**
Episode 61: An Unexpected Reunion — Elahar's View
After parting with Aranuk, Elahar, Brakka, and Caron headed toward ancient ruins. The forest around them breathed a hushed, uncanny calm—until familiar presences stirred at the edge of Elahar's senses. He halted.
"I know that aura," he said softly, eyes turned ahead.
Brakka followed his gaze and smirked. "Rian. Didn't expect to see them again."
Caron narrowed his eyes, an amused curve to his lips. "Let's see what they choose this time."
In time, the figures appeared—Rian and his companions, once fierce opponents. But unlike before, they approached without posturing for a fight, holding a wary, watchful guard. Elahar stopped and met their eyes, unflinching.
"Rian. It's been a while," he said, greeting lightly. He wanted Rian to see he hadn't come to cross blades. Not today.
Rian kept his guard up. "Elahar… What brings you here? Not looking to start another fight, are you?"
Brakka laughed at the tightness in Rian's face. "Not that simple. We're here to enjoy a little adventure ourselves. If something fun happens, we'll think about it then."
Elahar gave Brakka a small shake of the head and spoke evenly to Rian. "We're exploring the ruins. Seeking power, yes—but the last battle is behind us. I've no wish to fight you now."
Caron's smile turned wry. "We're hunting the strong. If you're still among them, there'll be time to cross blades again."
Elahar nodded. "Let the old enmity lie. Walk your road; we'll walk ours."
Rian's expression eased despite himself. "Fine. No fighting today. It does feel like each of us has a different path to follow."
At Rian's side, Ivela asked quietly, "These are the foes from before—the strong ones? Why do they seem so calm?"
"They are," Rian said, nodding. "Elahar, Brakka, Caron. All tough. But today… they're just adventurers."
Elahar adjusted his black cloak and smiled faintly. There were more important things now than clinging to old grudges.
"I hope we do cross swords again someday," he said. "For now, let's walk our separate ways."
Brakka tossed in a final tease. "If you're itching for a bout, come find us. We're always ready."
With that, the brief exchange ended. Rian's party and Elahar's turned away, each to their own road. The wariness hadn't vanished, but a new understanding had: not every knot needed a duel to be untied.
Watching Rian's back, Elahar fell into quiet thought. He wanted their next meeting to be between truer strengths—not enemies by habit, but rivals by choice. His journey would be one of seeking the strong not for spite, but to find his own way.
They moved on—carrying traces of the past, already stepping into what comes next.
**
Episode 62: The Ancient Ruins and the Oath of Light
Elahar, Brakka, and Caron reached an ancient ruin—a place long untouched by human feet, whispered to conceal relics of a forgotten civilization. They weren't after simple treasure; they needed power. Elahar's aim had always been to seek the strong and test his own strength against them, and this expedition was part of that path.
Studying the runes carved into a massive door, Caron said, "This gate's been sealed by old ritual wards. It won't open easily."
Brakka hefted his great axe and grinned. "Smashing the door might be faster, no?"
Elahar sighed softly. "Not here. Brawn won't solve this. We'll need old knowledge. Caron—you can manage it?"
Caron smiled, raised a hand, and focused. The runes kindled with light; the door stirred and opened without a sound. They stepped inside—and found guardians waiting.
Elahar drew his blade. "The keepers of this place… We push through."
The guardians charged: massive stone golems, spell-stirred specters, and a clutch of dungeon beasts. Each of the three fought in their own way.
Brakka roared straight at a stone golem. "Bigger than you have fallen to me!" His axe shattered slabs into flying rubble. Caron turned his arts on the specters, unraveling their sorcery with counter-rites.
"This level of magic won't stop me," he murmured, binding and banishing.
Elahar moved like a knife through rain, cutting down the lesser monsters with precise, economical strikes. Their coordination was near flawless; the guardians fell quickly.
The relic they claimed was a pendant, faintly luminous with ancient power. Elahar weighed it in his palm, the light playing across his eyes. "If this is all… a touch disappointing. Still—age like this tends to hide things."
Brakka slid his axe away. "Disappointing or not, it's spoils. We'll dig deeper."
A voice cut the dark. From the shadowed edge of the hall stepped Oath of Light paladins—priests with them, and a warlock robed in dusk. The paladins' armor glowed faintly with sacred sigils; their faces were set with grim resolve.
One man advanced—Paladin Collins—his mantle stitched with gold. "That relic is granted to us by the will of God," he declared. "Surrender it at once. The Oath will keep what the divine commands."
Elahar's reply was cool. "The 'will of God'? It's a powerful trinket, nothing more. We found it. It's ours—and we're not handing it over."
Brakka snorted. "Found by us, owned by us. Hiding behind 'divine will' to steal it—cute."
The clash was inevitable. At Collins's signal, the paladins shouted as one: "Bound in Light, we live as one—and die as one!" Radiance braided among them, linking their life force. Their formation locked tight, moving as if a single body—blood-bond engaged.
"Any who defy God's will shall not live," Collins cried, shield forward as the line advanced.
Their kite shields were no mere bulwarks—their edges had been ground to killing blades. They met Brakka and Elahar head-on, turning blocks into slashes, defending and countering in the same breath. Wounds closed as Light passed between them; staggered steps firmed under shared vitality.
Elahar skimmed to the flank to pry at a seam, but a Beacon of Light flared and mended them. A paladin chopped down with a shield-edge like a guillotine.
"Light doesn't mean strength," Elahar said, twisting past the blow. "It only shows what you're chained to."
He rolled through, blade flicking for the ribs—another paladin slid in, shield catching the cut, spear darting. Elahar withdrew, noting the tight interlocks of their bond.
Up front Brakka hammered the line, axe shuddering through shields. A paladin staggered—held up at once by comrades, the column grinding forward.
"Keep hiding behind tin—see if it saves you!" Brakka barked. "Metal is metal once I break it!"
On the far side, Caron faced the warlocks. Shadow curses lanced out to bind and rot; the air soured with hex and ruin. Caron pivoted his staff, drinking the edge off the darkness and folding the current back.
"You won't stop me with night," he said. "Your link is what must break."
He traced a sigil; when the warlocks tried to ring him with an Umbral Coil, he answered with a cutting light-rite that frayed their tie. They faltered—Caron pressed, doubling the force and collapsing their stance. A last curse flickered—and shattered under his warded Light. The warlocks broke and fell back.
Collins, teeth set, pulled every thread of the blood-bond taut, rallying his paladins. He surged at Elahar, shield-edge scything.
"All who oppose the will shall vanish!"
Elahar met his fanatic glare with a calm one. "We walk different roads. Which is right—time will judge."
He turned inside the strike, slipped the blade through a seam of mail. The bond weakened. Brakka crashed down the center, splitting shields and staggering the line; cohesion failed, and the formation came apart.
Collins fought to the last, but Brakka's final blow smashed his shield, and he fell to a knee.
Caron strode back from the dim, joining them. "The Oath won't quit. There's more to that relic than face value."
Elahar lifted the pendant again, staring into its muted glow. "If they're that fixated, something is sleeping in here. We've got more to uncover."
Brakka grinned. "Then let stronger foes come."
They set out once more, expecting the relic to draw bigger storms—and the faithful who would chase a god's command into ruin.
**
Episode 63: Outsiders at the Festival, and a Small Doll
The city festival roared with laughter and cheers. The streets were filled with people dressed in bright colors, dancing and shouting with joy, while merchants weaved through the crowds hawking their wares. Yet, in one quiet corner—a tavern far removed from the clamor—sat three figures who looked completely out of place in such merriment: Elahar, Brakka, and Caron.
"Festivals are nothing but noise," Elahar muttered, tipping his cup. His eyes, fixed on the revelers, carried no trace of amusement—only a dry, cynical gleam.
"I don't mind it," Brakka replied with a laugh, raising his tankard high before gulping down a mouthful. "Seeing so many people enjoying themselves… it's contagious, in a way. Still, better to drink here in peace than get swept up in all that chaos."
Caron, gazing indifferently at the raucous streets outside, gave a small nod. "All of it is fleeting—joy, noise, celebration. Illusions that pass, nothing more."
The three spoke little after that, drinking in companionable silence. Night thickened, and with empty cups they rose, heading back toward their lodging.
Just as they stepped out, a group of festival-goers stumbled past, laughing loudly. One young woman broke away and approached them. She was striking, with a bright smile and a honeyed voice.
"Care for a game, good sirs? Win, and you'll earn a prize! Cute dolls, or even a special keepsake!"
Elahar instinctively moved to refuse—but then, unbidden, a face came to mind. Eirina. He wondered, fleetingly, what it would've been like if she had stood here, smiling among festival lights. Her gentle smile, the child she carried within her… The thought halted his steps.
"What's wrong, Elahar?" Brakka asked, puzzled. "If you're not interested, we can just walk on."
Elahar's lips curved faintly. "No… I think I'll try." He followed the woman to a small game stall.
The game was simple: shoot a target and claim a prize. Elahar picked up a bow, drew, and loosed. The arrow struck true, hitting dead center. The woman clapped her hands and handed him a prize.
"Congratulations! This doll is yours."
Elahar accepted it. It was plain—stitched from cloth, small and humble. Yet holding it stirred something in him. He thought of Eirina, of the life growing inside her, of the future they might build together. In this simple doll, he saw all of it reflected.
"…Even things like this… can carry meaning." He tucked the doll carefully into his cloak.
Brakka and Caron watched quietly at his side. Brakka tilted his head, baffled but not dismissive. Caron only allowed the faintest of smiles to touch his lips.
"To think you'd get sentimental over a doll," Brakka teased.
Elahar gave no reply, only a faint smile. Holding the doll close, he walked back toward the inn. The streets still throbbed with festival clamor, but in Elahar's heart there was only stillness. He remembered again why he fought—for those he loved, and for the future that awaited them.