When October began its march, I turned to my schedule to see which stories were ready for exploration. This month, both Discovery and Mounting Tensions were slated for attention. Without hesitation, I pulled out the early draft of Discovery and dove into the weeds. Given the stage already set within this series, and knowing where it’s headed, it didn’t take long to shape this installment into something ready to share. Allow me to set the stage.
Tensions simmer between historical allies, and the cost of peace grows steeper with every failed negotiation. What began as a mission to rekindle the alliance forged by their predecessors has devolved into a confrontation with pride, history, and wounds that never healed. The elves once stood beside the previous colony of humans, but now, they answer calls for diplomacy with arrows.
While Fenton’s injuries tell one story, Jarvis’s disappointment tells another. This is a tale of ambition being crushed beneath the weight of survival. Even the dwarven king, Gilras, must balance friendship with duty to his own people. Together, they face the truth that unity is a luxury, and sometimes even loyalty must be rationed. The attempt to reforge the old alliance has failed. Will the bond between humans and dwarves fracture next?
Every word carries the fatigue of soldiers who have seen too much, and every silence speaks to loyalties that refuse to die. The question is no longer whether the elves will join the fight, but how long the defenders’ will can endure without a fresh alliance. This is a story of hardened friendships and fleeting hope, where every bond bears a scar, and every scar tells a truth.
Jarvis shook his head as he wiped his eyes. “Are you certain the elves can’t be swayed to our cause?”
Despite the scowl etched across his face, Fenton tilted his head and scratched at the bandage below his knee. “The arrow through my leg makes their stance clear enough regarding their willingness to help.”
Gilras cupped his chin, his beard jutting out from his fingers like wild grass. With a harrumph, he clapped Fenton’s shoulder. “You sure you didn’t provoke them?”
“After landing in a clearing, I left my ship and walked into the woods on foot. I called out to the elves.” Fenton tapped the gash on his cheek, leaning toward Gilras. “One of their arrows gave me this charming scratch. That’s hardly a warm welcome, right?”
A thunderous peal of laughter erupted from Gilras as he grinned. “At least they let you talk to them. If they found one of my warriors, they would have skewered him twice just to be sure.”
“Delightful perspective, truly.” Fenton leaned against his craft and sighed. He coughed into his hand as he repositioned his wounded leg while pointing at the forest. “There’s no chance of recruiting them as an ally. Their arrows speak louder than treaties, and they’ve stopped listening. They aren’t interested in peace with us or our dwarven friends.”
Jarvis rubbed his forehead, jaw clenched tight, his eyes drifting toward the forest’s edge. “I’d hoped to rekindle Tarian’s alliance, but based on this outcome, that flame has been extinguished.”
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