Interlude: The Gathering Storm
Approximately one week ago, on the human-ruled continent of Sovereign, in the newly liberated nation of Bram, headquarters of the Adventurer's Guild, an unsanctioned meeting took place—deep underground, in a forgotten chamber buried beneath dust, ruin, and centuries of secrets.
The room was dim, lit only by a single enchanted lantern suspended in the center of a cracked stone ceiling. Timeworn portraits of forgotten heroes lined the crumbling walls. Mold crept between broken tiles. The air was thick—stale with age, and something darker.
At the round obsidian table sat three men. Powerful men. Influential men. Dangerous men. Yet none of them trusted the others.
"It's disgusting," spat a portly man in regal attire, his fingers glittering with jeweled rings. His voice dripped with revulsion. "Canoodling with monsters. How barbaric."
Duke August of Bram—the loudest voice in the room, but not necessarily the sharpest.
Behind him, a quiet servant in simple livery gave a subtle shake of the head, a silent warning not to let emotion control the narrative. August caught it, grumbled, and adjusted his coat with a huff.
"I fail to see the issue," came a smooth voice from across the table. "If this 'Chosen' is in the Wildreach, he won't last a month. Honestly, we're wasting time entertaining this farce."
Chancellor Bryn Elshire the Unbroken of the Elven Dominion looked bored. He lounged in his chair like a man forced to dine with peasants. His hair was a waterfall of silver gold, tied with ivy cord. His forest-green robes shimmered with woven enchantments, and his eyes held that timeless elven disdain.
He barely masked his disgust at the third man in the room.
That man, by contrast, didn't even try to look dignified.
Slouched with his boots kicked onto the table, Heinz—scarred, wild-eyed, and barely thirty—grinned as a mouse-kin girl squirmed on his lap. Her naked body trembled, held tight by his hand over her mouth. Her collar marked her as a slave, her ears twitching with shame and heat. A soft wet rhythm echoed beneath the table.
Bryn clicked his tongue in disgust. "You degenerates always find new lows."
Heinz didn't answer. His gaze never left the elf, even as the girl's muffled moans stuttered into silence and she collapsed to her knees, panting. The room reeked of sweat and something fouler.
"Enough," came a thunderous voice that silenced the room.
Mark Greenberg—Guildmaster of the Adventurer's Guild. Broad as a warhorse, with a scar down his jaw and eyes that had seen more blood than glory. He stood, slamming a heavy gauntlet on the table.
"Heinz," he growled, "You've made your point. Keep your dick in your pants. For once."
Heinz raised both hands in mock surrender, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "Just trying to liven the mood, Marky. These meetings are drier than elf ass."
Bryn scoffed, eyes narrowing. August muttered something under his breath.
Mark ignored them all. "This isn't just a guild matter anymore. The arrival of this 'Chosen'—this boy who can breed monsters—is a threat to every civilized continent. His skill undermines the natural laws, destabilizes our control, and worst of all…"
He looked toward Duke August.
"…it inspires hope. Hope for the beast-kin. For the demi-humans. For the monsters. If they realize what he's capable of—what he represents—we're looking at a generational power shift."
August sneered, his tone clipped. "Then we kill him. Efficiently. Publicly. Before word spreads."
"And that's where the guild comes in," Mark said. "We're issuing a world-class bounty. Thirty thousand gold, and rank advancement to any adventurer who delivers his head—or brings him in alive."
"Alive?" Bryn raised a delicate brow.
"Guild orders," Mark said. "We want to study him. Understand how his power works. Replicate it, if possible."
"Or breed him like a prized mare," Heinz added, grinning. "Don't look at me like that. Y'all are thinking it."
Bryn stood without another word. He waved a hand, summoning a swirling portal.
"This entire discussion is beneath me," he said. "The Wildreach is your problem. If this Chosen ever enters our lands… we'll snuff him out like a candle. Until then, do not summon me for trivialities."
He stepped through the portal. It closed behind him with a silent snap.
Duke August chuckled. "Arrogant prick. One day, someone will humble him."
Heinz laughed. "Hope I get to watch. Bet his screams are musical."
Then he stood, cracking his neck, pulling the exhausted slave girl by the leash. "Well, boys. Thanks for the invite. Good wine, good ass, great intel."
Mark's jaw tightened. "Where are you going?"
"Me?" Heinz looked over his shoulder with a grin too wide. "To the Wildreach."
August narrowed his eyes. "You'd risk death to chase a myth?"
Heinz chuckled low. "Not a myth. An opportunity. If I can sway this Chosen to my side—" he paused, yanking the girl forward until she fell against him with a soft cry, "—we could make our own army. Breed slaves, soldiers, weapons… legacy."
He pushed the girl toward August. "A gift. Heard your son's into exotic pets. This one's got spirit."
August's face twisted into rage, but Mark placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Not now. He's dangerous."
Heinz strolled to the exit, waving two fingers lazily. "I'll play nice, boys. Unless you get in my way. Then…"
He grinned. "You'll be fertilizer for my new empire."
The door creaked shut behind him.
In the silence that followed, the Guildmaster let out a heavy sigh.
"So it begins," he murmured. "The hunt."
And far away, deep in the Wildreach, unaware of the forces now moving against him, a young man with no arms and a dangerous dream was already changing the world.