Aturs, Year of Severus, 15, I.R., the 33rd day of Fall, Arenfall

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"But godfather…" The prince's voice echoed around the spacious tent. "What you're doing could ruin your repu—"

"Think of this as wartime, Arterius." Lord Prestonheim tried explaining to his godson that what they would be doing was justifiable. "During wartime, during desperate moments, remember this, young prince…Morals doesn't equate to anything. You either kill or be killed. You either starve or be satiated. Your decision would equate into either winning or losing…I want you to remember it well."

There was silence in the room. Commander Crovar stared blankly beyond the tent; Lord Prestonheim knew his friend had a lot of things to say but understood the gravity of the situation.

He looked at the young prince tapping his fingers on the table. His eyes were filled with what ifs and possibilities. Lord Prestonheim could read his godson's mind. The young prince wanted to object on his plan but knew it was the easier and safer route compared to his.

"I do not doubt your intelligence, Arterius." Lord Prestonheim commented. "But I just have to say this…your plan will backfire on you. Deep down I know that you knew that much. You cannot just risk yourself every time you're trying to prove your worth. Let me do that for you." He smiled to reassure the prince.

Lord Prestonheim could see his godson's frustrated face. It was the realization of his failure and immature decision that dampened the prince's mood. As a godfather he understood his godson's frustration and how he constantly sought for others recognition. He is the first prince of a great empire and yet he was thrown to the sidelines because they couldn't understand his strength.

"Godfather," Prince Arterius sighed as he hunched on his chair. "I-I…I'm still…"

Commander Crovar approached the somber prince and put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't say that, Prince Arterius!" He smiled. "It's the lack of experience that made you come to that decision and I do not blame you for that. Everyone has to experience immaturity to bloom into their best potential." The old Commander nodded to his friend.

Lord Prestonheim approached his godson and smiled, "Cheer up, Arterius. You're young, you have a lot to learn. Learn from us, learn from me and lean on me for now. I will teach everything I could teach you." He patted his shoulder. "You have the potential to rule the empire, but right now, let these old bones build the platform for you to stand on."

His godson nodded and smiled weakly at him. Lord Prestonheim knew that the prince still didn't want to admit defeat. As a young man, the silver-haired commander felt the urge to prove himself to others and battle his way for the recognition he deserved to this day.

"I will leave it to you then, godfather." The young prince looked at him. "As for now, I will just keep on doing research on what little information we have about that mysterious ore."

"You'll do research here? That's impossible, we don't have books or—" Lord Prestonheim saw Stolas from the corner of the room dragging a huge chest to the table. "Oh. You bought your books with you? Was there any written record about that ore?" He asked.

Arterius shook his head, "There's none, but these books we sorted should give us snippets." He opened the chest and showed Lord Prestonheim the bundles of scrolls and books they brought from his personal library.

Lord Prestonheim became curious with the literature the Prince brought. He picked one of the leather covered books and read its title, "Thy Dwyrvyn Hsthry." Lord Prestonheim tried his best to pronounce the Dwarven tongue. He put the book back quickly and began to pull up another one, "Aelfen Haestoreum Bibliyae. These are faerfolk writtings!" He exclaimed.

"Yes, I know they have a rich history when it comes to meeting the higher beings of our reality, or so they claim." Prince Arterius explained. "In that case, they must have a brief knowledge about these weird stones."

"Do that, my godson and let me handle the rest for now!" He bowed to Arterius and signaled Commander Crovar to come with him. They left the tent with his friend who was still curious as to how he would initiate this entire ordeal.

"Tell me, August how are you planning to do this insanity?" Commander Crovar looked at him with concern.

Lord Prestonheim massaged the bridge of his nose and looked at his friend, "Come with me."

Both of them walked across the camp and into a tent located at the right edge of the camp. They went back to the freed slaves' tent where they met the dwarf outside of the tent scraping the fats off some rabbit's skin.

The dwarf stood up and greeted the distinguished Commanders with a bow. "Fair day, M'lords!" The dwarf began, "Are yah lookin' fer Servus---I mean Ada…damn it! I still can't recall dat lad's name!" The dwarf scratched his head.

"Fair day to you as well, dwarf." Lord Prestonheim greeted back. "I was hoping to speak with you in my tent." He added.

"M'lord, 'tis a far walk back! I can give yah stools for both of yah to sit on." The dwarf smiled.

Commander Crovar was about to say something when Lord Prestonheim immediately gestured to him that he'll handle the talking. The Naval Commander respected his friend's wishes and never spoke a word to the dwarf.

"I have seen your magic spell, dwarf." The silver-haired Commander began. "That was a flaming wall! The same flaming wall that burned half of my battalion during the war at the Gorge. There was only one specialized—"

"Yah don't haf tah say dah rest, m'Lord." The dwarf interrupted. His jolly demeanor suddenly turned serious. There was an aura about the dwarf that made him very uneasy. There was something cold and calculating underneath the dwarf's funny and brash façade. "Let's go to yer tent."

There was an eerie silence between the three of them as they walked into Lord Prestonheim's tent. The silver-haired Lord looked at Commander Crovar whose calm demeanor was contrasted with the aura of rage he felt coming from the man.

Commander Crovar's nephew died during the War of the Gorge. His nephew was burned alive on a flaming pillar during a night raid from the opposing rebels. Upon hearing the dwarf's ability Commander Crovar's mood shifted into a somber yet seething intensity.

The tent had a gentle glow coming from the sunroof. Lord Prestonheim and Commander Crovar entered the tent and stood adjacent to his friend across the long table. His eyes furrowed and his face portrayed disgust at the site of the dwarf.

"August, correct me if I misheard you…" Commander Crovar calmly asked. "B-but did you just say f-flaming wall?"

Lord Prestonheim felt the tension exuding from his friend. The dwarf stood calmly at the other end of the table. Commander Crovar sighed and glared at the dwarf with disgust, "The likes of you killed my…" He paused as he gritted his teeth.

"Can say the same from yer kind…" The dwarf didn't even flinch.

Commander Crovar met the dwarf's gaze, "But this is a different time now." He diverted his attention to Lord Prestonheim, "August, this is your plan, I'm not ruining it for you. But…we'll have to talk later." The old Naval Commander walked out of the tent, giving a cold shoulder to the dwarf.

The intensity of the room didn't die down with Commander Crovar leaving. The dwarf seemed to have the aura lingering around him. The silver-haired Commander broke the ice by clearing his throat, "I saw a pillar of fire that fateful night in the mines."

He approached the dwarf who stood at the other end of the table, "I don't care what you've done before, dwarf, during the war--" He stopped in front of the dwarf. "Right now, I need your help with acquiring and making weapons for the descent."

"Tis a bit early tah go back there." The dwarf sighed. "Tis way sooner, m'Lord."

"The Prince wants us to work as soon as possible." Lord Prestonheim explained. "And that's an order I have to obey." Lord Prestonheim hated that conversation. He knew deep down that he was pushing the new citizen of the Principalia to extreme lengths over a desperate effort to take those ores.

"Urdars, layalty and repyatation. Tis things yah do fer yer nem." The dwarf came a little closer to Lord Prestonheim. "I begin to wonder hus dah slave, truly is?" He smiled.

Lord Prestonheim felt the dwarf's point. It was a hard poignant truth that he should bear. It was an insult he slid right past him because his desperation pushed him to turn the freed slaves into working with the country, they thought they were already free from. But if he had to be portrayed as a villain for his godson and beloved Principalia, he'll take a go at it.

The dwarf stroked his beard, "I am nay helping yah! Nay fer yer beloved empayar. But tis I shall do fer the lad, that nearly died, fer ars freedom." The dwarf sighed. "What's yer order?"