Chapter 12 (Patreon)

1

“Damn sun,” Volio muttered as he poured a bit of water from his canteen onto the rag in his hand before slapping it onto the back of his neck. The trek had taken several days, and he paused at the foot of the mountainous range. Anyone going up the mountains would have to be crazy. But that’s what I am, at least, what everyone tells me. Volio had one goal since that day ten years ago. One single purpose. I have to find her.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled his pack off his back and wrapped climbing spikes onto his boots, put two climbing pickaxes around his wrists, and began the ascent up the very, very steep escarpment. His trusty bow rattled against his back, and the quivers on his back and hip clanked with every movement. He breathed smoothly as he ascended the rocks. She has to be alive. They never found her body. Misty saw something those years ago with her spell that she couldn’t explain and didn’t voice, just muttering something about, “It can’t be…”

Volio knew that Lyn was alive. She had to be. He needed her. Ever since their ninth-grade year when they first met, he had pined for her. The athletic, muscular, goth girl that no one seemed to be able to catch the affections of. He chuckled as he reminisced on the moment when she showed her love for him.

“Throw the damned ball!” Lyn had shouted at him as their small class of twenty played dodgeball. Not the crappy, foam balls – the rubber ones. Volio looked down at the ball and tossed it to Lyn before wham! He was slammed in the face by a solid ball launched by Zack. Volio fell to the ground, and instead of throwing the ball to get someone on the other team out, Lyn ran over to him and covered his body with her own, suffering several hits against her back. “Knock it off!” she shouted over her shoulder to the other team. “You fucking hit him the face!”

He remembered looking up at her, rubbing his sore face as he stared into her beautiful, stern, blue eyes. The perfect jawline with sharp cheekbones and long, regal nose of royalty. All accentuated by her black eyeliner, rouge cheeks, and purple lipstick. His dark angel. The savior he didn’t deserve. The only person he’d met in school who cared about his well-being – in that instant, he fell in love.

Not just a regular, crush type of love. The obsessive, ‘make a shrine’ in your locker type of love. When he wasn’t in the nearby city for his theatre classes, he was watching her at the skate park. Longing for what he wanted and was too afraid to ask for. Only when he was on stage, and he couldn’t see the audience, did he feel confident enough to act. With her looking at him? With those piercing, blue eyes? No…he couldn’t ask her. But he didn’t need to say anything. They had a connection. He knew she felt the same way that he felt about her. The way she looked at him when he was sitting, watching her at the skate park. Her glances in study hall when she caught him staring. There wasn’t a need for words. It was love. And he knew she only had eyes for him. Every glance she gave him screamed, ‘I love you, Volio.’

He felt shame, leaving Lyn to fight the Demonic Dragon. But what was he going to do? He didn’t have an artifact weapon like James, Kory, or Lyn. His arrows couldn’t do jack-shit to the Dragon. And he knew Lyn was strong – strong enough to survive. He saw how much she had grown. Her body constantly becoming more and more muscular and enhanced. There was no way she was dead. He would have felt it. They had a connection.

When they left the dread fortress and returned, hailed as the heroes that saved the world…he didn’t celebrate. He didn’t attend the ceremonies, feasts, and other events of celebration. He spent weeks staring off towards the enormous, volcano-topped range where his beloved supposedly died. Sleepless nights wandering the halls, visiting her empty room over and over. Laying in her bed and sobbing into the mattress and pillows that still had her smell on them. Every time he tried to get his classmates to go on an expedition to try and find her, they pushed him away. Thomas wouldn’t even help – and they were sort of friends before the summoning. “You’re obsessed with someone who is gone. It’s not healthy,” Thomas had told him.

“Yeah, you’re one to talk,” Volio had replied. “Drinking from that flask all the time. Don’t preach. She’s alive. I will find her.” That was nine years ago. The last time Volio talked to his once-sort-of-friend.

Shaking his head, he returned to the present. You’re alive. I know it. He crested a small ledge and took a pause, sipping from his canteen as the heat of the sun beat down on him in the badlands. He set the canteen down and pulled out a shirt he had taken from her room before they left to assault the dread fortress. He held it up to his face and took a deep whiff of her scent. My Lyn, I’d know if you were gone. Putting the canteen away, and tucking the shirt into his belt pocket, he continued his ascent. I’ll find you.

2

The room Lyn entered was octagonal. And filled to the brim with treasure. It also screamed trap. There were treasure chests with gems and gold overflowing. Pristine weaponry that shimmered with magical glow littered the treasure pile. And this would have suckered any delver in almost instantly.

But Lyn had dealt with dragons before. True dragons might be better than the lesser types, but if there was one constant she had learned from dragons – all of them were impeccably, almost OCD level of organized. There’s no way the Demonic Dragon would have left this mess. Looking back at Gael and Vael – both of whom were recovering from spells and poison respectively, she shook her head. “Don’t go inside.” She walked down the hall, up the stairs to the throne room, and kept her head down to avoid looking at the blood stains. Using the hilt of her short sword, she bashed at some of the obsidian until she had several handfuls of the chunks. Hustling back down to the octagonal chamber, she received odd looks from the twins as she stepped into the doorway.

Very carefully, she took aim and threw. One obsidian chunk per wall of the octagonal chamber. All but one ricocheted off. That far right wall did not provide any obstacle, and the obsidian chunk sailed through it and clattered on the other side. Illusory wall. She used more of the chunks and threw a scattered handful of smaller pieces into the ceiling. Those bounced off, but as they fell on the treasure pile, she noted that some of them did bounce off the gold pile. But, only in places. Clever, he mixed real treasure in alongside the illusion. If I had to guess…she threw a larger chunk at the closest part of the pile and heard the shing of gold impacted as it collapsed backward to the center of the floor. Lastly, she tried throwing a cluster around the outside edge leading to the illusory wall – nothing activated.

Vael and Gael stood up behind her, “What are you doing?” Vael asked.

“Testing,” Lyn replied. “There’s lots of illusions in here, mixed in with some real treasure. But rule number three of dragonkind – they love their organization.”

“What’s rules one and two?” Gael asked.

“One is don’t disrespect or insult them. Two is always try flattery first before fighting.” Lyn used the short sword to poke at the wall and floor along the outside edge, and she slowly pushed her way forward, sliding her feet and hugging the wall as tightly as possible. When her tapping sword passed through the illusory wall, she pulled it back and felt the blade. It’s cool. The metal wasn’t extremely cold, but it was chilly – like a can of soda in the fridge. She dipped her hand into the illusory wall for a second before pulling it back. Interesting. Something is keeping the air artificially cool. Perhaps another spell. She looked back to Vael, “Grab my shirt. If I suddenly lunge forward, tug me back.”

Vael put her hand on Lyn’s back and gripped the fabric, nodding. Lyn took a deep breath and poked her head inside. Another octagonal chamber. The whole room appeared to be made of ice. Shelves made of the substance lined the walls, and gemstones, historical relics, and other types of valuable collectibles were meticulously stored. Several cushioned cubbies were stacked in cubes along one wall. Ah, that’s why it’s cold. She knew that body enhancing substances had a shelf life – but just like a fridge or freezer, the organic components could be preserved with cold.

There were three treasure chests each with black painted labels for the various currency types of Ghomar that the Free City of Bashinol moderated and minted. But what stood out most to Lyn was a suit of armor that she was intimately familiar with. The armor that the Demonic Dragon wore in its humanoid form. The suit of spiked, black plate armor. He must have had a contingent spell placed upon his gear so that it would reappear here upon his demise. Next to the armor was a small pedestal and on an ornate, purple cushion was a black sword-hilt. It was missing the blade. And there’s his weapon. What did he call it…Yol’Kren’Tuz, I think. The weapon, when held by the villain, projected a blade of hardened mana that burned hot as lava. Sort of like a lightsaber, Lyn recalled as he activated and deactivated it at will – causing Ben to suffer some serious injury in their fight as it slipped past his defenses.

She gathered the obsidian once more and went about her process of checking for traps and illusions. The room appeared clear, and she cautiously entered, followed by Vael and Gael. “There’s so much here,” Vael muttered. Gael hummed in agreement.

Lyn pointed back to the hallway, “Go, get some of the most trusted of the warrior-caste, and one of the elders. Lead them back here. And tell them to bring parchment and ink.”

Vael nodded and saluted before turning around and going back down the passage. Gael looked at Lyn, then at the artifacts on the left half of the room, “Those look ancient. Old relics of Duskari culture.” he muttered as he walked over. “But this I don’t recognize,” he pointed at a spearhead.

Lyn gasped and ran over, grabbing the spearhead instantly. Rus’os’glar. The artifact spear she had used to inflict the fatal blow. It could amplify elementalism (wind) external spells and was the most precious item she found in a dungeon. A natural match to her combat style and Scout core’s external spells. She clutched it tightly as she remembered the vivid memory of finding the completed weapon after defeating a tornado elemental by compressing it with a (wind) spell, condensing it down to a solid enough state she could kill it. One of the hardest solo battles she had fought. She felt her heart swell with pride at the vivid memory of returning to the other heroes with the first artifact weapon acquired from a dungeon. The look of jealousy on her classmates’ faces was something she giggled at.

“My lord?” Gael asked, bringing her out of her reverie.

“Oh, right.” Lyn gripped the spearhead firmly in her left hand and walked over to the armor and weapon. The armor looked like it wouldn’t fit, and even though looking at it brought chills down her spine…it looked pretty badass. She sighed and reached a hand out to touch the spot where her weapon had carved a deep cut. Black adamantine. The rarest kind. It was very, very hard to damage.

The armor glowed crimson, and she pulled her hand back. In the blink of an eye, the armor rack was empty, and Lyn felt the weight settle on her. It felt…welcoming. It was warm, like a soothing hug from a loved one. Wearing it felt…right. Her mana core stopped its incessant roiling that she had been constantly diverting into the amulet. A primal flame, contained within a cage.

Gael gasped and fell to his knees, “My lord! You look resplendent!”

Lyn looked down at her all-encompassing armor. Full plate that feels this light? Just to test, she jumped up and down a few times. It felt like she was wearing leather armor, not full plate. And the articulation was perfect – she was flexible in all the right areas. What about a helmet? As if responding to her thoughts, a large helm rose up to cover her head entirely. It restricted some of her vision but was very, very protective. Oh, that’s awesome! I can’t wait to see myself in a mirror wearing this stuff. She willed the helmet away, and it melted back into the armor.

“I wonder what the sword will do,” she muttered as she reached out for it. Gripping the hilt of Yol’Kren’Tuz sent a surge of warmth down her hand.

And the spearhead of Rus’os’glar vanished from her left hand. The hilt of the sword glowed a vibrant, neon green before settling back to the black metal color once more. What just happened? She tried opening her mana channel and diverted some of the mana down her arm to the sword.

Holding it in front of her and pointing away, she could feel the mana surge down her arm – as if eager to reach its destination – and into the hilt. The crimson and black blade of lava – mana in its raw form – was limned by gusts of wind that turned the simple short sword-length blade she had fought against into that of a longsword. It can absorb other artifacts and gain power? This was something she had never heard of. I wonder…she tried to focus on just the elementalism (wind) from her mana core…but the blade stayed the same. Well, I suppose there’s some reason it can absorb other artifacts. I’m going to rename it…Cataclysm. Yeah, that’s a metal as fuck name.

She turned to Gael and pulled the mana back through the blade and into her mana core. She had to divert some excess flow to the amulet under the armor, but the mana blade vanished, and she found to her satisfaction that the armor had a slot on the hip for the hilt to click into. “Stand, please.”

Gael did so, “My lord, what now?”

Lyn smiled and turned to the wall of body enhancing materials. “I spend some time getting reacquainted with myself.”

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