THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

"What is that?" Eowyn's voice carried a mix of awe and uncertainty as he gazed at the strange phenomenon before them. Galadriel stood beside him, equally entranced by the shimmering tear in the fabric of space. "I... I think it's a rupture in space," she admitted, her voice filled with both fascination and trepidation. "But I'm not entirely sure."

Galadriel had studied spatial magic extensively, but this was beyond anything she had encountered. Typically, spatial artefacts were bound to physical anchors, tethered to reality itself. But what lay before them was something different—an entirely new construct. To maintain something like this, hidden from reality and undetected for so long, required an immense level of magic and mana, far beyond what anyone in history had achieved.

Filius, impatient and ever the brute, had no interest in speculating. Without a word, he began striding toward the tear, his massive form casting a long shadow across the landscape.

"Wait, stop! Don't go in!" Galadriel's voice rang out, sharp with warning. She knew better than to underestimate the unknown. This was uncharted territory, and stepping into it could lead to disastrous consequences. But Filius, true to his nature, ignored her and disappeared through the tear without a backward glance.

Eowyn sighed, understanding Filius's impulsive mindset. He placed a reassuring hand on Galadriel's shoulder, sensing her unease. "Don't worry about him," he said, his tone light despite the situation. "He's still an S-class adventurer, after all." He offered her a half-smile. "Besides, isn't this what we're here for? To investigate the anomalies?"

Galadriel's brow furrowed, her thoughts racing. Eowyn had a point, but she still felt a nagging doubt gnawing at her. The tear in space was unlike anything she had ever encountered, and it was impossible to know what dangers lurked on the other side.

"Alright, men," Eowyn's voice broke through the silence, commanding the attention of the cavalry that had been frozen in place, staring at the strange sight before them. "We're walking from here." His order was clear, and without hesitation, the men dismounted from their horses, ready to follow him into the unknown.

Galadriel inhaled deeply, gripping her staff a little tighter. She exhaled slowly, hoping against hope that everything would be alright. With a final glance at the tear, she steeled her resolve and followed Eowyn and the rest of the company into the mysterious opening, the space around them shimmering as they crossed into the unknown.

****

Filius emerged from the tear, his grip tightening around the handle of his axe as he took in the unsettling landscape before him. The surroundings bore a resemblance to the Dead Forest, but something was off. The twisted, lifeless trees were tightly clustered together, forming an impenetrable wall that made it nearly impossible to see beyond them. The ground was damp and murky, littered with shallow pools of stagnant water that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Behind him, Eowyn, Galadriel, and the cavalry unit stepped through the tear, their expressions varying from wariness to disgust. The moment they crossed over, a foul stench assaulted their senses.

"What in the gods' name is that repulsive smell?" Galadriel gasped, raising her hand to cover her nose and mouth. The odour was thick, rotten, and almost suffocating, as though death itself lingered in the air.

Eowyn scanned the surroundings carefully, his eyes narrowing. Something wasn't right. They were still within the confines of the Dead Forest, but this place had a sinister air. It was beyond the boundaries of what was considered "safe" for any adventurer to explore. His instincts screamed danger.

"Formation!" Eowyn barked, his voice cutting through the foul atmosphere. The cavalrymen, disciplined and well-trained, immediately adjusted their stance, gripping their weapons tightly. Eowyn, Galadriel, and Filius took the lead, keeping their eyes trained ahead.

As they advanced cautiously, Galadriel glanced at Eowyn, noticing the deep concentration on his face. "Do you recognize this place?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eowyn gave a grim nod. "It seems the tear acts as a portal," he explained, his tone measured. "It connects the fifth section of the Dead Forest to somewhere much deeper… beyond the seventh section."

Galadriel's eyes widened in shock. The seventh section of the Dead Forest was a forbidden area, spoken of in hushed tones. No adventurer dared venture that far, not even the elite. The fact that they had unknowingly crossed into such dangerous territory sent a chill down her spine.

Filius, ever the brute, hacked through a few of the gnarled trees in their path, his axe cutting through the dead wood with ease. He stopped suddenly, narrowing his eyes as he peered into the distance. "What's that?" he muttered, his deep voice catching both Eowyn and Galadriel's attention.

They turned to where Filius was pointing. Through the dense cluster of dead trees, they could barely make out a strange shape—something dark and looming in the shadows ahead. It wasn't a tree, but something far larger, and it seemed to be moving.

A wave of unease swept through the group as they realized they weren't alone.

The adventurers emerged into an eerie clearing, their eyes widening in awe and unease at the sight before them. Suspended from the twisted, gnarled trees that dominated the landscape, a massive, pulsating orb of flesh hung like a malignant cocoon ready to fall. The orb was a deep, menacing red, glowing faintly through the dense web of roots and vines that encased it. The twisted branches above seemed to clutch it like a living heart, tendrils creeping downwards as if feeding on its strange, ominous energy.

The ground beneath their feet was damp, the murky water reflecting the fiery red glow of the orb, casting eerie shadows around the entire forest. The air was thick with an oppressive, unnatural stillness, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the tangled roots above. Whatever the thing was, it radiated an unsettling presence, its light flickering like a pulse — slow, deliberate, alive.

Eowyn stepped forward cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. "What in the gods' name is that?" he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to the others. Behind him, Galadriel, her expression a mixture of curiosity and dread.

Filius, ever the brute, grunted as he hefted his axe over his shoulder. "Whatever it is, it's got no place in this world." He spat on the ground, eyes fixed on the glowing mass.

Galadriel, her eyes locked on the orb, whispered, "This is no ordinary magic… It's alive… somehow. A construct of something far beyond our understanding." The faint glow of the orb reflected in her wide eyes as she reached out, almost as if drawn to it.

"It seems you know what that thing is, mage," Filius grunted, casting a sidelong glance at Galadriel. His grip tightened on his axe, sensing the mage's discomfort.

Galadriel's face was pale, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "How could I not?" she whispered, eyes wide as the realization settled in.

"What is it?" Eowyn asked, his voice cutting through the tension. His curiosity mirrored the growing unease in the pit of his stomach.

Galadriel's thoughts raced, recalling her years in the royal magic academy and the ancient texts she had studied in the Spire. The legends, the ancient beings that existed near the pinnacle of magic—beings whose existence had almost faded into myth. Sovereigns, calamities, creatures that once walked the realms of Ternion in the age of the First Mage King and the Second Queen of the Solarian Empire. Her voice trembled as she uttered the words, "A dragon's egg."

The revelation struck like a thunderbolt. Every pair of eyes widened, their breaths catching in their throats. The weight of her words pressed upon them, as if the very air had thickened with the unimaginable power slumbering within the glowing, pulsing orb above.

But before anyone could marvel or fully comprehend what they were standing before, a soft, playful voice shattered the moment. "Huh? Oh no, this isn't good... Hehe."

The voice was childish yet eerily unsettling, its mischievous tone sending shivers down their spines. Eowyn's sword was out in an instant, gleaming in the faint light of the crimson orb. "Who are you? Reveal yourself!" he barked, his weapon leveled at the shadows.

From the dark edge of the clearing, a figure emerged—skipping. A woman, draped in a white cloak, her face hidden behind a blue, ominous mask, danced towards the dragon's egg with a carefree air, as if oblivious to the deadly aura surrounding it.

"Me?" The woman tilted her head playfully, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "They usually call me... Number Six." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "But how did you find this place?" Her voice turned teasing, her words a taunt as her eyes, obscured by the mask, lingered on the dragon's egg.

Eowyn didn't hesitate, raising his hand in command. "Capture her!" His voice boomed, and the cavalry prepared to act.

But before anyone could so much as blink, the woman vanished in a blur, her presence erased from the space where she had stood moments before.

"After her—!" Eowyn's voice caught in his throat as a wave of blood sprayed across his vision. His heart lurched as he turned to find his unit—the men he had fought with, trusted—slaughtered in an instant. Bodies lay scattered, lifeless, a crimson whip coiled in the woman's hands, dripping with their blood.

With a chilling giggle, she whispered.

"Real Manifestation: Jörmungandr."

The world around them twisted and shattered. Reality itself cracked like glass, and from the fractured space, a monstrous serpent of blades erupted, extending endlessly from the woman's whip, coiling around them like the fangs of a god descending to devour its prey.