The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of ash and the distant echoes of forgotten battles. The road ahead was more treacherous than ever, the path winding and twisting like the labyrinths of a nightmare. Mira adjusted the strap of her satchel, her fingers brushing against the cool surface of the silver Die within. A strange warmth seemed to pulse from them, a silent whisper urging her forward.
But as much as the Die whispered, so did the shadows, and not all of them were kind.
The Halflings, or what remained of their group, trudged onward with an uneasy air. Mira noticed how Pipla, once so boisterous and full of energy, now seemed quieter, her warhammer slung across her back with an almost unnatural stillness. Reeko, as always, was strumming a disjointed tune on his lute, though his eyes darted nervously toward the ever-darkening sky. There were too many gaps in their party, too many questions left unanswered.
"Where's Jory?" Mira asked softly, breaking the silence.
Pipla didn't look up. She didn't need to. The question had been hanging in the air for days. Since their last encounter with that creature Jory had vanished without a trace. Dead?—at least, not that they knew—but gone. Abandoned? Trapped? The possibilities were as endless as the darkness creeping in.
"Probably off hunting for buttons again," Reeko offered with a forced laugh, though the unease in his voice was palpable.
But Mira wasn't buying it. She knew better. There was something far darker at play here. And as much as they had all tried to dismiss it, a nagging thought kept creeping into her mind—the idea that Jory wasn't just lost. He had been taken. And if he were taken, what had happened to him?
They reached a clearing, the last vestige of sunlight slipping behind the horizon. The trees stood tall, their branches twisting in unnatural shapes, as if they were reaching out, searching for something—or someone. In the center of the clearing
lay a large stone, its surface slick with moss and time. A stone altar, if you could call it that. It wasn't a place Mira had ever wanted to be.
"Do you feel that?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Pipla nodded, eyes narrowed. "Aye. Something's off. Feels like the air's… thicker, somehow."
Reeko stopped playing his lute, staring into the distance with a grim expression. "I don't like it. We should keep moving."
But Mira stood still, her eyes drawn to the stone altar in the center of the clearing. There was something familiar about it, something she couldn't quite place. Then it hit her: it was the same kind of altar she had seen in the stories, the ones tied to dark rituals and ancient magic. The kind that summoned things from beyond.
"Mira ?" Pipla's voice snapped her out of her reverie. "You seeing something?"
She nodded. "I think we should check it out."
With that, they approached cautiously, each step bringing them closer to the stone. The shadows seemed to shift around them, flickering in the dim light, like they were alive, waiting for something to happen.
And then, from the darkness beyond the clearing, came a voice—a voice that was all too familiar.
"Well, well, well, what have we here?" The voice was smooth, velvety, and malevolent. "Another batch of meddling adventurers? Or perhaps some foolhardy souls hoping to end the misery that has gripped their world?"
A figure stepped from the shadows, tall and cloaked in dark, flowing robes that shimmered like oil on water. His eyes gleamed with an unsettling light—golden, like the fires of hell
"Velcrath," Mira muttered, the name heavy on her tongue. The dark sorcerer—the one who had been pulling the strings behind the chaos. The one who had threatened everything.
"Ah, you remember me." Velcrath's smile widened, his teeth unnaturally sharp. "I'm flattered. But I fear your memories will soon fade as you descend into oblivion."
Mira felt a chill run down her spine. The Die in her satchel pulsed again, but she didn't reach for them. Not yet. The time wasn't right. Not yet.
"We're not afraid of you," Pipla growled, clutching her warhammer tightly. "You're a tyrant, Velcrath. And we're putting an end to your reign."
Velcrath laughed, a dark, echoing sound that seemed to reverberate in the air around them. "End it? Oh, my dear halfling, you've no idea what you're truly dealing with. You think the Die will save you? That your petty little powers can thwart me?"
Mira stepped forward, her eyes locked on the dark sorcerer. "We don't need the Die to stop you. But they'll help. They always do."
Velcrath's eyes narrowed. "Ah. The Die. You think those trinkets of fate give you power, don't you? You've only begun to understand their true nature."
Mira could feel it now—the weight of the Die in her satchel, pulsing with an intensity she hadn't felt before. Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach for them, but she held herself back. If she used them too soon, they would have no effect. But there was something else… something far deeper than the Die that she had to figure out first.
"You're wrong, Velcrath," she said, her voice steady. "You've underestimated us."
"Underestimate you?" Velcrath scoffed. "I've watched your every move, little fate-bearer. You and your ragtag band of misfits have nothing left to give."
Mira 's eyes flickered toward Pipla, Reeko, and the now-empty space where Jory had once stood. It was a jarring reminder that their party was fractured. They were vulnerable. But that didn't mean they were without hope.
"And yet, here we are," Mira said with a smirk, her fingers brushing against the Die once again.
Velcrath's expression darkened, and for a moment, it seemed as if the world itself paused—just long enough for him to catch his breath. "Foolish girl," he whispered, his voice filled with venom.
But it wasn't Mira who spoke next.
"It's not just her," Reeko said, stepping forward. "We're in this together. All of us."
The last remnants of daylight vanished, and the darkness closed in.
The darkness in the clearing seemed to grow, thickening with every breath they took. Velcrath's presence, like a shadow creeping across the land, soaked up what little light remained. His golden eyes gleamed in the gloom, watching the group with a mixture of amusement and contempt. It was as if he could see through them, past their fears and uncertainties, into the very depths of their souls.
"Are you done?" Mira said, her voice calm, but there was an undercurrent of steel in it that she hadn't felt before. She could feel the Die in her satchel—burning, alive with power—but still, she hesitated.
"You think this will work?" Velcrath's voice was smooth, mocking. "You think you can challenge me with your little band of lost souls?"
Pipla's knuckles whitened on the shaft of her warhammer, and she stepped forward, her body language all readiness. "You've got a lot of words for someone who's about to be defeated, Velcrath."
"Oh, do I?" Velcrath chuckled darkly, and the sound seemed to coil around them like smoke. "And what will you do, little halfling? Swing your hammer at me? You can't even save your friend. What's his name again? Ah, yes—Jory. You've already lost him, haven't you?"
Mira 's heart skipped a beat. She turned to Pipla, but the halfling remained silent, her face hard, betraying no emotion. The truth of Jory's disappearance had never been spoken out loud, but Velcrath knew. They all knew.
The silence between them stretched long and uncomfortable, but Mira forced her voice to remain steady. "Jory is gone, yes. But he's not dead. We know that."
Velcrath's smile widened, his eyes glowing brighter. "You think you know? You don't even know the true cost of your quest, girl. None of you do. The fate you chase—it comes with a price, and I'm the one who decides how much you'll pay."
"That's where you're wrong," Mira said, her hand moving toward the Die once more. The warmth they radiated against her fingertips was undeniable, but it wasn't just the Die that gave her courage. It was the bond she shared with her companions. They were not alone in this fight. Even if they had lost Jory—if they were scattered and broken—they still had each other.
"You think your Die can save you?" Velcrath scoffed. "They are tools, nothing more. A game of chance. You're playing with forces far beyond your understanding. In the end, they will be your undoing."
The moment Velcrath spoke those words, something shifted in the air—an unsettling, oppressive weight pressing down on them from all sides. Mira 's hand twitched at her side, and the Die in her satchel seemed to pulse in answer. Her mind screamed for her to act, but something held her back.
She needed to understand this. To understand what Velcrath was hiding.
"Tell me, Velcrath," Mira said, her voice taking on a dangerous edge, "What do you want with us? Why target us, and why the Die? What's the end game?"
Velcrath's gaze flickered toward her for a moment, his golden eyes narrowing. There was something in them—something cold and calculating.
"You don't get it, do you?" Velcrath's voice dropped into a low, sinister whisper. "The Die were never the true power. They were just the bait. The real power is what lies beneath them, what you're all too blind to see. This world is just the beginning. You're all caught in a web, and you've been walking right into my trap."
Mira felt a chill run down her spine as the weight of his words settled over her like a cloak of dread. She hadn't considered it like that before. The Die... the magic... it wasn't just about them, was it? It was about something deeper—something much darker.
"You speak in riddles," she replied, trying to hide the growing unease in her chest. "But it doesn't matter. We'll stop you, Velcrath. Whatever you're planning, we'll stop it."
Velcrath tilted his head, eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "You think you can stop what's already been set in motion? You're nothing more than pawns in a game far older than you realize. And soon, you'll see that it's already too late."
Before Mira could respond, there was a sudden movement—something dark flickering in the corner of her vision. The shadows around them seemed to stir, and then, from the depths of the forest, came a figure, stumbling forward.
It was Jory.
For a moment, Mira thought her heart might stop. She rushed toward him, hands outstretched, but as she drew closer, she froze.
The Jory that stood before her wasn't the same as the one they had known. His face was gaunt, his eyes wide with terror, and his clothes were torn and bloodied. But the most unsettling thing of all was the strange gleam in his eyes—the same golden hue that had marked Velcrath's.
"Jory?" Mira 's voice quivered.
The halfling—if it could still be called that—looked at her blankly. "You shouldn't have come," he whispered, his voice hollow. "You shouldn't have followed me."
"Jory, what happened to you?" Pipla asked, her voice thick with emotion, but there was a tremor of fear beneath it.
Jory's mouth twisted into a grotesque smile, and in that moment, his features seemed to shift, his body becoming something… other. The air around them crackled with dark energy, and Velcrath stepped forward, his hands raised in an almost ceremonial gesture. "Ah, yes. I see you've finally found him. But he's not what you think. He's mine now."
Mira felt a wave of nausea wash over her. This wasn't Jory. It couldn't be. The very essence of him had been twisted into something else, something dark.
Velcrath raised his hand and spoke a word in an ancient language, and the air around them thickened with oppressive magic. The shadows seemed to swallow the clearing whole, and as the figure of Jory—now an unwilling servant—lurched forward, a new terror began to unfold.
"Jory, fight it!" Mira cried out, but there was no response. The dark magic that had taken hold of him was too strong.
With a final, guttural cry, Jory's form was swallowed by the shadows, leaving behind only the empty, chilling silence of the clearing.
Velcrath laughed, the sound echoing through the darkness. "There's nothing you can do to save him. And there's nothing you can do to stop what's coming next."
Mira 's heart hammered in her chest, and the Die within her satchel burned with an almost violent intensity. This was only the beginning.
The clearing fell into a tense and unnerving silence. The shadows seemed to cling to the group, pressing in from all sides, twisting and shifting as though they had a life of their own. Mira 's mind raced as she tried to process the chaos of the past few moments. Jory—her friend—was lost. He had been taken, twisted into something else, and there was nothing they could do to bring him back.
Her gaze snapped to Velcrath, whose wicked grin had only grown. He stood, arms wide, as if the situation were nothing more than a game. "You see, don't you? All your efforts have been for nothing. The Die, the trials, the endless journey… they've led you here, to this moment, and there's no turning back now."
Mira 's breath hitched in her chest as her fingers brushed the silver Die in her satchel. The warmth of them seemed almost like a lifeline, but it felt distant, almost out of reach, as though they were no longer entirely hers to command.
"You speak of fate," Mira said, her voice trembling with fury but also an odd sense of determination. "But we're not done yet, Velcrath. We've faced worse than you before, and we'll face worse again. You may have taken Jory, but you won't break us."
"Is that so?" Velcrath sneered, his eyes glinting like twin suns in the dark. He stepped closer, a predatory movement that felt like the slow, steady approach of doom. "You've been in my grasp from the start. The Die? Mere playthings. The trials? Simple obstacles. Do you really think you can stop me now?"
Mira swallowed, a cold knot forming in her stomach. He was right in one respect—everything they had done, all the choices they had made, had led them here. But that wasn't the end. It couldn't be.
Pipla, standing beside her, gripped her warhammer tighter, her expression hard as stone. "We've still got something you don't understand, Velcrath. We've got each other, and we've got the will to see this through to the end. That's something you can't take."
Velcrath's laugh echoed in the dark, but there was a tremor in it now, a touch of unease. "You don't get it, do you? Your bond won't save you. And as for Jory…"
He raised his hand, and the shadowy figure of Jory reappeared, staggering out from the depths of the darkness. This time, however, it wasn't the same broken halfling they had seen before. His face was a mask of cold fury, his eyes now gleaming with the same golden hue as Velcrath's. There was no trace of the friend they had known in him, only the vessel of Velcrath's power.
"You see?" Velcrath's voice was soft but full of triumph. "He is mine now. His will, his very essence, twisted into something else. He can never return to who he was. And neither can you."
Mira stepped forward, her heart pounding, but her voice was clear and strong. "You're wrong, Velcrath. This isn't over. We will find a way to save him—if not now, then in the end. You think you've broken us, but you haven't. And you'll never control us."
"Bold words for someone who's already lost," Velcrath taunted, but his eyes flickered with doubt, a slight shift in his otherwise confident facade.
"Lost? We're just getting started," Mira replied, her hand clutching the Die now. Her heart was pounding, each beat louder than the last, and a sudden, undeniable urge surged within her. The Die seemed to call to her, whispering her name in a way they never had before. It wasn't just power—it was understanding, a deeper connection that she had never felt until now.
She turned to face her companions, each of them standing tall in defiance, even though the weight of their losses was heavy on their shoulders. They had been through so much, and yet they stood united. She could feel their resolve, their willingness to fight, even when the odds seemed stacked against them. They were not just individuals—they were a team, a force stronger than Velcrath could ever comprehend.
"I'll make this choice, Velcrath," Mira said, her voice low and filled with purpose. "I'll roll for us. I'll roll for our future. And no matter what happens, we will not fall."
For the first time, Velcrath's expression faltered, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his face. He quickly masked it with arrogance, but Mira knew she had made her mark. The Die, she realized, weren't just a tool of fate—they were a reflection of their will. As long as they fought together, they would have a chance And that chance was all she needed.
With a swift motion, Mira pulled the Die from her satchel and tossed them into the air, the cool silver tumbling through the night. The group fell silent as they watched them spin, the anticipation thick in the air.
The Die landed with a soft clatter on the ground, rolling to a stop.
12
Mira 's heart soared, but she didn't allow herself to feel relief. Not yet. She had seen the power of the Die in action before—this wasn't the end, but it was a chance. A chance to strike back.
Without a word, she stepped forward, ready to face whatever would come next.
Velcrath's eyes widened as the Die's magic seemed to swell around them, filling the clearing with a vibrant, blinding light. He staggered back, his hands raised to shield himself from the light's intensity.
"You fool!" Velcrath roared, his voice laced with fury. "Do you think this will stop me? You are nothing—nothing compared to the power I wield!"
But Mira remained undeterred. The Die had given them this opportunity, and they weren't going to waste it. She could feel the energy coursing through her, the power of the roll fueling her determination. The Die had made a choice, and now she had to see it through.
Pipla raised her warhammer, ready for the next move, and the rest of the group gathered their strength, preparing to face Velcrath and whatever other horrors he might unleash.
They weren't going to lose. Not today. Not ever.