Khaltar's boots echoed against the cavern floor as he and the remaining four Silver Axes warriors stepped forward, their torches casting flickering shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and the faint traces of lingering fire—proof that people had been living here for some time.
Then, the tunnel opened into a vast underground chamber, and there they were—the refugees of the Silver Axes.
Khaltar scanned the crowd, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. 317 little ones—toddlers, infants, children—huddled close to their mothers.1,067 women, some standing tall with weary but unbroken spirits, others sitting with their arms wrapped protectively around their young. Despite the hardship, despite the long months in hiding, they were alive.They were safe.
A murmur ran through the crowd as the warriors emerged, weary but victorious. And then, stepping forward from the gathered women, Hadeefa, the elder matron, approached Khaltar. Her hair was silver, but her posture was firm, her expression one of wisdom hardened by war.
She placed a hand on Khaltar's arm and smiled. "You've returned," she said, voice steady, filled with relief. "And I see the battle is over."
Khaltar nodded. "It is. The orcs are gone. You can come home."
A wave of whispers and quiet gasps spread through the cavern—hope rekindled in tired eyes.
But Hadeefa's face darkened slightly, and her grip on Khaltar's arm tightened. "All is well," she admitted, glancing back at the women and children. "Except for one."
Khaltar's brows furrowed. "Who?"
Hadeefa exhaled, her aged face betraying sadness. Then, she turned and began leading Khaltar through the cavern, past the gathered refugees.
They reached a far corner of the chamber, where a lone woman lay curled on a makeshift bed of fur and cloth. Reza.
She was asleep, her body wrapped protectively around something. Khaltar's sharp gaze narrowed. A child. A baby—small, frail, nestled in her arms. But something about it was wrong.
Hadeefa hesitated, then spoke in a low voice. "She refuses to let go. She calls it her child, but… it is cursed, Khaltar."
Khaltar stepped closer, his heart pounding. He had seen many things in his time—war, bloodshed, monsters born of corruption—but the way Reza clung to that infant sent a chill down his spine.
The baby's skin was ashen, its tiny fingers tipped with unnatural black nails. A faint glow pulsed beneath its eyelids—a sickly, eerie light.
Khaltar sat down heavily, exhaustion weighing on him like the armor he barely had the strength to remove. His broad shoulders slumped, and for a long moment, he said nothing. His gaze flickered from Reza, still clutching the child, to the worn and weary faces of the refugees around him.
Then, he exhaled a long, ragged breath. "We lost everything," he finally muttered, voice low and raw. "All of them. The Silver Axes fell—only five of us remain."
A hushed silence settled over the chamber. Some of the women gasped, others clutched their children tighter. The little ones, sensing the heavy grief in the air, whimpered softly but did not understand.
Khaltar closed his eyes briefly, as if reliving every gruesome second of that slaughter. "We were ambushed. They came from the walls, from the ground—ghouls, cursed dwarves. We fought, we bled, we cut them down by the hundreds... but it wasn't enough."
His fists clenched at his sides. "I collapsed the bridge to stop them. There's no way back."
Another murmur spread through the crowd, fear creeping in. They had thought they were safe in this sanctuary. But now? They were trapped.
Then, Khaltar's gaze hardened as he turned back to Reza and the child in her arms. The way she cradled it, how she refused to let go. The unnatural aura surrounding the infant, the eerie glow beneath its eyelids. A Cambion. A child born of darkness.
His breath turned to ice. "Reza… what did you do?"
Hadeefa stepped forward before Reza could answer. Her voice was laced with sorrow, but also resignation. "She did what she had to, Khaltar."
Khaltar's eyes snapped to the elder woman. "What does that mean?"
Hadeefa sighed, her expression growing distant, like she was seeing something no one else could. "Reza bargained with a devil. She gave herself… to something ancient. Something cruel."
A cold shiver ran down Khaltar's spine. Hadeefa's voice was barely above a whisper. "In return, it spared us. The ghouls never found us. They stalked the tunnels, sniffed the air, but they never came near. This place should have been a tomb for all of us, but instead... we were invisible to them."
She gestured toward the sleeping child. "This… this is the price."
Khaltar looked at the child again. The sickly glow beneath its eyelids pulsed faintly, almost like it was listening. Like it knew it was being spoken about.
"A Cambion," Khaltar muttered under his breath. "Half-human… half-demon."
He had heard the legends. Children of infernal bargains. Creatures with power beyond comprehension—sometimes they grew into saviors, but more often, they became something much worse.
His throat tightened. How could Reza have done this? How could she have damned her own flesh and blood? And yet… If she hadn't, would any of them still be alive?
Khaltar stared at the sleeping child, his expression unreadable. The weight of everything—the loss, the battle, the ghouls, the sealed fate of the Silver Axes—pressed down on him like a mountain. He took a slow, measured breath before finally speaking. "What's his name?"
Hadeefa's old, tired eyes softened. She glanced at Reza, who still clutched the child protectively, then back at Khaltar. "She named him Omen."
The name lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. "A sign of the future," Hadeefa murmured. "Whether it brings ruin or salvation… only time will tell."
Khaltar clenched his jaw. He had seen omens before—on the battlefield, in the eyes of dying men, in the bloodstained sand of Sol-Mayora. But this… this was different. "A cursed name," he muttered, almost to himself.
Hadeefa stepped forward, her frail form belying the strength in her voice. "Perhaps. But I will see to it that he becomes more than his name. I will teach him the way of the Silver Axes—honor, discipline, strength. He will not walk the path of darkness."
Khaltar exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "You believe that?"
Hadeefa nodded. "I have to."
Silence stretched between them. The other refugees watched, waiting for Khaltar's judgment.
Finally, Khaltar turned away from the child and toward the gathered women and children. His voice, though tired, was firm. "Then let's hope your teachings can outmatch the blood in his veins."
He cast one last glance at Omen, then stepped away. The boy was an omen indeed. Whether he would bring ruin or redemption… only the gods knew.
Khaltar exhaled, pushing aside the weight of Omen's fate for now. There were more immediate concerns. He turned to Yaraq and the three remaining warriors, his voice steady despite the exhaustion lining his face.
"Unload everything we brought. It's not much, but it's better than eating salamanders," he smirked.
Yaraq chuckled dryly. "A feast compared to that, at least."
The warriors moved swiftly, unloading sacks of dried meat, grains, and preserved fruits. There were waterskins filled with clean water from Sol-Minora's deep wells, some medicinal herbs scavenged along the way, and even a few bolts of cloth for mending clothes.
The refugees watched in silent awe at first, then murmurs of relief spread through the crowd. Mothers clutched their children closer, smiles forming on weary faces. Even Hadeefa, hardened by age and experience, gave Khaltar an approving nod.
As they worked, one of the younger boys—no older than ten—stepped forward, eyeing the food with barely concealed hunger.
"Is it really for us?" he asked hesitantly.
Khaltar knelt to his level, placing a firm but gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's for all of you. You're Silver Axes, same as us. We take care of our own."
The boy grinned before running back to his mother, shouting excitedly. The atmosphere shifted—hope, faint but real, returned to the hollowed eyes of the refugees.
Yaraq approached Khaltar, wiping sweat from his brow. "It won't last long, but it buys time. We need a plan, Khaltar. We can't stay here forever."
Khaltar nodded grimly, watching as the supplies disappeared into eager hands. "We'll think of something. For now, we let them eat. Let them feel human again."
As the last of the meager meal was shared, the refugees, despite receiving only small portions, seemed content. Laughter and quiet conversations echoed through the cave—a stark contrast to the somber silence that had filled it before.
A young girl, no older than twelve, approached Khaltar, her bright eyes filled with curiosity. "You know, this cave gives us everything we need," she said, a small smile forming on her lips.
Khaltar raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what does this cave have to offer?"
She grinned, proudly listing them off with her fingers. "Water from the underground springs, mushrooms that grow in the dark, vines we can weave into ropes, fish from the deeper pools, and…" she hesitated before giggling, "yeah, salamanders."
Khaltar let out a deep chuckle. "So you really do eat them, huh?"
The girl laughed, nodding. "They're chewy but not bad! Hadeefa says they keep us strong."
Yaraq, listening nearby, smirked. "Better than starving."
Khaltar ruffled the girl's hair, his expression softening. "You're tough, little one. A true Silver Axe."
She beamed at the words, then ran back to join the others. Khaltar glanced at Yaraq, his smirk fading into something more serious. "They've made a life here… but it's not enough."
Yaraq sighed. "It never will be. We're survivors, not cave-dwellers."
Khaltar nodded, his mind already turning to the future. For now, they had food, shelter, and momentary peace. But the world outside hadn't changed. Sooner or later, they would have to face it again.
Yaraq stood up, dusting off his worn clothes before stretching his arms. His body was weary, but his eyes burned with a newfound determination.
"You know," he started, cracking his neck, "these dwarven caves are all connected. If we search hard enough, there's bound to be a passage to the upper lands... or maybe even to the last dwarven kingdom beneath the Grey Mountains."
Khaltar frowned, arms crossed. "Sunset Cove? That's leagues away. And even if we do find a path, you think the dwarves will help us?" His voice carried doubt. "They're stubborn bastards, Yaraq. They don't take kindly to humans knocking on their doors, let alone asking for favors."
Yaraq smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, but they also hate orcs and undead more than they hate us." He turned to face Khaltar directly. "We lost everything, Khaltar. There are only five of us left. We need allies, weapons, a place to rebuild. Sitting in this cave won't change our fate. If there's even the smallest chance the dwarves will help, I say we take it."
Khaltar sighed, rubbing his temple. He wanted to argue—wanted to remind Yaraq that dwarves rarely offered anything without a price—but deep down, he knew they had no choice.
He looked at the weary faces of the refugees—the women, the children, the elderly. They were surviving, but barely.
Finally, Khaltar exhaled sharply. "Fine. But if we're doing this, we do it smart. We search the tunnels first, find proof that the passage exists. If we reach the Grey Mountains and the dwarves don't want to talk?" His eyes darkened. "Then we make them."
Yaraq grinned. "Now that's the Khaltar I know."