Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Eight days after returning home, Imrik learned that his brother would return to Tal Karad from the Phoenix Court in Tal Anlok within two days, and that the court of Caledor must go to greet him. The news was conveyed swiftly and forcefully like a cold wind across the Dragonspine Mountains. He summoned the other princes and nobles in the court and sent out elite riders in full armor to convey the news to the nobles stationed in various parts of the kingdom and in the manors outside the city.

This summons caused quite a stir in the Kingdom of Caledor. It was the first time in centuries that all the lords gathered in the kingdom's capital.

And just one day before his brother arrived, another heavyweight figure appeared in Tal Karad - Kotek, the high priest of Val.

After hearing the news, Imrik went to the main city gate to greet them without hesitation. He had never been interested in official social events and lengthy social interactions, preferring to face storms and dragon fire rather than sit at a banquet and negotiate, but in this matter, he had to show great patience and dignity.

This was not for Korthek's sake, but out of respect for the office he represented. The kingdom of Caledor is a land of forges and fire, and the priests of Vaal are among the kingdom's oldest allies.

It was the former priest of Val who assisted Imrik's grandfather in forging countless weapons and artifacts in the great war with the demons. The anvil fire once burned day and night in the mountains.

That assistance was by no means free.

The temple where the Anvil of Vaal is located has been besieged and destroyed by the minions of Chaos many times. Although it was a thousand years ago, Imrik has never forgotten the kindness engraved in his blood, and expressed this with sincere words when he greeted Kotek.

"I accept your respect, Imrik." Kotek's voice was low and steady, like the echo of an ancient hammer hitting a rock wall. He raised his hand slightly, and the two of them boarded a golden carriage with a green-gray dragon scale awning. The body of the carriage gave off a cold luster in the sun.

Kotek had a cold and dignified temperament. He was extremely thin even by the standards of an elf, with sharp bones, high cheekbones, and a forehead as sharp as an axe. His white hair was tied tightly behind his head by a black leather belt with red copper nails. He looked like a cast iron statue, with a priest's silent toughness in his coldness.

However, what is most striking is his pair of pure white pupilless eyes - empty and deep, yet impossible to look away from. As the teachings of the order he leads teach, Korthek has ritually blinded himself to share the pain of Vaul burning forever in fire and pain.

As a priest of Vaal, he did not care about his blindness, and even regarded it as an honor. He spoke without any hesitation or inconvenience, and behaved freely. His mysterious second sight had been greatly enhanced through long-term practice.

Even so, Imrik always felt an indescribable uneasiness about talking with the priest of Vaal. He was used to staring at his enemies or dragons, and instinctively avoided looking into Kotek's snow-white eyes.

As the four war horses set foot on the steep mountain road leading to the palace, Kotek slightly adjusted his heavy robes and sat upright on the back of the golden carriage. He crossed his fingers and placed them on his chest, his posture solemn and still as a statue. The ornaments hanging on his wrists and neck gently collided, making a subtle metal sound. The pendants made of silver, gold and other shining metals contained ancient runes, and each ray of light reflected the glory of Vaal.

"What is the purpose of my invitation?" Kotek asked, turning his head slightly towards where Imrik was. Although his eyes were no longer colored, he could still see him clearly. His voice was as calm as ever, with a hint of cold courtesy and distance. "Your brother's letter only said that he would summon the entire Caledor court. According to tradition, as the high priest of Val, I should attend, but..."

"To be honest, I don't know either." Imrik shook his head slightly, with some hesitation in his tone. "He summoned me back from Elsin Arwen and ordered me to meet him in Tar Anlok on behalf of Caledor. But since then, he has not sent a single word. I only know that he has been quite worried about the unusual behavior of the Kingdom of Nagarythe recently."

"Nagareth? What does the matter of Nagareth have to do with Caledor?"

Kotek's voice didn't change much, but Imrik was keenly aware of the slight tension in his body and the deliberate restraint in his tone.

"Perhaps there is no connection?" Imrick's tone was as calm as a snowy lake in the mountains, but it revealed a trace of inquiry that could not be concealed. "But even in the temple of Vaal Anvil, you should have heard that they have closed the border. Isn't this suspicious?"

"The temple is independent of the political power of various countries." Kotek waved his hand, and his voice returned to his usual cold and calm tone. "If the elves of Nagarythe want to shut themselves in, I am happy to see it happen. Without their cold faces and sarcasm, it will be a lot quieter for us."

"It is said that they have openly believed in the gods of Sesarai." Imrick continued, his tone slightly heavy, "Cain is certain, and the others are also very likely. In the colonies, they have long been preaching without any hesitation."

"We do not interfere with how others choose to please the gods." Kotek shrugged his shoulders, his tone mixed with a philosophical attitude of inaction. "I know they are trying to spread the worship of the gods of Sesarai to other kingdoms and cities, but most of their preaching is not willing to listen. Instead of tempering the metal with accusations and persecution to make it hard, it is better to leave it alone and let it cool and lose its shape."

"Is your temple safe?" Imrik asked suddenly, his eyes falling on Kotek's folded hands on his chest.

"Our days as the Princes' armorers are long gone," Korthek whispered, speaking without complaint or regret, as if he were simply stating a fact. "We forge talismans instead of swords now, rings instead of shields. We spend much time studying the Dwarven artifacts that have fallen into our hands, and they are truly marvelous, of a craft unlike anything wrought in Ulthuan. They are crude in appearance at times, but the magic within them is... simple yet powerful, like a fire that lies dormant beneath the lava."

As he spoke, he quietly spread out his hands with his fingers crossed in front of his chest and gestured in the direction of Imrik. Each finger was wearing a ring inlaid with gems, ancient and gorgeous, and each one had different runes and inscriptions.

One of them is particularly eye-catching, that is the Kotek Ring.

That is the Kotek ring that is now worn on Daxus's finger.

The golden carriage moved slowly along the mountain road, and the conversation between the two continued at a similar rhythm, one question and one answer, like two hammers falling alternately on the same anvil, until they arrived at the palace.

Imrik left Kotek in the care of his brother's servants, and having fulfilled his duties, he spent the rest of the morning playing with Tessanil.

If Karl Franz is card +8, then Imrik and his son Tessanil standing together are... card +3.
-
"What will we have to fight with? Wine glasses and forks?" A noble asked coldly, his tone full of sarcasm and anger, breaking the brief silence in the hall. "Your Majesty, we were promised weapons and armor, but where are they?"

Imrick frowned and his eyes narrowed. His calm expression was slightly broken for a moment. He was surprised by the question. He raised his head and looked at the speaker. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

"Vaul's furnaces burn day and night, continuously forging equipment for our army. Every new moon, batches of supplies are shipped to various kingdoms and distributed to the military camps in each territory."

However, before he finished speaking, there was an uproar in the meeting hall. Some nobles talked in low voices, while many more directly raised doubts. The elf nobles who were used to being polite and reserved on weekdays interrupted the king's words in their anger.

"Your Majesty, we haven't received any weapons in three years!" A prince from Kosqui stood up, his tone mixed with accusation and anxiety, "We thought those supplies were sent to other kingdoms for more urgent needs."

"That's not right!" Imric shook his head immediately. Although his voice did not rise, his tone was more resolute. "Korthek personally promised me that all armies that request it will be provided with helmets and shields, spears and scale armor!"

But this excuse did not calm the public anger, but instead provoked more backlash.

"Perhaps it was intercepted by the enemy during transportation?"

"Where did these weapons go? We have never seen them in Charis."

"Not even three years!"

"Empty promises, admit it! Maybe it wasn't a matter of delivery, but that it never happened at all."

Imrick sat in silence, his elbows resting on the armrests, his fingers folded, his chin resting on his shoulders. A hint of irritation and suspicion flashed across his eyes. He was sure that Kotek had never lied to him, but the fact was that the supplies had indeed not arrived.

He did not respond to the crowd's anger, nor did he try to continue to defend himself.

"Let's all go out."

The nobles looked at each other, and although they were still dissatisfied, they finally stood up and left, with dissatisfaction and doubt in their steps, until the council hall returned to silence again.

Afterwards, Imrik dictated a letter to Kotek, ordering him to go to Tal Karad in person to explain the "missing" weapons. He was not angry in the letter, but every word was sharp, leaving no room for evasion.

After writing, he drafted another letter to his brother, Dorian. The tone of the letter was much gentler. He just informed Dorian that he was about to leave and asked him to prepare for Kotek's visit.

He did not mention a word about the missing weapons. He knew his brother's temper. If Dorian knew about this, he would be furious and might even rush into the temple to question Kotek. He did not want to see such a situation happen before he really found out.

As a result... Kotek did not obey his orders and go to Tal Karad.
-
"Your arrival is very unexpected," said a young elf, his face still covered in fire powder. His uninjured eyes were wide open in surprise, and the corners of his eyes twitched slightly. "Are you here to see Korthek?"

"Yes." Imrick answered, his tone was concise and powerful, his eyes unquestionable, "Take us to see him!"

"He is... very busy now." The acolyte lowered his voice a little, as if he suddenly realized that his duty and courage did not match each other. "He is working hard in the inner hall with the craftsmen. I... I will tell him that you have arrived."

Imrik did not argue, but nodded slightly, indicating that the other party should lead the way. So the acolyte bowed, turned around and led the way, leading them into the depths of the temple cave.

They were led to a side room with mirror-smooth stone walls covered with heavy tapestries, each depicting an ancient scene of Vaal priests forging weapons for Aenarion. The most eye-catching figure in the center was the one holding the Hammer of Vaal.

The blazing firelight reflected on the fabric, as if the flames of the past were still beating. The sound of hammers hitting each other echoed faintly in the depths of the corridor and the roar of the smelting furnace, forming an ancient and heavy metal hymn.

The air was filled with the pungent smell of sulfur and coke, and even breathing could burn the lungs. The two brothers waited there in silence for a while. The stone chairs were hard and cold, as if the temple itself did not welcome their presence. They were each immersed in their thoughts, without talking, only the sound of hammers beating out an uneasy rhythm in their hearts.

Suddenly, a sudden quarrel broke the silence.

The voice was high and fierce, obscured by the temple's maze-like halls and tunnels, but it could not conceal the anger and dissatisfaction in it, and it burst through the air with sparks.

"Kotek doesn't seem to welcome visitors?" Dorian said in a teasing tone, with a look of vigilance on his face.

"This is more than just a snub." Imrick stood up immediately, his eyes darkening, "Something happened!"

Just as he stood up, a scream of pain suddenly came from the depths of the temple, as if metal was forcibly broken, or a soul was torn apart by flames. Following closely were chaotic shouts and footsteps, chaotic and panic-stricken, like the precursor of a landslide the night before.

Imrik drew his sword without hesitation and rushed out of the room, followed by Dorian without hesitation.

They ran through the firelit corridor, their echoes overlapping the rock walls. Soon, they broke into a storage room full of wine barrels, and an acolyte with a wine bottle in his hand came forward in panic, his eyes full of confusion and fear.

"Where is Kotek?" Imrik asked sharply, his voice like thunder rolling through the wine cellar, shaking the priest.

The acolyte was stunned for a moment, and pointed with a trembling hand at a pair of iron-rivet and copper-nailed doors at the other end of the room, "He...he is there..."

Imrick rushed forward without asking any further questions.

At this moment, the screams from the depths of the temple rang out again, and this time, they were closer and more urgent, like a tongue of fire licking the heart of the temple.

They rushed into a wide cave, and the heat hit them. In the center was a scorching river of fire, with lava running in stone troughs, emitting hot steam. A narrow stone bridge spanned it, with runes carved all over the bridge, like a chain of ancient oaths. At each end of the bridge stood a statue of Vaal, holding the Hammer of Vaal high, as if silently judging the visitors.

Through the rising flames and swirling smoke, Imrik saw chaos on the other side - elves wearing priest robes and ornaments were fighting with each other. Some were wielding forging hammers, some were holding swords snatched from the armory, and some were fighting barehanded and trying to push each other into the cracks of the fire river.

Imrik flew up the bridge, his pace swift, and Dorian followed him closely. When they reached the top of the bridge he saw the great bronze door of the caverns in the distance had opened, and behind it a blazing fire lit up the darkness, and from it came a hot and ancient magic that flowed like a secret river through the air and across the fields.

They rushed down from the bridge, and without stopping, they rushed all the way to the scene where the battle was raging.

Imrick still didn't know what was going on, but the scene before him was enough to make him extremely alert.

At least a dozen priests were fighting, their movements were mixed with despair and rage, they no longer looked like the defenders of faith, but more like the struggle between slaves of God and traitors. There were already four bodies lying on the ground between the two sides, blood seeping into the rocks, winding into lines, and steaming slightly in the firelight.

Imric was unsure of which side to take, and as he scanned the chaos, he saw five priests holding the path to the open door, while others were trying to break through their defenses. He wondered if the traitors were trying to break into the inner sanctum and desecrate the anvil, or if the five were trying to stop the true betrayers from interfering with the god's abode.

"Make way, the Phoenix King is here!" Just as Imrik hesitated, Dorian suddenly shouted, and passed by his brother with a sword in hand, his long hair flying in the heat. His decisive action had already made the choice for Imrik. The priests who tried to rush to the anvil gave way in surprise, and the other group guarding the door surrounded the prince of Caledor without hesitation. The battle broke out again, and roars and spells intertwined in the scorching air.

Dorian was as nimble as a flame. He dodged a whistling hammer and thrust the tip of his sword into the abdomen of the man wielding the hammer, splashing blood and sparks.

Imrik arrived next, shoulder-butting another traitor priest, knocking him to the ground, and then slashing his sword across the priest's chest, leaving a searing bloody mark between ribs and sternum, like a rip burned by fire.

Behind him, the other priests finally gathered their spirits, as if they had gained courage from the sword of the Phoenix King, and rushed towards the remaining gatekeeper with a loud roar. The magic in the air shone like broken stars falling one after another; the rune-engraved swords collided with the forging hammers, making a thunderous roar, and the whole cave was shaking with battle at this moment.

Imrik slashed his sword horizontally, cutting off the calf and kneecap of an enemy. The latter let out a shrill scream and fell to the ground. Without stopping, he took the opportunity to jump over, stepped over the pool of blood, and rushed straight into the open inner hall.

The room where the temple was located was a huge natural cave, like the heart of a mountain cut open, and its size was enough to accommodate an entire castle. He stood on a high place, overlooking the main crater of the Vaal Anvil. It was a roaring sea of ​​fire, rolling and surging under the protection of a high-intensity magic barrier. The flames rose and fell like a tsunami, and were led by a series of rune conduits to several smelting furnaces on one side of the temple forge. The light and heat shook the air, as if roaring.

There are several anvils and workbenches in the hall. The anvils still have a red light that has not yet cooled down. The main altar in the center is the most eye-catching - it is a giant anvil decorated with gold and liquid silver, with ancient and profound runes covered on its surface, flowing with a faint blue glow, as if it is whispering, or sleeping.

The divine power that emanated from the giant anvil was so strong that it awe-inspiring that Imrik stopped involuntarily. He had never seen a divine entity so close before, and the oppressive feeling almost made him kneel down and pray.

Several acolytes were hurriedly leaving from a nearby passage, their steps staggering, their expressions panicking, holding in their hands several pieces of obsidian-black armor, whose color unnaturally swallowed up the surrounding light, like fragments of the night forged from flames.

Imrik just glanced at them and then turned his gaze to the back of the main altar - the figure there was the real target of his trip.

Korthek stood there, wearing a solemn ceremonial robe, embroidered with golden fire patterns, and faintly mottled with blood under the hem. Enchanted armbands and heavy wrist guards were wrapped around his bare arms, and a collar was tied around his neck, engraved with the name of the ancient contract.

In his left hand he held a long sword, the blade of which was like an abyss split open in the darkness, emitting a luster of dark blue and scarlet. In his right hand he held high the Hammer of Vaal, the forging hammer that had once forged dragon armor and divine swords. The thunder symbol on the golden hammer head was faintly visible, and its dormant power was leaping in the firelight.

"Surrender!" Imrik shouted, his voice reverberating in the cave, carrying the anger and questioning of the king, "Kotek, give an account of what you have done and know!"

"Stop!" Kotek shouted, his expression frantic but determined, the Hammer of Vaal in his hand flashed a dazzling lightning, "Don't even think about getting any closer!"

"What did you do?" Imrik slowly moved to the right, with steady steps and sharp eyes, trying to get between Kotek and the passage used by the escaping priests and completely trap Kotek.

"Who has crippled our god?" Korthek shouted in a voice that seemed to tear at the soul. "Who has bound him to an anvil, forcing him to forge your most deadly weapon?"

With every word he spoke, the lightning patterns on the hammer jumped once, as if even the Hammer of Vaal itself was responding to his anger.

"Kane!" Imrik answered, knowing the myth well.

"Who are you to do this to me?" Kotek roared, his voice full of hoarseness and anger. "Why should I work for a servant when I can serve my master?"

"You are in cahoots with Drucci!"

"The so-called 'dark ones'?" Kotek laughed, his laughter echoing in the cave, like flames dancing between the rock walls. "What a superficial name! You are blinded by these names, like a child deceived by toys. They serve a greater purpose, and this purpose will restore glory to our people!"

"What goal?"

"Of course... rule the world!" Kotek's tone was full of arrogance and piety, like lava surging in a raging fire.

"What did Morathi promise you?" Imrik's voice was low, like a blade about to be unsheathed. He could almost reach Korthek. With just one leap and one swing of the sword, he could end all this chaos and betrayal.

However, he hesitated. He wanted to hear the answer and understand what truth lay at the bottom of this abyss of depravity.

Just then, he heard Dorian's voice at the door, a familiar voice with worry and fear. He turned around and waved to Dorian not to come closer, with a warning and protective look in his eyes.

"What would a servant of Val desire?"

"The secret of the dwarves!" Kotek's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "I have spent many years trying to understand the working principles of their runes, but they have never been deciphered by me. It is the divine language of another race, the whisper of another god. But..." He clenched his teeth and his tone suddenly became high-pitched. "With the power of real magic and the strength of Deha, I finally pried out the secret from those dwarf toys! This power will belong to me!"

"You are corrupted!" Imrik said flatly, without wavering in his voice. "Everything you created is corrupted!"

His body was tense, his muscles stretched as straight as a bowstring, and he was about to thrust out in the next moment.

"I may be blind!" Kotek roared, "but I can still see your intentions!"

Then he raised the Hammer of Vaal high and smashed it with all his might onto the altar anvil covered with golden runes.

At that moment, the earth trembled, and the cave was instantly engulfed by a blinding light. There was a loud bang, like thunder exploding, tearing the space apart, shaking the entire temple, causing the mountain walls to rumble and sparks to fly. The sea of ​​​​molten lava roared, and countless energy and lightning burst out from the anvil, as if to tear the void itself apart.

Imrick saw a flash of white light before his eyes, and instantly lost his vision. The magical shock caused by the divine power hit him at a destructive speed, and a strong lightning bolt struck from the air, hitting his shoulder accurately and throwing him out. He hit the stone ground hard, his armor cracked, and his long sword slipped from his numb fingers, landing on the ground with a clang and spinning.

Through his tear-blurred vision, he saw Kotek standing there unharmed, a smile of mad triumph on his face. He then turned and ran into a side passage, the corners of his robe fluttering in the firelight, and disappeared into the maze-like darkness.

When the dust settled and the fire in the cave returned to calm, Imrik ordered his men to seal the entrance and began to investigate Kotek's remaining residence and work area. He personally participated in the search by looking through the scattered items in the stone chamber filled with ashes and iron filings.

Some of the damaged notes and strange instruments were taken by the priests as crude and dangerous rune-forging experiments. However, as they tried to piece together the full picture of Korthek's research, they soon discovered something most disturbing: the latest and most complete manuscripts were missing, no doubt carried away by Korthek's followers in the chaos.

Imrik and the priests carefully read the remaining notes, while Dorian and the priests searched deep into the maze of tunnels that crisscrossed the volcanic rock.

The search party returned shortly after dawn with news of their failure.

"No one knows those tunnels better than Korthek," an old priest said, his voice low and weary. "He has explored those places for centuries. The tunnels twist and turn like snakes among the volcanic rock layers. I fear that he has already planned a way to escape, and has memorized every hidden path. Even an army of soldiers could not find him, and we... there are only a dozen people at most."

"Where do you think he's going?" Dorian asked with a mixture of uneasiness and restrained anger in his voice.

"Go to Nagarys, and return to his master." Imrik looked solemn. He slowly raised a diary, which was one of the many manuscripts found in Korthek's room. The cover was blackened by smoke and fire, and the edges of the pages were burnt and curled. "Long before the war broke out, Morathi seduced him with arrogance and curiosity. She gave him the dwarven treasure as a research object. It was a mystery that she knew he could not solve, a bait, perfect and cruel. When he reported failure, she sent a sorceress to assist him. They used dark magic to crack some secrets of rune forging, and Korthek embarked on the road of betrayal."

"He has been working on some secret project for many years." A priest said softly as he flipped through a leather-bound volume. "He took very detailed notes, many of which I cannot understand and are beyond the scope of my studies. All I can see is that he is trying to combine the ancient rune craft with forbidden sorcery to create a new form of forging."

"He is making a suit of armor." Imrick said firmly. He lowered his head to flip through his notes, his fingertips drawing a line of annotated runes on the paper. "I saw his followers escaping with that thing, and his notes also mentioned that this project was started at the beginning of the war with Nagaryeth. He did not write down its purpose, only leaving some vague hints. The other priests under his control are secretly forging enchanted weapons for Duruchi and secretly transporting these weapons to Nagaryeth."

"He also took the Hammer of Vaal." A priest added with regret in his voice, "Without this holy relic, our forging will be greatly weakened. It is not only a sacred artifact, but also the core of faith and heritage. Korthek is our most outstanding craftsman, once known as the spokesperson of Vaal's will. Now the most powerful enchanting skills are lost with him, and are used by Duruchi to turn against us."
-
The burning sensation was endless, the flames flowing through his blood, piercing his bones and corroding his soul. Even though his body had long been numb to the pain of the high temperature, the burning still raged in the depths of Malekith's consciousness, like a blazing sun that never slackened, leaving its mark on every inch of his spirit. He closed his burning eyes tightly, trying to block the invasion of the invisible flames, but he could only feel the even hotter crimson surging behind his eyelids.

Did his father, Aenarion, feel the same pain? Was it this torture beyond the endurance of a mortal body that forced him to give up Asuryan's blessing and throw himself into the blood and fire of Khaine's sword? Did the body of the god of war, born from the flames, also quietly disintegrate in the light of the flames?
This thought gradually calmed Malekith down.

His father had endured, and as his true successor, he would also endure. This suffering was nothing more than a test sent by the gods, a supreme smelting fire designed to forge his unrivaled will and glorious soul.

The next time, when he stood before the princes, coldly stared at the nobles who were talking behind his back, and declared his rights as the Phoenix King - they would no longer have any objections, no more excuses! They would see clearly that in his scarred but extremely firm body, there was a power that surpassed all traditions.

When he thought of this, he couldn't help but reveal an almost twisted smile, which cut his charred skin like a knife, leaving tiny but deep cracks on the remnants of his face, as cold and terrifying as the shattering of obsidian, but making him look stronger.

Their resistance stems from nothing more than ridiculous jealousy.

The hypocritical usurper Bel-Shana was just training Imrik like a stallion, bringing him to the throne step by step. But in reality, Imrik was just a mule in dragon skin, clumsy and dull.

The other princes were similarly deceived by Bel-Shana's whispered lies.

When Malekith presents them with the ironclad evidence of Asuryan's approval, the light will be enough to shatter the illusion they have woven. Perhaps even Imrik will kneel before him, just as he knelt gracefully and unyieldingly at the feet of Bel-Shana in his youth, but this time, the light will be emitted by himself.

The bed curtains moved slightly, and the fine gauze retreated to both sides like a tide. Morathi leaned over, like a goddess walking out of the black fog, as cold and beautiful as the moonlight.

Malekith tried to get up, but his body betrayed him again. A sharp pain like fire piercing his spine spread from his spine, as if a tremendous force had nailed him to the heavy mattress. His mouth twitched unconsciously due to the pain, twisting into a strange and painful hideous expression.

"Be quiet, my beautiful son," Morathi whispered, her tone like a snake's breath, soft but deadly, and as she spoke she placed her hand on Malekith's forehead.

"I have brought someone you should meet," she continued, with a hint of excitement and profound anticipation in her voice.

A thin elf slowly walked to the side of Morathi, his figure cast a thin shadow in the firelight, his face was almost pale and transparent, his eyes were light-colored, and there was an ominous silence in the turbidity. Although he seemed blind, his eyes seemed to be able to penetrate all disguises, staring at Malekith firmly - that look was like a nail, piercing deep into the soul.

"Your Majesty, all is well." His voice was dry but clear. "I am Kotek."

In the depths of his consciousness, Malekith recalled this name: the priest of Vaal. The craftsman who served Vaal, the one who could make him - reborn.

"Are you ready?" Malekith asked in a voice that was almost ecstatic. "Is the time right?"

"Not yet," Morathi replied calmly. "Caledor drove Korthek from the Anvil of Vaal, and now he has come to Anlek to continue his work."

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, the project will be delayed,” Kotek added, his tone calm, as if he were discussing a lengthy carving process. “But I’m confident that the project will be completed in another four years.”

"Four years?!"

This answer was like fuel to the flames, and the rage within Malekith flared up again. He tried to break free from the chains, but the charred body remained indifferent, as if mocking his untimely eagerness.

Four more years trapped in this charred body? Four years would be enough for his army to be destroyed, his kingdom to fall, his enemy to take the throne, and the world to forget him as a historical mistake!
Why does this torture continue?

In the distance, Dacus' laughter echoed clearly in the sea breeze where the morning mist had not yet dissipated. The laughter was low and long, and it violently pulled Malekith back to reality from the cage of memories. He frowned instinctively, and his consciousness fell from a hot flame into cold water, refocusing in the calm and ripples.

He slowly raised his left hand. The movement was not fast, but it seemed as if he lifted the weight of the whole world. The armor wrapped around the back of his hand glowed with a faint blue metallic glow in the faint light of the morning sun. He stared, his eyes deep, he could see through the metal the memory and pain beneath the flesh and bones.

After a moment, he slowly turned his wrist, revealing the palm covered with the same armor. There was no soft flesh, no fingerprints or palm prints, nothing, nothing, only the marks of the spell left when it was cast, like a vow in the fire, sealed forever.

After a long time, a commotion was heard and the passengers on the ship screamed one after another. The sound spread to all sides of the deck like a tide.

Malekith raised his head, his eyes passing through the mist and the sea breeze, looking at the huge outline that gradually emerged from the junction of the sky and the sea - the Temple of Asuryan. (End of this chapter)