Aethyr stood in the grand chamber, surrounded by the College's most powerful mages, detailing his journey through the harrowing dungeon floors with a soldier’s precision and a storyteller’s heart.

  He described the treacherous environments, each floor a deadly puzzle teeming with nightmarish creatures. He spoke of the long, arduous battle against the Jorogumo, a creature both horrifying and tragic. With solemn respect, he shared the story of the fallen woman who had once been human, corrupted by miasma, and urged the council to leave her final resting place undisturbed. The weight of his words hung in the air, a quiet plea to honor the dignity of what little humanity she had left.

  After the lengthy debriefing, Aethyr was finally allowed some rest. Yet, even as he lay on his bed, exhaustion tugging at him, his mind refused to still. The faces of the creatures he’d fought, the despair of the ruined lands outside, and the weight of the vial in his possession all swirled in his thoughts.

  That evening, his friends came to visit, bringing warmth to his troubled soul.

  The cool evening breeze carried the faint smell of ash from the distant mountain. Aethyr stood on the balcony, gazing into the darkened horizon, when Penelo, Rex, and Vaan arrived, their presence announced by the clinking of mugs and the aroma of warm goat milk and sponge cake.

  “Still brooding, huh?” Rex teased, handing Aethyr a mug. “Here. Drink up. It won’t fix the world, but it’s good for the nerves.”

  “Thanks,” Aethyr murmured, sipping the creamy milk.

  Penelo set the cake on a small table, taking a seat. “We heard about the Jorogumo. It must’ve been horrible. Are you... okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just... tired,” Aethyr admitted. “But there’s so much more to do. The mountain—its ashes are killing the farmlands and poisoning the water. The people nearby are suffering, and I’m not sure how we’ll stop it.”

  “The dungeons are spreading more monsters,” Vaan added grimly, leaning on the balcony railing. “If that keeps up, it won’t be just the farms. Cities could be next. Do you think you can stop it, Aethyr?”

  Aethyr’s gaze remained fixed on the horizon. “I don’t know. But I have to try. That mountain... it’s not just spewing ash. It’s spewing evil. If we can calm it, maybe the land can start to heal.”

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  “Calm it? You make it sound like the mountain’s alive,” Rex said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Maybe it is,” Penelo said thoughtfully, swirling her milk. “The dungeons have their own kind of life, don’t they? What if the mountain does too?”

  The group fell into a comfortable silence, each lost in their thoughts. Finally, Penelo broke it with a small smile. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. Right?”

  “Of course,” Rex said, clapping Aethyr on the back. “You’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

  Aethyr chuckled. “Thanks, guys. Really.”

  For a moment, the world felt a little lighter.

  The next morning, Aethyr found his grandfather, Kodlak Bjorn Whitemane, seated at the long dining table, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. The elder warrior looked impossibly calm, as if the chaos of the previous day were nothing more than a passing breeze.

  Aethyr stared in amazement. This man fought a dragon yesterday... and here he is, sipping coffee like it’s just another morning.

  Kodlak caught his gaze and offered a nod. “Morning, son.”

  “Morning, Gramps,” Aethyr replied, sitting across from him.

  As he glanced out the window, he spotted the remains of the dragon being carried into the courtyard for skinning and material harvesting. Nearby, a manticore and a giant ogre-snallygaster lay in a heap, their bodies a testament to the fierce battle that had raged. Aethyr’s eyes flicked back and forth—dragon, grandfather, dragon, grandfather—his disbelief growing with each glance.

  Kodlak raised an eyebrow. “What is it, son?”

  “Gramps... can you please show some expression? There’s a dead dragon right there!” Aethyr exclaimed, gesturing wildly toward the courtyard.

  Kodlak shrugged, taking another sip of coffee. “So? It’s dead. Aela and Chopper did that.”

  Aethyr groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Gramps, you’re impossible. No wonder the Phalanx inner circle’s afraid of you. I swear, you act like this is normal!”

  Kodlak chuckled. “It is normal.”

  “Normal?! A manticore, a giant ogre-snallygaster, and a dragon—all at once! And you’re just sitting here drinking coffee like it’s nothing!”

  “Do you ever get scared, son?” Kodlak asked suddenly, his tone curious.

  “Of course! I got scared when a bull-sized spider charged at me! When a lady with multiple arms and blades tried to slice me into pieces, my blood went cold, and my face turned pale!”

  Kodlak burst into booming laughter, clapping his grandson on the shoulder. “Good, good!”

  “Good?! What’s good about that?” Aethyr asked, utterly exasperated.

  “You fought your fear and won. That’s what’s good,” Kodlak said with a satisfied nod, giving Aethyr a light fist bump.

  For a moment, Aethyr simply stared at him. Then he smiled, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re something else, Gramps.”

  “And you’re getting there too, son,” Kodlak said, his tone proud.

  Aethyr felt the weight of his fears and burdens lighten ever so slightly. Though the road ahead was long and uncertain, he knew he wasn’t alone. He had his friends, his grandfather, and his own strength to guide him. And that was enough—for now.