Chapter 65: The Dagda's Wisdom
Flames seared my skin with sharp, needle-like stabs, magical heat that scorched without consuming, prolonging the agony. "It burns!" I screamed, voice raw, like I'd plunged into hell itself! I twisted in the air, arms flailing, unable to stop the fall.
I crashed onto a pile of wet, bloody bones, their jagged edges scratching my hands and arms as the impact rattled my teeth, shaking my whole body. The pile shifted under me, slippery and unstable, sending me sliding down fast, bones snapping and clattering as they tumbled with me, a river of death sweeping me away, unstoppable and rough.
I hit the ground hard, breath knocked out in a sharp gasp, chest screaming for air. Bones piled on top, heavy and tight, trapping me in a dark crush. Panic surged, and I kicked and shoved, but my arms felt weak, barely pushing back, each move scraping my skin on broken ribs and sharp femurs. My heart pounded, a wild beat urging me to get out before I couldn't.
With a desperate push, I burst free, shoving bones aside as I gulped air, lungs burning hot. I staggered up, legs wobbly like they might give out, but I forced myself to stand, hands stinging from cuts. I looked around, breath catching at the nightmare around me. The world felt wrong, heavy with something worse than death.
The sky looked scorched black, a canvas set on fire, empty of hope. The sun hung as a weak dot, barely glowing, leaving the ground dim and grim. Cracks split the earth deep, like cuts that wouldn't heal, while dead bushes and dry grass lay scattered, pale and brittle, as if they'd given up long ago. Trees stood bare, their twisted branches reaching up like claws, making the place feel like one big graveyard.
Far off, I saw twisted shapes moving, creatures that didn't belong. They shuffled slow, some hunting with jerky steps, others dropping dead, too weak to go on. Fights broke out fast, mean and short, the strong ripping into the weak, a mess of pain stuck in a loop of misery. My stomach turned, knowing this place thrived on suffering.
My chest tightened as I took it in, my left eye sparking with Insightful Vision. It showed a rotten energy in the air, sinking into everything like a bad smell you can't shake. This place was decay made real, eating anything good. I blinked hard, focusing, the glow in my eye faint but steady. The corruption pressed on my heart, a heavy weight.
I took a step, my boot crunching the dry ground loud in the quiet. Bones cracked behind me, a grim reminder of my rough landing. The sound stuck in my head, cold and final. I clenched my fists, digging for any strength left. Something in me refused to give up, even here. The stench of rot clung to me, a grim echo that lingered as my mind sank deeper, unaware of Doras Dagda's silent vigil far beyond.
Back in Doras Dagda, the settlement felt too still, like it held its breath. Kernal stood in the town square, his big frame hunched, lost in thought. Villagers gave him space, half amazed, half nervous about his presence. The quiet wasn't peaceful as it should be. It was heavy, and full of worry. Everyone moved on automatic, waiting for bad news.
Outside the walls, the dire wolf's torn body and the Hell-Goat's broken parts burned in a pit, ashes smoking. They'd stripped useful stuff. Goat horns, hide, wolf teeth, bones... but no one cheered. The mood was grim, every face tight with concern. People spoke soft, honoring me with hushed voices. Doras wasn't itself, wrapped in fear.
In the healer's quarters, I lay flat on a bed of woven vines and moss, barely breathing, sweat soaking my skin. Lillia knelt close, hands glowing soft as she poured life magic into my burned scars, red lightning marks carved deep. My Aetheric Crystal was cracked, a dark patch showing it wasn't working right. She didn't stop, eyes fixed on me, like she could pull me back by will alone. One of Snow's pupils slipped her a stamina potion, keeping her steady, but her hands shook now and then. She felt me slipping, caught in a slower world.
Healers buzzed around, worry creasing their faces, handing Lillia potions and spreading balms. Snow had taken over the Arcane Crafter's Tower, practically living in the alchemy shop. She and her apprentices worked fast, using everything from DAVE's sanctum. Every herb, every vial, went into saving me. Snow's hands didn't stop, her focus sharp as a blade.
Adventuring teams came back pumped from wins, only to hear about me and go quiet. Every one stepped up, asking how to help, no hesitation. Snow sent them out with STEVE's maps to find herbs for health and stamina potions. They moved quick, turning skills to healing, not fighting. Snow turned their hauls into potions and salves, giving me a chance.
"How long can Lillia keep going?" Chaucer asked, standing by the door, voice low and serious, no trace of his usual jokes. Hamish leaned against the wall, arms crossed, face heavy. "As long as she has to," he said, gruff but sure. "But it's wearing her down. She hasn't rested since we got back." Chaucer nodded, looking at the floor, worry plain in his eyes.
Chaucer rubbed his neck, uneasy. "We need him, Hamish. Three days now. That thing knew his name. If the Warlock's got his eye on Robert, we're in bigger trouble than we thought." Hamish's face darkened, but he kept steady. "Yeah. But losing it won't help. We've got to trust Lillia and the healers."
Outside, DAVE sent Kobrutes through the portal, building a tough defense with a soft whoosh each time. Tiny magi-knights joined them, fairies six inches tall with bright wings and sharp spears, their tips hollow like needles, blending magic and tech. DAVE had created their design using the Dark Fairy Queen's dungeon core, crafting fast-moving, loyal knight squads for hit-and-run tactics. They zipped around, guarding the sky and checking the green land DAVE had fixed. Squads of fifteen to twenty darted fast, keeping Doras safe. STEVE ran it all, stacking supplies and digging vaults near houses for Laird Ewan, ready for anything.
The walls were stronger now, doubled with sand inside to soak up hits, solid as rock. The ramparts were wider, letting a Kobrute or three men walk easy, and taller too. Villagers worked quiet, sharpening blades and fixing gates, every move focused. The air felt tight, like a storm was coming. My attack had fired everyone up, ready to fight for their home.
The settlement was on edge, ready to make anyone pay for trying to finish me or take Doras. They moved like one, building walls, stockpiling gear, eyes sharp. No one talked much, but their grit showed in every swing of a hammer. If trouble came, they'd stand tall, fierce as the stone around them. Their home was sacred, and they'd guard it with everything.
In the healer's quarters, Lillia's magic glowed brighter for a second, her face tight as she gave me all she had. She hoped I could feel her, a light in whatever dark I was lost in. Tiredness dragged at her eyes, sadness too, but she didn't quit. Her hands stayed steady, pouring light into my scars. Every bit of her fought for me.
In my nightmare, hours stretched into days, every step a slog to reach the hill's building. I'd counted two blurry sunsets, maybe three, losing track in the haze. It was a broken tower, smashed from some old war, stones cracked and half gone. I stumbled inside, body aching like it'd give out. The place felt dead, like it hadn't seen life in forever. I leaned against a wall, catching my breath, wondering how I'd ended up here.
I spotted a well and dropped the bucket, hearing it splash low. I pulled it up quick, desperate for a drink, and tipped it to my mouth. The water was slimy and sour, full of rot. I gagged, spitting it out, my stomach heaving onto the ground. I staggered to a wall under a busted roof, half hidden, sicker than ever.
Hot, beat, and so thirsty, I sank down, thinking of Lillia. She'd walked into my heart and stayed, no asking, just there. The need to hold her hit like a wave, strong and real. I need you, I thought, yelling into my fist, raw with pain. When I couldn't scream anymore, I cried, tears cutting tracks through the dirt on my face.
My tears dried, but the ache for Lillia lingered, a flicker of defiance holding on. Then a voice cut through, smooth as a breeze. A man stepped into the tower, dressed in white like a clan chief, and sat on a fallen stone, calm and steady. "Robert," he said, soft but clear. It startled me bad, and I sat up quick, staring, heart jumping.
I didn't say a word at first, head spinning. Was this guy real, or another nightmare trick? Something about him felt like a memory I couldn't grab, faint but there. I stared, trying to make sense of it. The man just sat, looking back, like he had all the time in the world.
"Who are you?" I finally got out, voice rough from my dry throat. I noticed how bad I smelled. Sweat, that rotten water, the sour air clinging to me. It made me feel smaller, less than I should be. The man didn't care, his face was calm. I waited, needing an answer.
"Not important. Thirsty?" he asked, voice easy, like we were chatting over tea. I nodded quick, a glint of hope in my tired eyes. He tossed me a water skin, heavy with water. I caught it clumsy, hands shaking, but I didn't care. I just needed that drink.
I ripped the cap off and drank deep, cold water hitting my throat like a gift. It washed away the slime and rot, clean and sharp, settling cool in my gut. Each gulp felt like life coming back, pulling me up from the dark. I drained it all, and for a second, I could've cried at how good it was. I looked at the man, still shaky but grateful.
The man gave a small laugh, warm and light. "Looks like you've had it rough here, Robert. Why do you stay?" His voice was kind, but it cut through the fog in my head. I froze, the question hitting hard. I hadn't thought about staying. I didn't know there was a choice.
"I don't know how to leave," I said, wiping my face with my sleeve, voice heavy. "I don't even know where this is." The words felt true, like admitting something I'd carried too long. I looked at the man, hoping for something to make sense. He just nodded, like he understood.
"Alright," he said, leaning back a bit. "Here. Let's talk." His voice was steady, pulling me in like a lifeline from a sinking ship. The tower felt less empty with him there, like he brought a piece of the real world. I sat up straighter, waiting to hear what came next.