Whispers of the Ruin
Far away from the main Unbound hideout, deep in the shadows of another sanctuary, a transaction was taking place.
In a dimly lit chamber, the flickering candlelight barely reached the corners of the vast space. At the center, a lone figure sat upon a stone seat, his muscular frame barely contained by the chair. His yellow, slitted pupils gleamed in the darkness, his black fur rippling with each slow breath. He belonged to the Wolfrain race, a people as fierce as they were cunning.
Across from him, obscured by the gloom, another presence lurked, their form hidden beneath the shroud of shadows.
The Lycan's deep, growling voice cut through the silence.
"Is what you've said true?"
The shadowed figure chuckled lightly, the sound barely more than a whisper.
"Yes. I assure you, this is an ancient ruin. A ruin bound to be filled with treasures beyond your imagination. This information is priceless."
The Lycan narrowed his golden eyes. "How much?"
The figure in the shadows didn't hesitate.
"One million."
A deep growl rumbled from the Wolfrain's chest.
"You must be out of your mind."
The shadowed figure tilted their head, their voice smooth and unwavering.
"I deal in information, and this, my friend, is beyond valuable. With this knowledge, you stand to make a fortune."
The Lycan's ears twitched as he leaned forward, his clawed fingers tapping against the stone table.
"If this information is so invaluable, why not keep it to yourself? Surely, entering an ancient ruin would grant you instantaneous wealth?"
The figure in the darkness exhaled a soft chuckle.
"You and I both know how dangerous ordinary ruins are… And this is an ancient one. I don't have the strength to conquer it. But you… I believe you do."
Silence stretched between them, a quiet tension thick in the air.
Then, at last, the Lycan leaned back, his sharp teeth glinting in the dim light.
"I will pay you your one million."
The unseen figure's lips curled into a smirk.
"Pleasure doing business with you."
---
Though Dreados had wished to keep the existence of the ruin a closely guarded secret, whispers spread like wildfire.
No one knew how the information had leaked.
But by then, it was already too late.
---
The Debt
In the Unbound hideout, afternoon light spilled through the cracks in the stone walls, illuminating the cavernous halls in a golden hue.
Seated by the window, Eryndor gazed out at the mist-covered landscape beyond, his piercing green eyes filled with contemplation. The waterfall outside roared endlessly, its cascading waters masking the quiet stirrings of the hideout.
Then, without warning—
BANG.
The door burst open.
"WONDERFUL AFTERNOON, DEAR ELVHEINS!"
The voice was unmistakable.
Striding into the room with far too much enthusiasm was Gustein, his fur bristling with excitement, his nose twitching as he brandished a worn-out leather notebook. His wide grin was anything but comforting.
Eryndor barely turned his head, his voice calm, refined.
"To what do we owe the pleasure, Gustein?"
The leporid slammed the book onto the table and flipped through the pages furiously.
"I am here to discuss an issue of grave importance." He jabbed a finger at Eryndor. "You owe me. A lot."
Eryndor arched a brow. "Is that so?"
Ignoring the sarcasm, Gustein flipped to a specific page, dramatically clearing his throat as he began reading:
"Because of you, I almost had a heart attack—5,000 Narlins."
"Losing my arm to that foolish king—9,000 Narlins."
"I healed your sister—30,000 Narlins."
"And for all the stress you've put me through—10,000 Narlins."
Gustein slammed the book shut, crossing his arms with finality.
"That brings your total to… 108,000 Narlins. Not including the Waver fee. You have no idead how much my waver cost, artifacts are extremely expensive."
Eryndor tilted his head slightly, an amused smile playing on his lips.
"You seem to be in better spirits today. That is a relief."
Gustein scowled.
"What are you smiling for? You think I'm joking?"
Before Eryndor could reply, a loud snore echoed through the room.
Gustein's ears twitched, his head snapping toward the bed where Valerius lay—
—still wrapped in his neck brace, unmoving, silent.
Gustein blinked.
"…What happened to him?"
Eryndor sighed, glancing toward his injured brother.
"An unfortunate incident."
Gustein shrugged. "Not my problem."
With a dramatic flourish, he ripped a page from his notebook and handed it to Eryndor.
"Here. Your official invoice."
Eryndor took the paper, his eyes scanning the boldly written amount.
"I am unfamiliar with the currency of Narlin. This presents a problem."
Gustein smirked, folding his arms.
"Not my problem. Pay up, or you and your siblings become my slaves."
Before Eryndor could respond, Gustein froze.
His nose twitched.
He inhaled deeply.
And then—his ears shot up.
Eryndor narrowed his eyes.
"What is it?"
Gustein snapped his head upward, eyes locked on a small, rectangular opening in the wall near the ceiling—a vent that led to the next room.
The aroma of warm, deliciously prepared food seeped through the passage.
Gustein's expression twisted into sheer betrayal.
In an instant, he was on his feet, stacking three nearby tables atop one another.
With impressive agility, he leapt up, peering through the small opening—
And what he saw nearly made him fall.
Seated inside the adjacent room was the Elf Queen, the Elf Princess, Ziraiah, and Silvie.
Their table was filled with lavish dishes—a feast.
They were laughing. Smiling. Drinking.
They looked nothing like prisoners.
Gustein's jaw dropped.
"What the hell?! Aren't they supposed to be hostages like us?! Why are they eating such good food?!"
Eryndor, sensing Gustein's growing frustration, calmly stood and made his way over.
Effortlessly, he climbed up beside him and looked through the opening.
His gaze landed on Ziraiah and Eliana, talking and laughing like close friends.
His brows furrowed.
"Since when did my sister become so acquainted with them? She only left a few hours ago…"
Gustein, still frozen in disbelief, clenched his fists.
He was hungry.
Eryndor smirked.
"If you are so desperate, why not ask them for food?"
Gustein imagined the scenario—
Humbly bowing before the Elf Queen, begging for food with a meek smile.
"Your graciousness, may I have a mere morsel? I have not eaten in more than a day—"
And then—
The Elf King would materialize from the shadows, towering over him with a murderous glare.
"You dare speak to my wife?"
Gustein shuddered, shaking the vision from his mind.
He hopped down from the stacked tables and dusted himself off.
"Nope. I'm good."
Eryndor, still seated near the window, turned his sharp gaze toward Gustein, his voice smooth yet carrying the weight of quiet authority.
"Oh, Gustein, might I request that you extend your healing expertise to my brother?"
The leporid's golden eyes flicked toward him, narrowing in suspicion. His long ears twitched slightly before he smirked.
"30,000 Narlins."
Eryndor's expression remained calm, though inwardly, his mind weighed the predicament. I have no means of compensating this man…
His gaze drifted toward Ziraiah, who was still engaged in lively conversation with Eliana. He rested his chin between his fingers, contemplative.
If Ziraiah secures the friendship of this princess, she might persuade her to cover the cost on our behalf. I may yet be ignorant of this world's financial system, but royalty surely commands vast wealth. A mere 30,000 Narlins would be but a trivial sum to her.
With calculated precision, Eryndor lifted his head and gave a single nod. "Very well."
Gustein grinned, baring his sharp teeth. "Good."
He leapt off the stacked tables with effortless agility, his powerful legs cushioning the descent, before sauntering toward Valerius, who remained motionless on the bed. Without ceremony, he removed the neck brace, then leaned in, peering at the injuries with analytical scrutiny.
A glimmer of gold flickered in Gustein's pupils as his vision penetrated beneath the skin, peeling away layers of muscle and sinew to expose the broken structure beneath.
"Tsk. These Elvheins just refuse to die. First the girl, now him…"
His keen gaze traced the delicate fractures along Valerius's cervical spine.
"C2 vertebra severely compromised—akin to a classical hangman's fracture. Such an injury should have resulted in immediate respiratory failure or paralysis due to spinal cord compression, yet the cord remains intact. Intriguing."
His attention shifted to the mandible. "A severe temporomandibular dislocation, multiple microfractures across the ramus and condylar processes—sustained from a singular blunt force impact. The occipital bone exhibits a linear fissure, though it has not extended toward the foramen magnum. A miracle, truly."
Gustein let out a breath of mild amusement, shaking his head.
Unbothered by the grotesqueness of the damage, he reached forward and casually tore the fabric over Valerius's chest, exposing his lean musculature. His eyes gleamed as he peered deeper, scanning beneath flesh and bone.
His gaze settled on a singular organ, beating rhythmically.
"One heart," Gustein murmured.
Of course. They are siblings, after all.
He placed a single finger against Valerius's forehead.
This time, there was no radiant glow, no spectacle of ethereal energy.
Yet—Valerius began to heal.
To Be Continued…