The Price of Pride

66: The Heart of the Forge

ActVI

The Shadows

Chapter 66: The Heart of the Forge

Hidden Forge of Eregion, September 23rd-24th 3018 T.A

The stone door groaned one last time before it fully yielded, revealing a darkened corridor ahead, choked with dust and the scent of ancient, damp stone. Dawn's first light trickled reluctantly into the hidden passage, casting long shadows that seemed to claw their way deeper into the murk. Legolas, Xena, Elladan, and Elrohir stood poised at the entrance, each one aware that beyond this threshold lay dangers forgotten by time.

Legolas took the first step, his senses attuned to every whisper of the air, every subtle shift in the silence around them. His keen eyes scanned the stone walls, catching the faint glimmer of Elvish carvings—script nearly lost to age, yet crafted with unmistakable skill by Elven hands long turned to dust. He murmured, almost to himself, "Now that the ashes have grown cold, and the stone gates are open..."

Elladan, following his gaze, translated the faded script, his voice a grim echo in the silence. "Bloody and beaten, marked by the dying shadows, is the only way out."

The words lingered heavily, as though even the air in this place had absorbed the centuries of death and decay. Legolas and Elladan exchanged a glance, communicating silently, before gesturing for Xena and Elrohir to hold back. They stepped cautiously into the dim corridor, which seemed to swallow the light entirely. The air was thick with the scent of rust and old blood—reminders of sacrifices long past.

"There are traps here," Xena whispered, her fingers brushing the chakram at her waist. Her instincts buzzed like a living thing, every nerve attuned to the quiet malice that seemed to pulse from the very walls. "Old, but still dangerous."

They fell into silence again, waiting, as if to see if the air would answer. Legolas's hand rested lightly on his bow, his sharp gaze scanning the stone for any sign of threat. Elladan, ever the pragmatist, drew his sword with the soft whisper of metal on leather, the sound barely disturbing the thick, oppressive quiet.

"If the legend holds, this is where they protected their most prized treasures," Elladan said, his voice barely more than a murmur. "We must expect resistance."

As they advanced, their movements were slow and deliberate. The passage sloped downward, uneven and treacherous underfoot, each step weighted with the knowledge that it could set off a trap as ancient as the stones themselves. Legolas and Elladan took the lead, moving with an almost imperceptible grace. Xena followed close behind, her gaze sweeping the shadows. Elrohir kept to the rear, his senses as keen as his twin's, his hand ready on the hilt of his sword.

Without warning, a faint rumble coursed through the ground, like a tremor from the heart of the mountain itself. It was only a whisper at first, a subtle shiver beneath their feet. But then, as if the mountain awoke, a crack sounded, splitting the stone floor beneath them. In an instant, the ground gave way beneath Xena's feet. She moved on pure reflex, thrusting her sword into a narrow crack in the wall and swinging her body sideways to avoid the gaping pit that yawned open below her.

"Xena!" Legolas lunged toward her, his arm outstretched, but he stopped short as the ancient gears of the trap roared to life. Massive stone slabs began grinding together, the walls seeming to close in like the jaws of a great beast. Dust exploded into the air, stinging their eyes and filling the air with a choking haze.