//------------------------------//
// Chapter 7 
// Story: Sealed Within 
// by Shroomkin 
//------------------------------//







Treachery


Paper scattered as a messenger ran through the stone halls. Soldiers marched as the wounded were transported to a different area of the citadel. What was once a great citadel known for its defense is now burning and on the brink of ruin. Desolation drew near for everyone. Citizens flee in terror, leaving their once great homes. The sight was all too brutal and painful for the lord to see. At the door, a messenger barged in. "Your majesty! The western gates are breached! Multiple casualties were noted!"

A soldier with broken armor then held onto the doors. Tired and wounded, he collapsed to the floor. He did not give up, though, as he crawled towards his lord. "Reinforcements... are not... coming..." The soldier succumbed to his wounds as he lay on the ground, dying. A piece of parchment was in his hands. Finally, the king of the citadel awoke from his trance and marched upon the fallen soldier. He grabbed the parchment and read it, after which he tossed it aside soon after. Disappointment was in his eyes. "Gather the soldiers. It is time to defend our home." The messenger gave a quick salute as he ran, announcing loudly to rally upon their king. The remaining soldiers, tired as they were, gathered all their strength to meet their lord at the citadel gate, where civilians ran in the hope of safety. Most did not make it. 

The king of the citadel marched alongside his generals, their armor made of steel with gold engravements. He held his helmet on his right while his left hand rested on the pommel of his blade. He looked on at the wounded among the halls, legs missing, arms torn to shreds. One even had an axe blade on his back. This infuriated the king. "They've cut off the head of the dragon, and yet, they seem more organized than before," he thought to himself. As they reached the main entrance, he glanced at his men. A soldier then gave him his shield as he wore his helmet. "Men!" He shouted. "We have won countless of battles, gained the blessing of the God of War himself. We fought our enemies to the bitter end, never faltering in the presence of such evil." He paused as he looked at his soldiers. "We have survived, time and time again, and we have proven that we will never be vanquished." The king said as he walked in front of the gates. "So, are we letting such vile beings conquer us after our victory against their lord?" 

"No!" The soldiers said in unison.

"Shall we let them take the lands that our forefathers fought for?" He shouted, raising and closing his fist in front of them. 

"NO!" The soldiers shouted, their fury present.

"Shall we let them do as they please to the lands we valiantly fought for?" He said as he unsheathed his blade, pointing it upwards.

The soldiers shouted in unison, his words echoing within the hearts of his men. He looked at the gates, closed ever tightly. The king raised his shield, pointing at the gates as he ordered his men to ready themselves. "There lies the gates of Hereim, and beyond are the draens and fools who think they can destroy our home." 

"In this moment," he continued, boosting the morale of the soldiers, "on this day, no more shall you be considered as mere soldiers, but great heroes blessed by the God of War. We shall fight to the bitter end, whatever that cost may be. We shall fight our enemies to defend our families, our home, our bastion!" He ordered one of his men to open the gates to hell. A great horn was blown in response to that battlecry. "WE SHALL NEVER SURRENDER!" The soldiers marched alongside their king, their fury ever present, for today, Moldruin stands. 

Bright were their hopes, their sun rising as if the very heavens were with them in this battle. Yet sinister storm clouds appear, blocking their very sun. For in that moment, their enemy stands greater in number. They did not yield. Brave were his men as they stared death in the eyes, their souls were forged with the strongest steel and blessed by the great crafters of the heavens. Their shouts echo within the streets of the city, snow falling ever graceful, landing upon the dead and beaten. 

Then all went silent. And all was calm.





"So, 'commander', what are your orders?" Talios asked the elder novasaurian. To say that he was depressed was an understatement. After all, Aratorias had a relationship with the dwarves. He had great respect towards them. The dwarves of Moldruin, specifically, as they treated his people with respect, not as mindless mounts nor beasts to break the siege. In fact, they treated them like family. The novasaurians of this city helped on their own accord, and the dwarves gave them their freedom. For the first time in many years, he is torn. And as a novasaurian, no, as an alpha himself, it hurts to see his own kin fight against friends, and at that point, family. 

He sighed as he looked away. "Continue the attacks." His soldier nodded and blew the war horns, the signal recognized by the soldiers below. 

"What a great day to destroy the pestilence, don't you think so?" Ratharos said as he placed his hand on his ally's shoulder. "Come, Aratorias. Let us watch as this city burns." He looked at the annoying pest at his shoulder and simply walked away. No point in arguing with a warmongering dragon. Just then, a loud and booming horn thundered on the gates of the great citadel. He glanced at the gates and saw the soldiers rally among their king.

"Good... Very good..." He mumbled to himself. "Talios," he ordered, "I will be going down the mountain. Their king fights with his men, and so must I." Talios bowed as he glanced at the others participating in this battle. "Should we come too? Our numbers are great, and our appearance alone would surely lower their morale-"

"No need." Aratorias said, waving his hand at the idea as he dismissed it and ordered them to stay, not wanting them to get in the way of his personal plan. "Understood, commander." Talios said, walking back to the other generals. 

A few minutes pass after the novasaurian left. He managed to order his men to lead them away from the city and into the cliffside near it. Despite his old age, he was still one of the most powerful among the lords. He was swift as a fox and as mighty as a rhino. And yet, standing before the king and his soldiers was an old man. "King Mithran, an honor to meet you again." He bowed, placing his right hand in his chest. The soldiers were eager to end the snake before them, but the king, to their surprise, ordered them to stand down. "Had this been a normal circumstance, I would have gladly bowed back." 

King Mithran Aramir III, High King of the Dwarves, Champion of Moldruin, stood tall and glared at his enemy. "What a shame, I have been looking forward to meeting you once more." Aratorias said as he sat down. "Come, have a seat with me, old friend." 

Mithran took a second and calmly walked towards Aratorias. While a battle was indeed happening, this was a mighty chance to talk to the enemy. The king sat in front of Aratorias, looking back at his soldiers and giving them a wave of a hand. To his surprise though, his enemy was offering him alcohol. "It is not poisoned. Watch." Aratorias drank the beverage and poured some for his guest. "Tell me, how is Litharna?" Aratorias asked casually, sipping on his cup. Mithran chuckled as he shook his head. "Ever the stubborn one. You novasaurians really are hard-headed." 

This made Aratorias beam with joy. "Aye, we tend to stay true to our words, even to a fault." He looked soberly at his cup. "We really are a hard-headed lot." Aratorias then poured a bit more of alcohol on his cup. "I sure hope you take care of your wife. She can get a bit... what was the word for it?" Mithran stared at Aratorias, finally letting go of his demeanor. He chuckled and sighed. "Don't push yourself, professor. You know how you are when you think hard on a subject." 

"Ah, it has been so long since I last heard that title..." Aratorias said, taking another sip from his cup.

And then there was silence. The cold winds of winter blew, shaking the trees and rattling the pine leaves. It was... calming. Breaking the silence, the king glanced at his cup, taking a sip of the alcohol. "Why do you push yourself in a war that you dread?" Mithran said, concerned for his former teacher.

"It is as you said. We are ever the stubborn ones," he looked at the sky as snow started to fall, "my loyalty to my master is ever going strong." 

"But why? You saw the deaths. You saw how they burned villages. Why be loyal to someone so... monstrous?" Mithran asked, genuinely wanting to know why his teacher joined such dark forces. Aratorias looked at him, almost as if he was looking at his own child. "He used to fight for something else." 

"And what would that be? Desolation? Madness? The riches of the people?" Mithran asked, agitated at his answer. Aratorias then shook his head.

"Freedom." 

Aratorias then stood, walking towards the cliffside. He watched the waves, the sun, the birds flying across the windy skies. "When I first joined twenty thousand years ago, when I first met the master, he was one of sorrow. However, despite of that sorrow, he helped every creature find their place. He saved those who were about to be enslaved, those who were about to be placed in the pits of the arenas. He saved me. Their loyalty is true for that reason. My own loyalty is true for that very reason." He paused, looking back at Mithran as he grabbed something out of his pocket. "When I joined, I asked him to leave Moldruin alone. And here I stayed along with my brethren. Here I taught young, bright minds, from your ancestor to your father." He glanced at the pendant, slowly closing his hands and placing it at his lips. "Here, I found the love of my life, a foreigner, not even a citizen of the city; a stripedmark beastkin." 

He went back to Mithran as he gave him the pendant. The pendant looked like a claw with black markings surrounding it. He continued to speak, a hint of sadness can be heard from his voice. "The hate and the agony that the elves gave her when she was with me, the scorn of the commonfolk as they spat at her... It was all too much to bear. I saw how they treated the other beastkin, and how they treated her kin..." He grimaced at the thought. 

"All of the bloodshed, families torn, starvation and devastation... to prove what exactly? That treating evil with evil is the only way?" Mithran exlaimed, standing upwards as he glared at his teacher. "You've murdered hundreds, millions even, when all that could've been done is to settle it accordingly and peacefully... Do not tell me that your cause is just."

"It isn't. It no longer is." Aratorias turned around, looking back at the sea. "We've lost that cause after a few years of war. We've lost it when our master lost his way..." 

"So why didn't you leave? Why stay with such monsters?" Mithran asked angrily. "They are not monsters! They are people too, born in a world where they were hated due to their flesh and blood." Aratorias countered as he inhaled deeply, smoke coming out of his mouth. He then exhaled, allowing the smoke to dissipate. "I stayed because I know I no longer have a place in society. I stayed for the sake of my granddaughter's sanity. I stayed because I thought I could change his ways... I was wrong. The straw that broke my back was when I was ordered to attack this place by the second-in-command." He sighed, placing his hand on the ridge of his nose. "They are all far too gone... All they wish for is decimation and bloodshed." 

Silence. Mithran glanced at his soldiers, then back at the tired old man.

"So... what do you plan to do." Mithran spoke, not wanting to pester the tired novasaurian in front of him. "I plan to try and do the right thing, starting with my granddaughter." Mithran was taken aback. He said he was loyal, and yet, his enemy is here, in a state unknown to him. "I surrender..." Aratorias said, tiredly. Mithran did not react. He did not even flinch. "Who is she?" Curious, Mithran asked Aratorias about her. "Her name is Taraminea, my precious little Tigrea." 

Mithran nodded. "I see." 

"I plan to leave with my granddaughter and inform my master, should he ever return, either by faking our deaths or even by surrendering." He glanced back at the sky, snow falling at his fingertips. "I want to start a new life... one where I can uphold my promise to her..." 

Mithran sighed. "I..." he stammered, "I do not know what to do but I am willing to help you..." Aratorias bowed at the king, one that he has done before. Mithran, now allowing himself to see the true nature of his enemy, bowed back. They both smiled, willing to finally put this issue to rest. Of course, this does not free Aratorias of his sins. As such, he told Mithran to treat him, along with those who wish to surrender, as humanely as possible. Mithran nodded and gave his word. In truth, he didn't want to fight the novasaurians.

Just then, a shadow flew past them. Without a second to react, a sword impaled Aratorias in the back. He gasped, looking at the one who dared. "Oh, so unwise." The assailant said with a snarl. "Ra...tharos?" 

Ratharos smiled sinisterly. "Indeed, it is I." He plunged the sword deeper into Aratorias, blood spewing more and more from his chest. "What have... you done?" 

He looked at Aratorias with a confused look. "What have I done? What have you done? Surrendering at the enemy..." He snarled, "Do you honestly think you can do such a thing?" He then glanced at the dwarves, all getting ready to attack. As they did so, he blew the horn three times, alerting the army of their need of assistance. Knowing that the army is coming their way, Aratorias opened a portal with his dying breath. "That... leads to... mines... Your people..." He coughed, gasping for air. Ratharos was not pleased. He grabbed Aratorias and flung him into the ground. "Save... Tigrea... please..." The king saw this and ordered his men to retreat. "Oh no, not this time, dwarvish pests!" 

A bright light then struck Ratharos, temporarily blinding him. "Go, my liege! We'll hold the line." The king nodded to some of his men and ordered the rest to retreat. Holding onto the pendant, he looked one last time at his teacher and entered the portal. 

This angered Ratharos as he proceeded to lash out on the dwarves in front of him. He didn't kill them though. He has a plan. He then looked at the struggling Aratorias. He picked him up by the neck, choking the already moribund novasaurian. "Honestly, to think that you are this weak... I even prepared to go all out against you..." He then crushed his windpipe as Ratharos then shook his head. "Oh well," he smirked, "such a wasted opportunity." He then threw his lifeless body in the sea as he proceeded to turn his attention towards the unconscious dwarves. "Now then, to remove the evidence." He then opened the dwarves' mouths and tore their tongues out. As he finished doing so, the army arrived.





At the Wroughtdrake Citadel, all lords were summoned. Every lord went as the summons were under the category of urgent. They were all in their seats, waiting for whatever it is they were summoned for. However, it seems that one was missing. "Where's the old man?" Tigrea asked, but the rest looked away. Annoyed, she looked somewhere else, lest she beats them all up in her annoyance. Just then, the doors opened, revealing captured dwarves and a rather gloomy Ratharos. 

He went to the front, near the throne of their master. "My friends," he paused, "I bring... morbid news." He looked at everyone, making sure that he looked the part of a grieving person. "The rest of us were ordered to conquer Moldruin, and for that we prepared, yet it would never truly prepare us to lose one we called our friend." He glanced around as different reactions can be heard. Tigrea, however, didn't even talk. She looked at Ratharos, an expression she never had in years. "My friends, today, we lost Aratorias to these wretched dwarves. These... these... bastards ambushed him and slew him with this blade!" He raised the blade up high as he threw it in the ground. "The nerve of these dwarves to show no honor!" He then grabbed one of the soldiers and tossed him back into the floor. "Then... they threw him off!" He shuddered, "All I could do was watch... I was too late..."

He then inhaled. "I was too late to save him... We won... but at what cost?" He then glanced at Tigrea. She was... calm. She stood up and walked towards the soldiers. Not even batting an eye, Tigrea extended her claws and swiped at their throats. It was a swift death. She sighed, turned around, and headed to the doors. 

Then all went silent. And all was at the state of unrest.