A Better World (Record of Ragnarok x Reader)

Chapter 33 - They Call Me the Man of Steel

Two minutes had passed since Abraxos had landed, his claws ripping at the stone ground as if he, too, felt revolted by the mere thought of being here. She had been still on the saddle as Manon helped Erichthonius down the wyvern, more exactly grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him off. He had in turn cursed her for manhandling a god like that, earning a simple one-over by the witch before she walked off. [Name] had yet to move an inch.

Manon took three more steps before she looked over her shoulder at the woman still sitting on the wyvern, looking over the compound hidden at the very bottom of tall, grey mountains. But her attention was solely on the passage through the large wall enclosed with iron gates encircling the compound. It was impossible to see beyond those walls. Not that she needed to when the woman already knew what was behind them.

Sternly, Manon said her name. It felt off saying it amid all the silence – as if even the wind had decided not to graze this land. "[Name], we need to move. Now." It was still in the midst of night – their only glimmer of light being the stars and the four lanterns the two figures next to the gates held.

[Name] nodded, patting the leathery skin of Abraxos before she slid off and landed mutely on the ground. As if forgetting that she had two people with her, she, almost in a daze, began moving toward the gates, an uncommon gust of the northern wind pleading with her to turn around while she still had the chance.

"What's up with her?" The god dared ask, shivers travelling up his spine despite the warm blanket draped over his shoulders. Manon did not entertain him with an answer, and simply followed her. Giving rat's ass about the boy.

"Hey," a man with jet-black hair tucked in the hood of his cape, and mesmerizing sapphire eyes drawled. Dorian Havilliard. Current King of Adarlan, and her friend. He was tall, but not towering over them as the fae male next to him. The fae's arms were crossed, the light from the lanterns falling on his sun-kissed skin and his hard and dark features.

Lorcan, Lord of Perranth, the husband of Elide Lochan, and member of her court, had just come back from a mission in the Southern continent, per request of his queen. And if she were to judge by the scornful expression grazing his features, he was not pleased with having to rush a three-month-long plan in the span of one month.

Not that [Name] cared. The man would be back to normal the second he saw his wife.

Dorian approached them with a lantern in hand, greeting her with a small smile, and as much as he would love to through a flirty remark at the beautiful witch beside her, he decided the place to not be appropriate enough. And the ever so silent Manon seemed to share that sentiment.

Dorian began speaking again, "Shall we go in?"

Soon all eyes turned to [Name], waiting for her to do something. Anything. So, mutely she approached the metal gates made out of the densest of iron. And as the light from his lantern momentarily befell her solemn face, Dorian and Lorcan noticed the three scars that ran across it. And while Dorian's response was for his skin to pale and his blood to go cold, Lorcan's dark eyes narrowed, and Dorian could swear he heard an ominous remark part from his lips.

Bastards.

That word alone might not bear much meaning, but when it left the fae male's mouth it was a declaration of death. The painful kind.

However, while the two men carefully observed her, she had willed the heavy gates open, creaking for dear life – as if to warn anyone about to enter to turn around while they still had the chance. Still, with her hand outstretched, [Name] simply stood in place, eyes darting everywhere.

It was dark and therefore impossible to make out the few wooden buildings where slaves used to reside, and the main building to her right which was surrounded by a country yard lined with unlit lanterns that used to house Endovier's Officials and Overseers. And it should have been impossible to see the limited ramshackle sheds used to refine the rock salt and the various mine shafts delving into the mountain. Granted, she remembered the outlay clearly.