[Leif’s POV—Aerial Approach—Dwarven Territory]

Arrows screamed past us like furious hornets. Zephyy twisted midair with a predator’s grace, making my stomach do backflips.

Alvar raised his sword, holding me tighter. "Relax..." he growled, eyes narrowed. "They clearly have no aim."

I clutched his shirt, my knuckles white. "Relax? They’re shooting at a white flag, Alvar! That’s... that’s illegal in every universe I know!"

Thalion bared his teeth, voice trembling with bloodlust. "I KNEW IT! WE SHOULD’VE ATTACKED THOSE SHORT LEGS!!"

I mumbled under my breath, "Maybe... maybe restraint is a myth."

Alvar held me closer, whispering, "Don’t worry, love. I’ve got you."

I glanced down at the dwarves, furiously firing arrows, and my brow furrowed. But why the hell are they attacking Zephyy? Do they not know he’s a divine dragon ?

"Zephyy... get down," I ordered.

"But Master... you could get hurt!"

I shook my head. "No. They have no intention of killing us. They’re just... trying to scare us."

Zephyy’s wings twitched in confusion. "How do you know, Master?"

I pointed toward the chaos below. "Look at their aim—completely random. If they actually wanted to hurt us, arrows would have gone for any one of us. But no... they’re aiming to frighten, not kill. They’re sending a message, nothing more. They just want us to leave."

Zephyy exhaled a smoky puff that smelled faintly of cinnamon, tail swishing in thought. "Hmm... clever little stone-people. I like it when they try to be intimidating but fail."

THUD!!!

Zephyy folded his wings and landed with the grace of a falling mountain. The ground trembled under his feet.

"FREEZE!" a chorus of dwarf voices roared, axes and bows raised in a glittering wall.

I thrust the white flag forward like a very nervous banner-bearer. "WE HAVE NO INTENTION TO HARM YOU! WE ARE ONLY HERE TO TALK!"

A dwarf at the front spat into the snow. "And why should we trust a human like you?"

Alvar’s jaw tightened. He stepped forward, one hand still on my waist and the other hovering over the sword at his hip. "If we wanted to hurt you, we wouldn’t have flown in—undetected—like a bunch of incompetent assassins. Put your bows down, or I will end every single one of you with this steel."

For a second, the world held its breath.

"How dare you!" one dwarf barked—voice like iron on stone. Fury flashed across his face.

Guilt prickled at the edges of my conscience. We looked ridiculous—heroes in the air, ambassadors on the ground, and somehow the villains in everyone else’s story.

Another dwarf, younger, aimed an arrow straight at our group with a flat calm. "We have no intention of giving the Heart back." He spoke slowly so his words landed. "Leave. Now. Or we will shed blood."

Thalion bristled and lunged forward. "I knew you were the ones who stole it! Don’t you understand the consequences? How could you—?"

A chorus of dwarves jeered. "We do not care for your lectures, elf scum. Go away before you regret staying."

The head dwarf finally stepped forward then—broader and older than the rest, with a braided beard threaded with copper and a scar across one cheek. His voice cut through the shouts like a hammer on an anvil.

"I am Grendur Stonefury," he announced, voice low and dangerous. "You come into our lands waving flags and preaching peace, and yet a sacred thing was taken. Do you think we are fools?"

Alvar’s hand tightened on his sword—but this time he kept his voice measured. "We think you are proud, yes. And brave. But if the Tree’s Heart is here, we will not leave without it."

Grendur’s eyes flicked to me—then to Zephyy—then back. Something like respect and suspicion warred on his face.

"You claim innocence," he said slowly. "Prove it. Show me why I should not tear that white cloth into ribbons and feed it to my hounds."

I stepped forward, saying, "I will not shout accusations. I will not threaten. I will ask for a single audience—just talk. Tell us your side. If you truly took the Heart, then tell us why. If you didn’t—help us find the thief. We all lose if the Tree dies."

The dwarves muttered. Grendur’s stern face softened the slightest fraction. Then he spat again into the snow and kicked a stone.

"Words," he said. "Very well—sit. Speak. But know this: if you deceive us—if you betray our trust—there will be no mercy. The world you speak of will be colder for it."

Zephyy lowered his head until he was towering over them all, a living mountain exuding an odd-smelling, cinnamon-scented calm. The dwarves shifted uneasily—infuriated, but wary of testing dragon patience.

Alvar offered me a quick, steadying squeeze. "Stay close," he murmured.

I nodded and, swallowing bravely, moved to sit on a low stone opposite Grendur. Around us bows remained half-raised, breaths held like taut strings, and the first small snowflakes of evening began to fall.

We started our meeting.

The air was so sharp it felt like it could cut skin. Snowflakes melted against my eyelashes as Grendur settled opposite us, the firelight flickering against his worn, battle-etched features.

"So," I began carefully, "you stole the Heart... why?"

Grendur didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the village beyond the rocky ridge—where faint lanterns flickered like stars trapped underground. There was pain in his silence. The kind that came from more than old grudges.

Finally, he spoke.

"We didn’t want war," he said, voice rough. "We didn’t want to trespass. But we had no choice."

"No choice?" I mumbled.

Eryndor stepped forward, scoffing. "What kind of absurd reason is that? You risk destroying the Tree—destroying everything —because you were ’forced’?"

Dozens of dwarven eyes narrowed, gears of anger grinding beneath thick brows.

"What was the reason that you were forced?" I asked.

Grendur didn’t shout. He didn’t even raise his chin. His voice was low. Honest. "Our village is suffering from a plague."

The world went quiet.

A plague.

I felt my breath catch in my throat as Grendur continued:

"It came like a shadow. Children first. Then mothers. Then warriors... bodies that once bent steel are now too weak to lift a cup." His hands curled into fists against the stone. "Our healers are helpless. Our prayers unanswered."

He inhaled sharply, and for the first time, I noticed how red his eyes were—like someone who hadn’t slept in many moons.

"We tried everything. Herbs. Alchemy. Magic—what little we wield." His voice cracked, almost imperceptibly. "But every morning... more graves."

"I understand," I whispered. "You’re doing this for your people."

Grendur’s jaw clenched, but his eyes softened—just a flicker.

"But," I continued carefully, "if the Tree dies... your village dies with it. There won’t be a world left for anyone."

The dwarf leader stared at me—really stared—and in that moment, I saw it: the doubt. The guilt. The fear of a leader who was running out of choices.

Eryndor stepped forward. His voice loses the harsh edge, becoming something steady... almost comforting.

"What if we find another way?" he offered. "One that saves your people and the Tree."

A murmur rippled through the dwarves. Arrows wavered. Hardened faces twitched with hope they didn’t want to feel.

"...Another way?" Grendur breathed, disbelief cracking through his tone.

"Yes." Alvar stepped beside me, his eyes burning with resolve. "We won’t let your village fall. But we cannot destroy the balance of the world to save one corner of it. Trust us. Let us help."

Silence stretched—tense, breathless.

Then slowly... Grendur’s shoulders slumped. A commander surrendering not in defeat, but in desperate hope.

"If you can save them," he said, voice rough with emotion, "the Heart will be returned. By my own hands. I promise."

A pact—fragile, trembling, and yet... real. Air finally rushed from my chest.

"We’ll—"

BWOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

A horn blast shattered the quiet—deep, shaking the snow loose from the cliffs. The dwarves froze.

Grendur went white. "That signal..." he whispered. "It means... the plague has reached the warriors."

The warriors. Their strongest. Their protectors. Thalion’s hand flew to his bow. "Show us. Now."

I nodded urgently. "Eryndor might be able to help—maybe we can still stop this."

Grendur hesitated only a heartbeat, then—

"...Come," he said, voice trembling with both fear and a tiny spark of belief. "Before it’s too late."

And with that, the hope of an entire people rested in our hands.