Date: ——————
The vision did not end. It flowed from the council chamber into another reality — a reality of smoke, steel, and triumph.
Datuk, still seeing through the dragon's eyes, felt Zemkhal's immense body soar above a battlefield. Below lay a kingdom — or what remained of it. The walls of a majestic city, once thought impregnable, had been swept away. Towers lay in ruins, and instead of banners, thick clouds of smoke curled above them. The air was thick with the smell of fire, blood, and victory.
Zemkhal folded his wings and plunged downward like a stone. The landing was heavy; the earth shook, and several nearby buildings crumbled to dust from the shockwave alone. The dragon paid no attention. His golden eyes were fixed on a rise in the center of the destroyed square.
There he stood.
Zanra.
His once‑light clothing was now splattered with blood. In his right hand he gripped a sword, its blade still smoking. His left arm hung at his side, from it scarlet liquid dripped slowly onto the stones. His face, calm and focused, expressed neither the joy of victory nor the bitterness of loss — only the satisfaction of a craftsman who had completed a difficult task.
Around him, at a respectful distance, stood the other Spirit Lords. Their auras pressed on space, making the air tremble. But none dared approach Zanra. Only Zemkhal came close, his claws clicking dryly on the stone.
"What do you think, my lord?" the dragon's voice rumbled dully. "Are our goals achievable?"
Zanra looked up. His eyes — deep, clear — met the dragon's golden gaze.
"Of course, Zemkhal," he said, and his voice carried across the ruins. "Perhaps not now. Perhaps not in this millennium. But I will accomplish what I have set out to do."
He smiled. There was no arrogance in his smile. Only certainty.
"And if you die, my lord?" Zemkhal asked. "Your enemies are strong and dangerous. What if they win?"
Zanra chuckled.
"Death is merely a change of form, old friend," he said, wiping his blade. "Ideas do not die. And I am only a conduit. Another will arise. But the work will be done."
He sheathed his sword and placed a hand on the dragon's scaled snout.
"Do not worry about my death, Zemkhal. Worry about what comes after. When I am gone, the world will try to forget what we built here. Do not let it."
"I will not, my lord."
"I know," Zanra withdrew his hand. "That is why I chose you."
He turned and walked toward the ruined palace. Zemkhal remained, watching him go.
The vision began to fade. Colors dulled, sounds faded, and the battlefield dissolved into a golden haze.
---
Datuk opened his eyes.
He was kneeling before the dragon's skull. Around him, silence. Only his own breath, heavy and ragged, disturbed the stillness of the cave. His back was stiff, his knees ached.
Datuk rose, brushed off his knees, and adjusted the axe on his back. Then he looked at the skull.
"Zemkhal, was it?" he said, not expecting an answer. "I heard your name in there."
Silence.
Datuk did not ask questions. He did not beg for power. He did not plead for artifacts or blessings. He simply turned to leave.
"Wait." The voice sounded in his head. Weak, nearly dying. "You will not even ask why I showed you this?"
Datuk stopped but did not turn around.
"Why?" he asked, without interest. Just to keep the conversation going.
"Boredom," Zemkhal answered. "I am the dying will of a once‑mighty being. A piece of old magic in these bones. I cannot die. I cannot leave. I simply exist. For centuries. Alone. Then you show up."
"And what's so special about me?" Datuk snorted. "Just an ordinary dwarf. Jumped into a hole. Fell."
"That is exactly it," the dragon's voice grew softer. "There is nothing special about you. You are not a chosen one. Not a descendant of a great house. Just a dwarf who was not afraid to jump into the unknown."
"And that entertained you?"
"It reminded me what surprise feels like," Zemkhal sighed. "I usually do not speak to those who come. They either die too quickly or demand too much. But you… you simply came. And that was all."
"Well, sorry," Datuk grumbled. "Didn't live up to your expectations."
"Do not apologize," there was a hint of amusement in the dragon's voice. "You are the first who asked nothing of me. No power. No artifact. No treasure. You simply stood up and were about to leave."
Datuk shrugged.
"I didn't come here for handouts. I came to test myself. If I die, so be it. If I live, then I deserve it."
Zemkhal fell silent. The pause stretched. Datuk was about to step into the tunnel when the voice spoke again.
"To such a cheerful little creature," the dragon said, and for the first time in their conversation, something warm sounded in his voice, "I can give two of my insignificant little bones."
Datuk froze.
"What?"
"Insignificant," Zemkhal repeated. "Small. I cannot feel them anymore. But you might find them useful. As a keepsake."
With a crack and a grind, two bones separated from the dragon's skeleton. They fell to the stone floor with a dull thud. Datuk walked over and picked one up. The bone was the size of his forearm — warm, smooth, with faint silver veins. The second was slightly smaller.
"Heavy," Datuk said, weighing them in his hand. "And strong. These bones…" He trailed off.
He tucked both bones into his belt. Without asking permission. Without thanking. Simply taking them as his due.
"Alright," he said. "Thanks. For the talk. For the bones. For showing the past."
He turned and stepped into the tunnel. From the darkness came the pattering of many paws.
"Farewell," the dragon's voice sounded one last time. "I hope you find what you are looking for."
"There's no other way it could be," Datuk did not look back.