Dawn broke over Eastwatch in shades of amber and gold, the sun's first rays striking the city's eastern watchtowers before descending to illuminate the streets and buildings that cascaded down the mountainside. Tom Reed had been awake for hours, methodically preparing for what should have been a routine investigation but now carried significantly more weight given their discoveries the previous night.
"Any combat against demons requires proper preparation," he explained to Skaravosk as he carefully arranged specialized equipment in his pack. "They're resistant to conventional weaponry, particularly those of higher rank."
You seem well-versed in demonology for a common soldier, the dragon observed.
"Three campaigns against Demon King incursions," Tom replied. "You learn quickly or you die." He held up a small vial of silvery liquid. "Blessed silver nitrate. Burns demonic flesh on contact. And this—" he indicated a dagger with runes etched along its blade, "—is forged with ritually purified steel that disrupts demonic energy patterns."
Useful tools, Skaravosk acknowledged. Though perhaps less necessary now that you can summon weapons from my dimensional armory.
"Redundancy keeps you alive," Tom countered. "Your weapons are superior, but I'd rather have options if something goes wrong."
The dragon's mental presence shifted in what Tom had come to recognize as amusement. Practical as always. A trait I increasingly appreciate in a partner.
By the time Tom reached the upper gates, the Municipal Guild's transport was already waiting—a sturdy wagon drawn by four mountain ponies, designed for the rough terrain leading to Helmgard Mine. The driver, a weather-beaten man with the calloused hands of a former miner, merely nodded at Tom's adventurer's crystal and gestured for him to climb aboard.
"Just you?" the driver asked gruffly. "Guild usually sends at least two for mine problems."
"I work better alone," Tom replied, settling onto the wooden bench. "And I have experience with similar situations."
The driver shrugged, apparently satisfied, and snapped the reins to set the ponies in motion. "Four hours to Helmgard, give or take. Road gets rough after the first league."
As they left Eastwatch behind, Tom reviewed what he knew about the mine from the Guild dossier. Helmgard was one of the older operations in the region, initially copper but with significant iron deposits discovered in deeper shafts over the past decade. The corruption had manifested in the newest and deepest excavation, approximately two months after breaking through to a previously unknown cave system.
A pattern consistent with our observations at Westridge, Skaravosk noted. These breaches aren't random—they target specific subterranean features along the ley line.
"Agreed," Tom replied silently. "Though with the demons shifting away from corruption, I'm curious what we'll find active at the site."
The journey gave Tom ample time to consider strategies and contingencies. If the corruption was being abandoned as the demons had indicated, they might find nothing more than residual energy signatures and inactive crystals. But the continued quarantine of the mine suggested otherwise—something remained that authorities deemed dangerous enough to warrant complete evacuation.
The road gradually deteriorated as they ascended into the mountains, transforming from well-maintained cobblestones to packed dirt and eventually little more than a rutted track winding between towering pines. The air grew cooler and thinner, the vegetation changing to hardier alpine species adapted to the harsh mountain environment.
"There it is," the driver announced eventually, gesturing ahead where the forest gave way to a large clearing dominated by the industrial structures of a major mining operation. "Helmgard. Been in my family three generations before the Guild bought it out last year."
Tom studied the site with professional assessment. Multiple buildings surrounded the main shaft entrance—offices, processing facilities, worker accommodations, storage sheds. A substantial wooden palisade had been erected around the entire complex, with newly constructed guard posts at intervals along its length. Most telling was the heavy iron gate now blocking the main shaft entrance, secured with both physical locks and what appeared to be magical wards inscribed on metal plates.
"Serious precautions," Tom observed.
The driver nodded grimly. "Lost twelve men before they shut it down. Good men. Whatever's down there..." He trailed off, then shook his head. "Guild representative should be waiting. I don't go past the outer gate these days."
Sure enough, a woman in the formal robes of a Guild Supervisor stood at the entrance to the complex. As Tom approached, he noted the subtle signs of magical protection woven into her clothing—ward-threads glinting in the sunlight, amulets of shielding half-hidden beneath formal collar.
"Reed? From Harrowgate?" she asked without preamble.
Tom nodded, presenting his adventurer's crystal for verification.
"Sylvia Moraine, Site Supervisor," she introduced herself while examining his credentials. "Your timing is fortunate. We've had increased energy readings from the lower levels since yesterday."
"The dossier mentioned you've fully evacuated and sealed the site," Tom said as she led him through the outer gate into the complex. "Yet you've maintained monitoring equipment?"
"Remote arcane sensors," she confirmed. "Installed after the first incidents, before full quarantine was implemented. They've shown sporadic activity for weeks, but yesterday's readings were off the scale." She glanced at him with evident concern. "If you'd prefer to wait for reinforcements, I'd understand. Your contract only requires assessment, not direct intervention."
"I'll handle it," Tom assured her. "What can you tell me about the cave system they discovered?"
Sylvia led him toward a small office building, the only structure that appeared currently occupied. Inside, maps and diagrams covered one wall, with a large table in the center holding what appeared to be a three-dimensional model of the mine's tunnel system.
"Helmgard extends approximately eight hundred feet down through seven main levels," she explained, pointing to different sections of the model. "The new discovery came when they breached the wall of the northeast shaft on level seven, here. Initial exploration found a natural cavern system extending at least another two hundred feet down and several hundred feet horizontally." She sighed. "That's when the problems began."
"Crystalline formations?" Tom asked.
She nodded. "First just small growths on the cavern walls. Workers reported headaches, disorientation. Then more extreme symptoms—lost time, personality changes. We pulled everyone out, sent in a specialized team with protective gear. They found a large chamber with a central crystal formation similar to what you apparently encountered at Westridge."
"And the twelve casualties?"
"Four missing, presumed dead. Eight returned... changed." Her expression tightened. "Physically transformed. Beyond recovery. We had to... end their suffering."
Tom nodded grimly, understanding the implication. As at Westridge, corruption had warped living tissue into something no longer recognizably human.
"I'll need to see the readings from yesterday," he said.
Sylvia provided access to the monitoring station—a complex arrangement of crystal receivers and inscription plates that transmitted data from sensors placed throughout the mine before evacuation. The log confirmed her statement—energy levels had been fluctuating for weeks but had spiked dramatically the previous day, reaching intensities nearly twice what had been recorded before the quarantine.
Something has changed, Skaravosk observed. If the demons are indeed abandoning the corruption network, these readings should be decreasing, not intensifying.
"Unless they're not actually abandoning it," Tom replied silently. "But repurposing it for something else."
After studying the logs and reviewing the mine layouts, Tom prepared for descent. Sylvia provided the keys to the shaft entrance and activation sequences for the magical wards, along with a communication crystal keyed to the monitoring station.
"Standard protocol is check-in every thirty minutes," she instructed. "If you miss two consecutive check-ins, I'm authorized to collapse the main shaft entrance."
"Understood," Tom replied, respecting the precaution. The mine's current status as merely quarantined rather than destroyed suggested the Guild valued its economic potential enough to attempt recovery rather than simple containment—but they weren't taking chances with potential corruption spread.
At the main shaft entrance, Tom performed final equipment checks. Beyond conventional gear—lantern, rope, climbing tools—he carried his specialized anti-demon implements and, most importantly, the confidence that came from knowing he could access Skaravosk's power if necessary.
Be wary of overconfidence, the dragon cautioned. Even with our combined capabilities, corruption can take unpredictable forms.
"Noted," Tom acknowledged, appreciating the reminder. Twenty-three years of survival had taught him that assumption was the precursor to catastrophe.
The shaft was wide enough for ore carts, with sturdy timber supports at regular intervals. A system of ladders and platforms allowed descent without requiring the main lift, which had been disabled during evacuation. Tom began the long climb down, the lantern at his belt casting bouncing shadows across rough-hewn walls.
The first six levels showed no signs of corruption or unusual activity. Tom checked each briefly, marking his findings on a small map for his report. It was only as he approached the seventh level that he began to detect the telltale signs—a faint purple luminescence emanating from below, a subtle wrongness in the air that raised the hairs on his neck.
It feels... different from Westridge, Skaravosk noted as they reached the final platform. More concentrated. Purposeful.
Tom nodded in agreement. The corruption at Westridge had radiated outward, seeking to spread and transform. This energy felt contained, focused—as if being channeled rather than simply expanding.
Level seven had been the active mining front before evacuation, and evidence of hasty abandonment was everywhere—tools left where they'd fallen, ore carts half-loaded, personal effects scattered near work stations. Tom moved cautiously through the main tunnel, following the increasing purple glow toward the northeast shaft where the natural caverns had been discovered.
The breach in the tunnel wall was unmistakable—a rough-edged hole approximately eight feet high, leading into darkness beyond. But unlike the rest of the level, this opening now pulsed with rhythmic purple light, as if something on the other side breathed in slow, deliberate cycles.
Tom activated the communication crystal. "Reed checking in. Level seven reached. Proceeding to cavern entrance. Definite corruption activity present."
Sylvia's voice came through clearly. "Confirmed. Sensors show energy continuing to build. Exercise extreme caution."
We should transform before proceeding, Skaravosk suggested. At least partial armor.
Tom agreed, channeling draconic energy to manifest the scaled armor across his body. The transformation came smoothly now, practiced during their journey—crimson scales flowing like liquid metal across his skin, hardening into interlocking plates that offered both protection and enhanced strength.
Thus prepared, he stepped through the breach into the cavern beyond.
The natural cave system was vast—far larger than the dossier had indicated. The main chamber extended at least a hundred yards in diameter, with a ceiling lost in darkness above and multiple tunnel openings visible around its perimeter. Stalactites and stalagmites created a forest of stone columns, many now encrusted with pulsing purple crystals.
But it was the center of the chamber that drew Tom's attention. There, a massive crystal formation rose from the floor like an alien growth—not the chaotic structure he had encountered at Westridge, but something deliberately shaped, almost architectural. Crystalline "walls" formed a rough pentagon, with a central spire rising thirty feet toward the cavern roof.
And surrounding this structure were figures—at least twenty humanoid forms standing in precise formation, completely motionless. From their positioning, they appeared to be facing inward toward the crystal structure.
Not human, Skaravosk identified immediately. The energy signature is demonic, but... strange. Suspended somehow.
Tom moved closer, using the stone columns for cover. As he approached, details became clearer—the figures were indeed demons, similar to those he had encountered in Eastwatch but wearing what appeared to be ceremonial armor adorned with sigils that Skaravosk recognized as denoting military rank.
Most disturbing was their condition. They stood perfectly still, not merely at attention but completely immobile—like statues carved from flesh. And embedded in each demon's chest was a purple crystal, pulsing in perfect synchronization with the larger formation.
"They're being used as power conduits," Tom whispered, understanding dawning. "The demons aren't abandoning the corruption network—they're being consumed by it."
Sacrifices, Skaravosk agreed grimly. Their life energy is being channeled into whatever working is taking place here.
Before Tom could investigate further, a new voice echoed through the cavern—deep, resonant, with the distinctive harmonic undertones of greater demonic entities.
"Another mortal comes to witness our ascension. How convenient."
From behind the crystal structure emerged a figure that dwarfed the immobilized demons. Standing at least nine feet tall, with crimson skin that seemed to ripple with internal heat, the entity wore elaborate black armor etched with runes that glowed like molten metal. Two massive horns curved backward from a broad forehead, and eyes like pools of liquid fire surveyed the cavern with predatory intelligence.
A greater demon, Skaravosk identified with newfound tension. A general by his markings. Powerful.
The demon stepped forward, massive clawed hands clasped behind his back in an almost contemplative posture. "I am Vorak, General of the Flame Legions, servant to the Ascendant King." His fiery gaze fixed directly on Tom's position despite the cover. "And you are the one who disrupted our working at Westridge. I recognize the energy signature."
Tom abandoned concealment, stepping into the open with his partially transformed body ready for combat. "And you're repurposing your own soldiers as batteries. Efficient, if somewhat lacking in loyalty to your troops."
Vorak laughed, a sound like crackling flames. "These were failures. Deserters. Those who questioned the King's divine wisdom." He gestured dismissively at the immobilized demons. "Their final service is more valuable than their continued existence."
"What is this structure?" Tom demanded, hoping to extract information before inevitable conflict. "It's not like the corruption at Westridge."
"Perceptive," Vorak acknowledged. "This is not mere corruption—it is transformation. A convergence point where realities align." He spread his massive arms. "The King's ascension approaches. The ancient barriers between worlds grow thin. What you see here is but one node in a greater pattern—a pattern your interference at Westridge has only slightly delayed."
He's stalling, Skaravosk warned. The energy continues to build. Whatever this 'convergence' entails, it's progressing even as we speak.
Tom recognized the tactical situation immediately. Direct confrontation with a greater demon was not what he had anticipated—these entities possessed power far beyond the lesser demons he had encountered previously. But allowing the crystalline structure to continue its working was not an option.
"I destroyed your operation at Westridge," Tom stated flatly. "I'll do the same here."
Vorak's expression shifted from amusement to cold assessment. "You surprised a minor overseer at Westridge. I am Vorak, who burned the Thousand Towers of Azkarath to ash, who broke the Shields of Eternal Dawn. You face a power beyond your comprehension, mortal."
Without further warning, the demon general attacked—not with physical charge but with a gesture that sent a wave of superheated air roaring across the cavern. Tom barely had time to dive behind a stone column before the blast turned the ground where he had stood to molten rock.
This requires more than partial transformation, Skaravosk urged. Full armor form at minimum.
Tom didn't argue, immediately channeling more draconic energy to complete the transformation. Crimson scales flowed to cover his entire body, forming the interlocking dragon armor they had practiced. A helmet shaped like a dragon's head materialized, providing both protection and enhanced senses.
Thus armored, he summoned Crimson Fang in one hand, Ember Shard in the other—the twin blades materializing instantly from the dimensional pocket.
Vorak seemed momentarily surprised by the transformation but recovered quickly. "Interesting. Not merely human after all." His massive hand engulfed in flames as he drew a sword of his own—a jagged black blade that seemed to drink in light. "Let us test your limits, hybrid."
The battle that followed taxed Tom's enhanced capabilities to their utmost. Vorak moved with shocking speed for his size, each swing of his massive blade creating distortions in the air itself from sheer power. Tom found himself relying on draconic reflexes and instinct, parrying when possible, evading when not.
Crimson Fang and Ember Shard proved their worth—the former slicing through Vorak's armor in places where Tom landed successful strikes, the latter leaving burning wounds that even demonic regeneration struggled to close. But for every blow Tom landed, Vorak returned three, each impact like being struck by a battering ram.
They fought across the cavern floor, around the crystal structure and between the frozen demon soldiers. Tom's tactical mind worked furiously, analyzing patterns and weaknesses while his body moved with supernatural grace. But Vorak was no ordinary opponent—a general who had fought in wars spanning centuries, with strength and skill honed through countless battles.
Ten minutes into the fight, Tom had scored numerous hits but suffered significant damage to his armor in return. Parts of his draconic plating had cracked or been torn away entirely, and beneath it, his human body was accumulating injuries—a dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs, a gash along his thigh that bled freely.
The crystal structure, Skaravosk reminded him. Destroying it must remain our primary objective. The demon is merely its guardian.
Tom acknowledged this wisdom. He had been drawn into direct combat when his true purpose was the corruption node itself. Changing tactics, he disengaged from Vorak long enough to hurl Ember Shard directly at the central crystal spire.
The weapon struck true, embedding itself in the crystalline surface. For a moment, nothing happened—then cracks began to spread from the point of impact, purple energy leaking like blood from a wound.
Vorak roared in genuine alarm. "NO!" The demon abandoned his attack on Tom, rushing toward the damaged crystal. "The convergence must not be interrupted!"
Tom seized the opportunity, summoning Worldrend to replace his thrown blade. The massive greatsword materialized in his hand, its dimensional-severing edge humming with power. With Vorak's attention diverted, Tom charged the crystal structure from the opposite side, bringing Worldrend down in a devastating overhead strike.
The blade cut into the crystalline material like it was water, creating a catastrophic disruption in whatever energy pattern the structure maintained. Purple light erupted from the wound, and the entire formation began to destabilize, cracks propagating throughout its surface.
But Tom had underestimated Vorak's speed. Even as Worldrend completed its strike, the demon general was there, his black blade swinging in a horizontal arc that caught Tom squarely across the chest. The impact shattered what remained of his dragon armor and sent him flying across the cavern to crash into the stone wall with bone-breaking force.
Tom felt ribs snap, felt the warm rush of blood in his lungs as he collapsed to the cavern floor. His weapons dissipated as his concentration faltered, the draconic armor receding as his control slipped. Through dimming vision, he saw Vorak approaching, the demon's expression a mask of cold fury.
"You have damaged the convergence node," the general growled. "Weeks of preparation disrupted. For this, your death will be neither quick nor merciful."
Tom tried to rise, to summon his weapons again, but his body refused to respond. The injuries were too severe, his strength fading rapidly. Consciousness began to slip away despite his desperate attempts to remain awake.
As darkness closed in, he felt something unexpected—Skaravosk's presence expanding within their shared mind, no longer supporting but actively taking control.
Rest, Tom Reed, the dragon's voice came with unusual gentleness. I will handle this from here.
Tom had no strength to resist as his consciousness receded and Skaravosk's surged forward. His last coherent thought was surprise at the dragon's intervention—they had never discussed such a possibility, never practiced this reversal of their usual arrangement.
Then darkness claimed him entirely.
Vorak stood over the fallen human, observing with cold satisfaction as the strange armor receded and consciousness faded from his opponent's eyes. The hybrid had proven unexpectedly formidable, managing to damage the convergence node significantly before falling. A problem to be addressed, but not insurmountable—the working could be repaired, the node restored to functionality with additional sacrifices.
He raised his blade to deliver a killing blow to the unconscious form. "Your interference ends here, whatever you are."
But as the blade descended, something impossible happened. The seemingly defeated body suddenly erupted with crimson energy that repelled Vorak's strike, sending shock waves through the cavern that staggered even the massive demon general.
"What treachery is this?" Vorak demanded, stepping back as the human's body rose from the ground—not standing, but floating several inches above the stone floor, surrounded by a nimbus of deep red power.
The figure's eyes snapped open, but they were no longer human eyes. They glowed with ancient power, vertical pupils dilating as they fixed on Vorak with predatory focus.
"Treachery?" The voice that emerged was not the human's—deeper, resonant with power that made the very air vibrate. "An interesting accusation from one who serves the betrayer of dragons."
Before Vorak's astonished gaze, the human form began to change—not into the armored state from before, but something entirely different. The body elongated, muscle and bone reforming into a shape neither fully human nor fully draconic. Crimson scales covered the entire form, a powerful tail manifested, wings erupted from the back, and the face restructured into a draconic visage with a short muzzle filled with razor-sharp teeth.
What stood before Vorak now was approximately eight feet tall, powerfully built with a humanoid torso but distinctly draconic features. Not the full majesty of a true dragon, but something hybrid—a perfect balance of draconic power and humanoid mobility.
Vorak's eyes widened in recognition. "Impossible. The dragon kings haven't descended upon this world in centuries. Not since the Sword Dragon King was sealed and the others retreated to their sky kingdom."
"A convenient story your kind tells itself," Skaravosk replied, flexing clawed hands that now ended in talons capable of shearing through steel. "Though we both know your master merely took credit for our voluntary withdrawal."
The demon general recovered from his surprise quickly, eyes narrowing as he reassessed his opponent. "Dragon essence or not, you still bleed." He brandished his black blade. "And what bleeds can die."
Skaravosk's mouth curved in what might generously be called a smile, though on his draconic features it appeared more like a predator baring its teeth. "Many have tested that theory. Their ashes long since scattered to the winds."
Vorak attacked with renewed fury, his blade wreathed in flames that turned the air around it into shimmering heat haze. But Skaravosk moved with a grace that belied his size, evading the strike with contemptuous ease before counterattacking with a sweeping tail that caught the demon squarely in the chest.
The impact sent Vorak crashing into the crystal structure, further damaging the already compromised formation. Purple energy sprayed like arterial blood, bathing the demon general in corrosive power that seemed to affect even his formidable constitution.
Roaring in pain and rage, Vorak staggered upright, his armor smoking where the energy had touched it. "You cannot stop what comes," he snarled. "The convergence advances at multiple nodes. The King's ascension approaches regardless of your interference here."
"Perhaps," Skaravosk acknowledged, seemingly unconcerned. "But you will not witness it."
The dragon-form raised a clawed hand, and crimson energy began to coalesce between his fingers—not a weapon being summoned from elsewhere, but power being actively generated. The energy grew quickly, forming a swirling orb of concentrated force that illuminated the entire cavern with bloody light.
Vorak recognized the threat too late. As he lunged forward in desperate attack, Skaravosk released the energy orb directly into the demon's chest. The impact stopped Vorak mid-stride, his massive body freezing as crimson energy coursed through him like lightning through a conductor.
For a moment, the demon general stood perfectly still, his expression locked in a mask of surprise and fury. Then, with terrible slowness, cracks began to spread across his body—not wounds but fundamental fractures in his very essence. Light poured from these cracks, bright as the sun and painful to behold.
"Impossible," Vorak whispered, staring down at his disintegrating form. "You cannot possess such power in that hybrid state."
"A common miscalculation," Skaravosk replied. "One you won't have opportunity to correct."
The cracks expanded rapidly, connecting across Vorak's entire body until he resembled a statue made of shattered glass held together by will alone. Then, with a sound like a thunderclap, the demon general simply came apart—exploding into fragments of energy and matter that dissolved into nothingness before they reached the ground.
Where Vorak had stood, nothing remained—not even ash or residual energy. The General of the Flame Legions had been unmade completely.
Skaravosk turned his attention to the damaged crystal structure, which continued to leak purple energy despite the disruption. The frozen demon soldiers remained in place, still serving as conduits even as the node they powered destabilized.
With methodical precision, Skaravosk approached the structure and placed a clawed hand against its surface. Crimson energy flowed from his palm into the crystal, creating a cascading reaction as the two forces—corruption and draconic power—interacted. The purple crystalline material began to dissolve, breaking down at a molecular level and releasing the energy trapped within.
The immobilized demons collapsed like puppets with cut strings as the crystals embedded in their chests disintegrated. Whether they still lived was impossible to determine and, to Skaravosk, largely irrelevant.
Within minutes, the entire structure had dissolved into inert dust, the convergence node completely neutralized. Skaravosk surveyed the cavern with satisfaction, his work complete.
Only then did he turn his attention inward, to the human consciousness that shared his form—currently dormant but beginning to stir as their shared body's supernatural healing addressed the worst injuries.
Rest, Tom Reed, Skaravosk communicated. Your body heals, but slowly even with my essence supporting it. I will return us to the surface.
There was no coherent response, only the faint stirring of human awareness acknowledging his presence.
Skaravosk began the journey back through the mine tunnels, his draconic form easily navigating passages designed for beings half his size. As he walked, he considered the implications of what they had learned. The "convergence" Vorak had mentioned, the other nodes along the ley line, the Demon King's "ascension"—all pointed to a larger working than they had initially suspected.
And, perhaps most significantly, the fact that demons recognized his draconic essence—suggesting the ancient conflicts between their kinds remained relevant even in this modern age.
By the time Skaravosk reached the main shaft, he had decided on a course of action. The human would have questions when he regained full consciousness, would want explanations about this form that had not been previously revealed. Those could be addressed later. For now, the priority was to report what they had discovered while maintaining their cover.
As he approached the shaft entrance, Skaravosk allowed the draconic form to recede, returning their shared body to fully human appearance. The transformation was more difficult from this direction—condensing draconic essence back into human limitation required precise control—but necessary to avoid revealing too much to the waiting Guild representatives.
Tom Reed's body emerged from the mine entrance, apparently human but moving with the subtle difference of a different consciousness directing its actions. The waiting Sylvia rushed forward at the sight of blood and torn clothing.
"Reed! What happened? You missed two check-ins, we were about to seal the entrance!"
"Apologies for the concern," Skaravosk replied, carefully mimicking Tom's speech patterns but unable to fully disguise the resonant quality his voice carried even in human form. "The situation was more complex than anticipated. The corruption has been neutralized, but I encountered... resistance."
Sylvia's expression showed confusion at the subtle differences in speech and manner, but concern for his injuries overrode her suspicion. "You need medical attention. We have a healer in the monitoring station."
"That won't be necessary," Skaravosk assured her. "The wounds appear worse than they are. A few hours' rest will suffice."
As they walked toward the monitoring station, Skaravosk maintained the pretense of being Tom Reed while carefully regulating their shared body's healing processes. The most serious internal injuries were already mending, but he kept the external damage visible—humans would be suspicious of wounds that disappeared too quickly.
Inside, Skaravosk provided a carefully edited account of what had transpired—the crystal structure, evidence of ritual working, and successful neutralization of the corruption. He omitted Vorak entirely, as well as the true nature of the confrontation. The Guild representatives, though clearly curious about details that seemed omitted, were too relieved at the resolution to press for a complete account immediately.
"We'll send a full assessment team tomorrow," Sylvia decided. "For now, you should return to Eastwatch and seek proper medical care, despite your assurances."
Skaravosk did not argue, recognizing the wisdom in withdrawal. As the wagon carried them back toward the city, he finally allowed himself to fully assess Tom's consciousness, which was gradually regaining coherence.
Tom's return to consciousness came slowly, fragmented impressions filtering through a haze of disorientation. Pain was his first clear sensation—a throbbing ache that seemed to encompass his entire body. Then came awareness of motion, the rhythmic swaying and jolting of a wagon on rough terrain.
He opened his eyes to bright sunlight and the concerned face of the mine driver looking back at him from the driver's seat.
"Coming around, are you?" the man asked, relief evident in his weathered features. "Had me worried. You stumbled out of that mine looking more dead than alive."
Tom attempted to speak but found his throat parched and raw. The driver offered a waterskin, supporting Tom's head as he drank.
"What... happened?" Tom managed finally, his voice a hoarse whisper.
The driver shrugged. "Guild woman said you cleared the corruption but got yourself half-killed doing it. All I know is they told me to get you back to Eastwatch quick as I could. Been on the road near three hours already."
Tom tried to access his memories of what had transpired after Vorak's strike, but found only darkness—a complete blank where recollection should have been. Turning his attention inward, he sought Skaravosk's presence.
You're awake, the dragon acknowledged immediately. Good. Your injuries are serious but no longer life-threatening.
What happened in the mine? Tom asked silently. I remember Vorak striking me, then nothing.
A brief hesitation before Skaravosk replied. I took control when you lost consciousness. It was necessary—your wounds would have been fatal otherwise.
You... took control? Tom repeated, struggling with the concept. Of my body?
Our shared form, Skaravosk corrected. The connection works both ways, though I had not mentioned this possibility previously. It seemed a theoretical concern rather than an immediate necessity.
Tom considered this revelation carefully. The idea that Skaravosk could assume control while he was unconscious was simultaneously disturbing and reassuring—a safeguard he hadn't known existed, but one that had apparently saved his life.
And Vorak? he asked finally. The crystal structure?
Both eliminated, Skaravosk replied with a certain satisfaction coloring his mental voice. The demon general overestimated his capabilities against draconic power. I was able to channel more energy through our form than you typically access—an advantage of my direct control.
Did you... transform differently? Tom asked, an inexplicable sense that something significant had occurred teasing the edges of his awareness.
No, Skaravosk answered smoothly. Merely pushed our existing transformation to its limits. Your armor form is capable of channeling more power than you've yet learned to harness.
This explanation seemed reasonable, though something about it didn't quite align with the strange sensations lingering in Tom's body—a feeling of having been stretched and reshaped in ways beyond his previous experience with the armor form.
Before he could press further, a spike of pain shot through his chest, making him gasp. The driver glanced back in concern.
"Take it easy," the man advised. "Guild healer did what she could, but said you'd need proper treatment in Eastwatch."
Tom nodded weakly, focusing on regulating his breathing to minimize discomfort. As he settled back against the wagon's wooden bed, he returned to silent communication with Skaravosk.
What did you learn about the convergence nodes while I was unconscious? he asked, shifting to practical matters.
Much, Skaravosk replied, seeming relieved at the change of subject. Vorak confirmed what we suspected—the corruption network forms part of a larger working centered on the Stone Crown. The nodes are positioned along the ley line to weaken dimensional boundaries at specific points. And the Demon King's "ascension" appears to be the ultimate goal—though the precise nature of this ascension remains unclear.
Ascension to what? Tom wondered.
Unknown, Skaravosk admitted. But demon lords traditionally seek expansion of their realms into other dimensions. This suggests something more ambitious than conventional invasion—perhaps elevation to a higher form of being or merger of realms.
Tom processed this information as the wagon continued its journey toward Eastwatch. Though his body screamed for rest, his mind worked through tactical implications. The Stone Crown's location became even more crucial—clearly the focal point for whatever working the demons were attempting.
We need to find the Stone Crown immediately, he concluded. Whatever they're planning seems to be accelerating.
Agreed, Skaravosk said. Though you must heal first. Your body requires recovery before we undertake what will likely be our most dangerous confrontation yet.
Tom couldn't argue with this assessment. Despite draconic energy accelerating his healing, the injuries Vorak had inflicted were severe. Attempting to confront whatever awaited at the Stone Crown in his current condition would be suicidal.
As Eastwatch's walls appeared on the horizon, Tom found himself dwelling on the blank space in his memory—the lost time during which Skaravosk had somehow defeated a demon general powerful enough to nearly kill them both. The dragon's explanation was plausible, yet something about it felt incomplete.
Thank you, he offered finally. For saving us when I couldn't.
We are partners, Skaravosk replied simply. Your survival ensures mine.
Yet beneath this pragmatic statement, Tom sensed something else—a protective concern that seemed strangely personal for an ancient dragon king. Their partnership had begun as mutual necessity, but it was evolving into something neither had anticipated.
By the time they passed through Eastwatch's northern gate, Tom had regained enough strength to sit upright, though moving remained painful. The driver helped him down from the wagon at The Miner's Rest, supporting him as they made their way inside.
"Get yourself a proper healer," the driver advised as he handed Tom over to the innkeeper. "Whatever you faced down there nearly finished you."
Tom nodded in thanks, then slowly made his way upstairs to his room, each step an exercise in controlled agony. Once inside, he collapsed onto the bed, physical exhaustion finally overcoming even his disciplined mind.
Rest, Skaravosk urged. The Stone Crown can wait until morning.
As Tom drifted toward sleep, his thoughts circled back to those missing hours in the mine. Something significant had happened there—something beyond Skaravosk simply taking control and pushing their existing capabilities.
But exhaustion claimed him before he could pursue the mystery further, pulling him into deep, healing sleep while an ancient dragon maintained vigilant watch over their shared existence.
In the darkness of unconsciousness, fragmented images flickered through Tom's dreams—impressions of power beyond anything he'd experienced, of a form neither fully human nor fully dragon. But by morning, even these ghostly remnants would fade, leaving only the certainty that Skaravosk, Dragon King of the Sword, had depths yet to be revealed.