happen," Azhurak agreed. "My soldiers will transport you safely to the city's borders." The tall man turned his head toward the silver-haired witch. He reached up, slowly pulling the red scarf down to his neck, revealing startlingly bright, glowing emerald eyes. "And what do you desire kid?"
"A forbidden magic," Lyra answered instantly, without a shred of fear.
Azhurak walked closer to her, his emerald eyes studying her face. "If it is forbidden magic you seek, then I shall teach you one. But you must promise me this: you will never use this magic to harm the innocent."
"I promise," Lyra swore.
Azhurak raised his pale hand, gently placing his palm atop Lyra's head. "Close your eyes."
Lyra shut her eyes. A sudden, intense warmth flooded her skull.
It's knowledge, Lyra realized as thousands of complex runic structures, incantations, and magical theories poured directly into her consciousness in a matter of seconds.
She opened her eyes, gasping softly.
"I have taught you Tamer Magic," Azhurak declared, pulling his hand away. "With it, you can bind and command only intelligent creatures."
"Tamer Magic," Lyra whispered, flexing her fingers as she felt the new spell structure settling into her core. "I like it."
"Tamer Magic was officially declared forbidden by all seven orthodox Churches," Azhurak warned softly.
"Why?" Ravon asked. "It doesn't sound inherently evil."
"Because a century ago, an arrogant Tamer attempted to forcefully bind Arken to his will," Azhurak explained, a dark shadow crossing his face. "The spell backfired. The mental intrusion shattered Arken's mind, driving him entirely berserk. Because of that single Tamer's hubris, Arken nearly annihilated the entire center of the continent."
So that is why Hero Ken had to fight Arken in Arkenfall, Ravon realized, putting the pieces of history together.
"I am not foolish like that Tamer," Lyra stated firmly. "I know exactly what my limits are."
Azhurak smiled knowingly. "As expected from Lady Miranda's daughter."
Lyra's eyes widened. "You know my mother?"
"I have met your mother many times over the centuries, guided by fate," Azhurak said vaguely, pulling his red scarf back up to cover his emerald eyes.
Ravon stepped forward. "I have a question. You are a God... so why doesn't looking directly at you do something abnormal to me?"
Azhurak smiled and said, "I am not a God, Ravon. I am simply a Protector of the North. The people of the desert chose to elevate me to the title of a deity out of respect. Furthermore, I am not associated with any celestial Church, unlike Cryovax."
"Which Church did Cryovax belong to?" Lyra asked.
"He never revealed it to me," Azhurak answered softly. He turned back to the center of the hall. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"
"Actually, I have one more request," Ravon said brightly. "Can you pay off my fifty-gold-coin debt to Lyra?"
Lyra's hand snapped out like a viper. She grabbed Ravon fiercely by the ear and twisted.
"Ow! Ow, ow!" Ravon yelped, leaning sideways to follow the pull.
"I believe we should be leaving now," Lyra said to Azhurak, her face completely deadpan while Ravon whined in pain beside her.
"Safe travels," Azhurak chuckled, turning back toward his throne. "I have much work to do to heal the North from its wounds."
Lyra dragged Ravon by the ear all the way down the red carpet and out through the heavy double doors.
They navigated the corridors until they reached the massive stone exit of the subterranean temple. Waiting patiently for them on the desert floor was a sleek, eight-foot-long Sandworm, saddled with thick leather straps.
Ravon rubbed his red ear, climbing onto the front of the saddle and taking the leather reins. Lyra climbed up behind him, settling onto the surprisingly soft hide.
"Let's return to Arkenfall," Ravon smiled, looking out at the sprawling desert.
Lyra let out a long, exhausted sigh. "Finally. I can bathe."
Ravon gave the heavy leather reins a gentle snap. The massive Sandworm surged forward, diving smoothly into the golden sea of dunes. Leaving the frozen ruins and ancient gods behind them, the swordsman and the little witch began the long journey home.