"Ahh… Rynar, why can't we sleep just a little longer?" Ori groaned, rubbing his bleary eyes while dragging his axe and trudging behind Rynar.
"If we sleep any more, we might as well start marching at night!" Rynar glanced at the sky with resignation. Judging by the light, it was already around 2 or 3 in the afternoon. After a short nap, the coalition army had been dawdling—eating, drinking, and packing up—until now.
"Damn orcs! They've been chasing us nonstop! They hounded us before we even reached Erebor, and after we reclaimed it, they were still at our heels! Now that we're retaking Khazad-dûm, they want in on the action too!" Óin growled, swinging a fist angrily.
"So what do you want to do? Walk up to them and say, 'Hey buddy, quit bothering us'? Give me a break." Rynar shrugged, tossing up his hands helplessly.
"Keep it up, everyone! Once we cross this ridge, we'll be out of the Misty Mountains! Rivendell's just ahead, and we can finally get some proper rest. Elven fruit wine and fresh greens await us!" Rynar called out encouragingly, riding up and down the line on his warhorse.
"Your Highness, is there no strong liquor or roasted meat?" A few sturdy dwarves asked shyly, gazing at Rynar hopefully.
Smack! Rynar slapped his forehead, speechless. Meat? From elves? You've gotta be dreaming. Elves are nature-loving folk—you think they keep roast boar on standby? And as for strong liquor… come on, elves wouldn't touch the stuff. What, you want me to conjure up some rum for you?
"Hey! Get moving! Don't stray from the group!" Balin barked, stepping in just in time to save Rynar from the awkwardness.
"Apologies, these lads haven't had much contact with elves. Life in the Blue Mountains is… a bit cut off," Balin said with an apologetic smile, offering an explanation for his kinsmen's lack of tact.
"No worries. I think all this marching has turned everyone's brains to mush," Rynar shook his head. Trekking through these tight, oppressive forests had sapped the dwarves' patience. Their spirits were clearly wearing thin.
"Tell me about it. We've been ambushed over and over, always on edge, never getting a proper rest…" Balin sighed bitterly. With so many troops, the column was hard to manage. They were nothing like the nimble force that had once set out for Erebor.
"We haven't lost any men, thank the stars, but some of the soldiers really need rest. Holy Light can mend the body, sure—but it can't fix a man's spirit," Rynar said, frowning. Morale was slipping fast, and there was little he or Balin could do to stop it. The Zaltarion soldiers were still holding strong, loyal to their homeland and king, willing to endure for the sake of rebuilding their future. But the dwarves… many had come driven by gold and glory. The only thing keeping them in line now was their faith in Balin.
"Let's just get out of here soon… dwarves and forests don't mix." Rynar shook his head. He'd already seen more than a few dwarves tripping over roots in their heavy armor. Their short stature made forest travel a nightmare.
"Guess what I found?" Caslow said mysteriously, holding something up to Rynar.
"Is that… a magical beast egg?" Rynar stared, wide-eyed at the enormous egg Caslow was cradling. It was at least a meter tall and half as wide, shaped like a perfect teardrop.
"Where'd you find this?" Rynar asked in disbelief. His system scan came up blank—this thing didn't even register!
"Dragon nest," Caslow replied calmly.
"What?" Rynar nearly choked. "There's a dragon nest around here? I didn't feel the slightest trace of dragon presence!"
The blue sprite in Rynar's arms darted out immediately, her brilliant eyes locked onto Caslow.
"The Dragon Knight isn't lying," she said after a moment, shaking her head. "I don't see any falsehood in his eyes."
"What's going on, then?" Rynar felt a bead of cold sweat run down his back.
"Relax. It's an ancient dragon nest, long abandoned. It's been so long that even the dragon's aura has faded away… The saddest part? A bunch of goblins took it over. They turned it into their throne room—I found the egg under their so-called royal seat. Apparently, it was their sacred 'symbol of power,'" Caslow snorted, half amused, half disgusted. He'd stumbled upon the lair while clearing out a band of goblins who had ambushed the coalition.
The nest lay underground, its walls scarred with the telltale marks of dragon claws. But not even a trace of draconic might remained. It was ancient—so ancient that its presence had faded into myth.
"So… do you guys even know what this is?" Rynar tapped the now-petrified eggshell curiously.
"Maybe a dragon egg," the sprite said, after probing it. "But it's far too old. Whatever was inside… it can't be hatched anymore."
"I can't tell either. The patterns are long worn away by time… Hard to say for sure, but it probably was a dragon egg—just one that can't hatch anymore," Caslow agreed, shaking his head.
"So… what good is it?" Rynar deadpanned.
"Collector's item, of course! Kings have vaults filled with rare treasures and ancient artifacts—your treasure room's empty enough to house rats!" Caslow chuckled.
"Apologies, Your Highness—that was out of line. I forgot… you don't even have a vault," he added sheepishly a second later.
"…Thanks for rubbing it in," Rynar said through gritted teeth, eyes twitching.
"Keep it, Rynar King! Even if it's not a dragon egg, the fossil alone has great value," Balin said after giving it a professional once-over. As a dwarf well-versed in mining, he knew a quality fossil when he saw one. Well-preserved specimens fetched high prices—and this one was near flawless.
"Alright, fine. Thanks. I'll keep it," Rynar nodded. It was a kind gesture from Caslow, and hey—if nothing else, it made for a meaningful memento. Possibly a dragon egg? Definitely worth saving. His system space was massive anyway—plenty of room for one little fossil. Might as well make it his first official collectible.
What Rynar didn't see was the faint glimmer that passed over the egg as he stored it away in the system space.
The petrified egg, now resting quietly inside the system, gave the slightest twitch. Strands of space energy gently rippled across its shell.
"Alright, let's move," Rynar said after taking one last look at the ancient dragon nest.
"Rest in peace. No one will disturb you again," Caslow murmured, pointing his sword at the goblin-dug entrance. His voice carried in the old tongue of dragons—a low, mournful incantation that honored both time long gone and the noble dragons that once lived there.
Boom! A surge of mighty draconic power burst from Caslow's blade, collapsing the tunnel in a roar of dust and rubble. The ancient nest vanished beneath the earth once more, shrouded in silence.
Caslow lingered for a moment. Only when the dust cleared and the entrance had vanished entirely did he finally sheathe his sword and walk away. Dragonkind—even their ruins—were not to be defiled by filthy goblins.
"Wait for me! Your Highness!" he called, snapping out of his solemn moment and scrambling to catch up to the others, back to his usual clumsy self.
"Let's hustle, people! I want to see Rivendell's rooftops by tomorrow night—I've got a date with elven wine and beautiful ladies!" Rynar whooped, whistling as he rode ahead.