A/N - Thank you, Powder, for becoming God of Velmoryn's Patron!
"I always wondered why the oldest Velmoryn in our tribe was barely over four hundred years old," Aria continued, her voice quiet, almost detached, as if she were speaking more to herself than anyone else. She absently stirred the fire with a thin stick, watching the embers dance and rise like tiny spirits escaping into the night. "Even in the other tribes… there's no one older than five hundred."
Teryo frowned, his features tightening.
"What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, interrupting softly, his voice lacking its usual harshness. I had long noticed that when he spoke to Aria, he was much more gentle and restrained. "We've been hunted for centuries. That's why. Oppressed. Forced to flee, to hide in these forests. You know what the Elves did to us. If we hadn't escaped, they would've wiped us out." His voice grew firm, as if reciting a history long repeated, burned into his memory with every retelling. "They've always hated us."
His words faded into the night air, leaving nothing but the crackle of burning wood filling the silence. The orange light flickered across their faces. The flames gnawed at the dry logs with patient hunger, and behind them, Huanir sat quietly, licking at a patch of dried dirt stubbornly clinging to his fur. The moment stretched, heavy and fragile, as if even the fire hesitated to disturb what was coming.
Finally, Vaelari spoke. "That is what we believed too," he said, his breath visible in the cold night air. "It's what we were all told, what we passed on to each generation. But what we found inside that dungeon… was a different truth."
He paused, glancing briefly at Aria and Ninali. Neither spoke.
"The Elves didn't seek to slaughter us, Vael Teryo," Vaelari continued softly. "They shunned us. They rejected us because we were not their kin. We were never born as part of their race."
Teryo's brow furrowed, his lips parting slightly as the weight of the words began to settle. His mind was grasping at pieces he didn't yet want to assemble. "Then…"
"We were created," Vaelari answered simply. "We are abominations - born from the merging of Elven blood and demon flesh. The first Velmoryns weren't born, they were crafted." His voice trembled faintly from the crushing weight of the truth that had unraveled his entire existence.
"Created… by who?" Teryo whispered. "When?"
"The God who stood against the Goddess," Aria answered now, picking up where Vaelari left off. Her voice was colder, more distant. "The one who sought to destroy the Sylvan race. Our ancestors were meant to be weapons. A hybrid race, forged in the image of both demon and elf, designed to slaughter the very people we thought were our oppressors."
For a moment, Teryo could only stare at her, breathing unevenly. "The Elves… they drove us away because we attacked them first?" His voice cracked as he said it, unable to believe the words coming from his own mouth. His legs finally gave out beneath him, and he sank slowly to the cold ground. But he didn't feel the cold. He didn't feel anything. His entire world, the story that had shaped his every thought, every conviction, was collapsing.
"No," Vaelari shook his head, offering him a faint, bitter smile. "Our kind never reached that far. The first generation… failed. The malice we were supposed to inherit never fully took root. Our ancestors turned to the Goddess instead. Her presence drew them. Her domain called to the Sylvan blood within us. They sought Her… hoping She would accept them."
"But She never did," Teryo whispered hoarsely. His eyes darted between them, lost. "Did She?"
"She pitied us," Ninali answered quietly, her voice breaking as the tears finally slipped down her cheeks. "But She never saw us as Her children. The Goddess built this forest as a cage, a sanctuary where we would remain hidden, never knowing where we came from, never returning to the world we were denied. The first generation was erased to keep us blind. To keep us docile."
Teryo closed his eyes, his breath shallow. "So that's why no one's past five hundred…" he muttered. "So we would forget."
The fire hissed and popped, the only sound filling the hollow space that remained after the truth had finally been spoken.
…
"So that's why you called me a demon?" I muttered absentmindedly, my gaze fixed on Gundir as I tried to process everything he'd told me. The short, hairy man sat right across from me, still bound tightly, the rough ropes and makeshift chains holding him in place. What surprised me the most was how little he resisted. He hadn't even made a halfhearted attempt to break free. Instead, he just sat there, breathing evenly, answering my endless stream of questions like a teacher tutoring a slow student.
"Do you know who that god was? The one that created Velmoryns?" I asked.
"I may be ancient," Gundir grumbled, shifting his bulky frame as far as the restraints allowed, "but I'm still a mortal. I was never one of Eer believers. How the hell would I know something like that?" He shook his head, exhaling sharply and shrugging uncomfortably. "Now untie me already, ya bastard. I've answered so many of yer damned questions. Unless ya plan to kill me, of course…" His tone was gruff, but not hostile - more exhausted than anything else.
I smiled faintly at the grumpy Drukyr - that's what his race was called - before finally moving closer to loosen the bindings. His wrists were thick, nearly as wide as my forearms, the ropes creaking as I worked through the knots.
As I freed him, my curiosity still burned. "Elisabeth said we'd find the Goddess' Inquisitor here… so why were you inside instead? What happened?"
"That was the plan," Gundir answered, flexing his stiff arms as the final knots slipped free. "The Goddess had chosen Eer strongest and most loyal servant to become..." His voice trailed off mid-sentence. His face twitched, brows furrowing deeply. "Erm… I can't remember." His tone grew strained as though the words were trapped just beyond his reach. "I remember Freya... Freya and I worked on that capsule together. Then she screamed… and that was it."
He paused, rubbing his wrists as though the physical sensation might help jog his memory. His eyes, heavy and unfocused, stared past me as if looking for something that wasn't there. "It's like something tore that part out of me head."
Then, suddenly, he straightened, locking his eyes on me. "What year is this?"
The question hit me like a slap. The most basic thing. The simplest question one could ask in my old world. What year? Which month? Which day?
And yet - I had no answer.
"I… don't know," I admitted flatly, ashamed of myself for some reason. But Gundir didn't react in any way, he simply nodded, like he expected no better.
"We've got to leave this damned place," he muttered. "But before we do, I need to find ya a temporary weapon." He was already standing up, moving toward the piles of discarded equipment without waiting for my answer. His broad, heavy hands sifted through broken swords, rusted armor plates, and shattered shields, as if he might miraculously uncover something useful.
Then his voice came again from the pile, gruff but oddly amused. "By the way, where did ya get that shit of a sword ya were swingin' earlier? Who was the moron that forged it? Wasting such pure and powerful godly energy like that… it's a bloody crime!"
I stood there for a moment, feeling both flattered and insulted all at once. The sword I had forged myself, the one I'd thought was my masterpiece, my proudest creation, was apparently little more than a laughingstock to someone like him. But at least he seemed genuinely impressed with the divine power. In a way, that was the only part that truly mattered.
So much for my craftsmanship…
"It was given to me," I answered, relieved that no Velmoryns were here to witness their god's so-called craftsmanship being mocked like cheap market junk. "I'm just glad it helped us defeat Elisabeth."
I paused briefly before asking him what intrigued me. "How did you do that exactly?
I wanted to learn more about his class, or at least that strange ability he'd used.
"That's a unique skill of me race…" Gundir muttered, but his voice suddenly rose, "Found it!"
He yanked something out from beneath the mountain of discarded equipment - a long, slightly curved sword, its hilt longer than the blade itself. The edges were rusted, and the handle was visibly gnawed, the grip half-devoured by parasites or rats that had long made a home here.
"For now, this is what ya shall be using." He tossed the weapon toward me as if it weighed nothing more than a stick. His strength still startled me, even after all this. I caught it with both hands, feeling its awkward weight.
The blade was light and oddly balanced, but somehow… pleasant. Flexible. Easier to maneuver than my greatsword had ever been. As worn as it was, the design had been forged by someone who understood functionality over appearance.
I ran my fingers along the dull curve, testing it as Gundir spoke again.
"What would ya have done if Freya had been here?" His voice lowered as he stared into the empty air, his brows twitching, his expression growing heavier. "She'd have thought ya with that filth and killed ya both before ya even shit yer pants."
I held back a sigh of relief. That was the opening I'd been waiting for.
Gundir was protective whenever her name came up, sensitive to any prying. So if I pushed too directly asking questions about Freya, I risked shutting him down completely.
"I was a bit too busy trying to stay alive to think about that," I answered, allowing a light smile to cross my face as I tested the sword's swing. "Would Freya have been able to defeat Elisabeth? Honestly, we only survived because of m…" I caught myself just in time, "...the godly energy stored inside my sword."
I thought it was a reasonable question to ask. But Gundir's reaction was anything but reasonable. He erupted into laughter, barking out in rough, raw bursts like I had just asked whether a child could wrestle down a giant.
"That bitch?" He spat the word like venom. "She wouldn't have lasted even a second against Freya! She was the weakest Inquisitor I've ever seen. Freya… she is the strongest Inquisitor under one of the strongest Gods to ever exist!"
There was no hesitation in his voice, only a firm pride, like he were speaking of himself. His fists clenched unconsciously, and his posture straightened, almost as if he grew taller while speaking her name.
"Freya is? You think she's still alive?" The words slipped out of me before I could catch them.
The moment I asked it, I regretted it. Gundir froze for a heartbeat, just long enough for me to see the brief flash of uncertainty cut through his bravado. But he buried it fast.
"Still alive?" His voice rose sharply, strained and defensive. "What the fuck are ya talkin' about, ya bastard? Who would even dare to fight Freya? No mortal would ever hope to defeat eer!"
He didn't look at me when he said it. He was gripping pieces of armor now, scavenging whatever bits still had some use, strapping them onto his heavy frame like someone desperate to stay busy, desperate not to think.
I said nothing. His reaction told me more than any answer would have.
"Let's go," he grunted, now fully armored in a mismatched, ugly set of plates and leather. "I don't want to waste another second in this shithole. I don't know what the gap is, but a day here could equal the month outside…"
Huh?
The thought had never even crossed my mind. If I had spent too much time here, my party could easily be gone and the winter monsters freely roaming outside…
Without waiting, Gundir bit into his thumb again, drawing fresh blood. With surprising care, he smeared it across the wall behind the capsule, tracing intricate symbols swiftly. The dark green marks pulsed faint silver, reacting to his mana. A low hum vibrated through the chamber as the portal slowly began to form, spiraling open with a soft pull.
We stepped through the portal together, taking slow, measured steps. The pull of the portal was gentle this time, nothing like the nauseating spirals I'd felt at the dungeon's entrance. In just a few heartbeats, we were standing on the other side.
The chamber was small, a narrow rectangle, barely larger than a shrine. The air here was still, untouched by time, as if sealed off from the rest of the dungeon entirely. The walls were plain white stone, smooth and featureless.
At the very center stood a single metal chest, sitting alone like a present waiting to be claimed. The design was simple, no ornate decorations, no excessive locking mechanisms, just thick metal plates fused together.
But my eyes weren't on the chest.
They were drawn to the stone platform just behind it. Elevated only slightly above the ground, resting in the center of that smooth pedestal, was something I recognized immediately.
A memory stone.
I didn't need to approach to know what it was. Even from here, I could feel its presence, the faint hum of locked knowledge pressing at the edges of my awareness.
I was finally going to learn why the Goddess had built this dungeon.
And more importantly, what message she had left behind for me.
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