Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO ON KINDLE SEPT. 2)

Miguel’s feet dragged as he approached the Spires. He’d felt every mile of his recent journey, and they hung heavy on his shoulders. Beside him strode Trevor, who’d had it just as bad as Miguel, though he seemed to have taken it much better. And Isaak had it the worst – so much so that the stag was forced to carry him around like so much extra baggage.

The only one who seemed entirely unbothered by the long trek was Artemis, though that was normal for the often surly cat. Without her, the trip would have been much more difficult, though. So, Miguel was glad for her company, and he’d shown his gratitude more than once by giving her extra pieces of food. She had taken them all as if they were hers by right.

In any case, their trip was soon to come to an end, as the Conclave Spires glimmered less than a mile away. Fortunately, there weren’t many people around, which meant there wouldn’t be much of a delay before they could return to Ironshore.

But first, they needed to cover the intervening distance, which felt much further than it probably should have. That was the thing with long journeys. The last leg always felt longer than any other.

Of course, that wasn’t to say that they hadn’t endured hardships as they traveled from the frontier Illythiri fortress through the Hollow Depths and to the exit closest to a set of Conclave Spires. That voyage had been wrought with danger from the very beginning, and they’d been forced to battle a wide variety of wildlife, including a wild troll that had killed a few members of the elven escort.

The Illythiri had taken it in stride, though. If nothing else, they were well-accustomed to the sacrifices of battle. After all, most had seen their entire civilization fall before they’d invested everything in sending the younger generation to Earth so they would stand a chance of survival. Since then, they’d been fighting a nearly constant war against the trolls that originated in a Primal Realm, ceding territory as they fought to gain enough levels to push their new enemies back.

It was not working.

Which was ultimately why the Empress had charged Ivin with training Miguel and Isaak, and in the process, showing them the dangers posed by the trolls. In that way, they could ensure that the surface world knew what lay below, which would in turn prompt them to help.

That was Miguel’s mission. He was intended to return to Ironshore and spread the word – hopefully to someone who could marshal a sizable fighting force – so that they could join the fight.

It wasn’t that he felt any great love for the elves. Even as brothers-in-arms, very few had endeared themselves to him. He did care about a couple of them, though. What’s more, he recognized the threat posed by the trolls. If they were allowed to spread unchecked, then they would eventually fall upon the people he did care about.

Like his mother. Or the friends he’d made in Argos.

Or the grove that had become so vitally important to him.

Miguel could not accept that, so he’d agreed to act as an emissary in the hopes that he could bridge the wide gap between the two civilizations. To date, their attempts at diplomacy had gone nowhere, save to establish a tentative peace. He intended to change that through force of will alone. And if he failed, then he had a powerful family to back him up. As far as Miguel was concerned, he didn’t need to convince the world. He only needed to convince his mother and uncle. They could take care of the rest.

Those thoughts and more flitted through his mind as they approached the spires. Along the way, he found himself missing the elves who’d accompanied them from the fortress to the surface. They had refused to go any further, which meant the last leg of the journey had been undertaken alone.

And given Isaak’s exhaustion, he made for a poor traveling companion.

At least Trevor was there, though, which was quite a comfort, given their long separation. The stag had grown considerably during that time, and he’d become a powerful creature in his own right. Still a juvenile in a lot of ways, but a strong one. Miguel wasn’t as concerned with that as he was with simply having his friend back.

Trevor let out a small snort of agreement.

The stag’s presence had also allowed Miguel to use many of the companion-specific abilities he’d gotten during his time in the Hollow Depths. And they were even more powerful than he’d expected. For instance, Spirit of the Blizzard coated Trevor’s antlers in ice, and when he attacked under the influence of that spell, he did so with an accompaniment of ice damage. Spirit of the Wildfire was similar in scope, though it predictably coated the stag’s antlers in flames.

However, Miguel’s favorite of his three companion buffs was Companion Spirit, which created two semi-solid mirages that would attack alongside Trevor. From his experience, the ability also tended to confuse beasts, which gave Trevor a little extra protection. The wounds inflicted by those illusions were real enough, though not as severe as the ones caused by the true stag.

But more than anything, Miguel was excited about the future. He liked where his class was heading, and he was eager to see what his next spell might be. Or his evolution, which was fast approaching at his current rate of advancement. He’d already chosen his specialization – Ferocity – which added a couple of attributes per level and facilitated body cultivation. In addition, it had improved his bond with Trevor in a way he couldn’t really quantify. For lack of a better word, it had grown denser in a way he struggled to understand.

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When they arrived at the Spires and Miguel pushed those thoughts out of mind. After paying the fee, he settled down to wait amidst the other travelers, some of whom looked at Trevor with no small degree of trepidation. Or maybe they were afraid of the cat that had suddenly perched on his back.

Either way, the others gave Miguel and his companions a wide berth.

“I’m going to sleep for a week,” Isaak said. “I don’t know how you’ve kept going all this time.”

“I took my physical training seriously,” Miguel pointed out. “You were too busy chasing elven girls.”

“Guilty,” Isaak replied with a grin. He raked his hand through his dark curls. “In my defense, you did see them, right? Almost makes me want to permanently relocate.”

“No it doesn’t.”

Isaak sighed, clearly remembering the grim state they’d left behind. Eldrathûn was just as vibrant as ever, but it was also packed with refugees. The Illythiri had come to Earth with hundreds of thousands of people, and more than half had been forced to abandon their homes to take shelter within the imperial city.

And it wasn’t going to stop soon. The threat remained just as potent as ever. Maybe more so, given that Primal Realms tended to grow more powerful as the world’s ethereal density rose. The only way to stop the empowerment was to conquer it, and the elves still hadn’t even found the entrance, much less made headway in sending anyone inside.

It would take a lot more power – either through numbers or levels – to carve their way through the hordes of trolls to find the source.

Eventually, their turn came, and everyone planted themselves inside the circle. Isaak made certain to clutch Artemis to his chest, which she accepted with regal equanimity. Meanwhile, Miguel kept his hand on Trevor’s shoulder to keep the stag from bolting at the wrong moment. As it turned out, neither was necessary. The two animals took the teleportation without issue, and they arrived in between Ironshore’s Conclave Spires a second later.

The first thing Miguel felt was the dense ethera. He wasn’t exactly sure where they’d come from – he’d not even asked the name of the nearby settlement – but one thing he knew was that it was a long way from Ironshore. That was evident by the change in temperature as well as the sudden bombardment of thick ethera.

Isaak nearly stumbled.

“I thought it was dense in Argos,” he muttered to himself. “This is where you live?”

Miguel nodded, releasing Trevor. In only a second, the stag had taken off in the direction of the island. Doubtless, he wanted to see his family. Before he’d left, Artemis had leaped onto his back, as if she couldn’t be bothered to walk on her own two feet.

That left Miguel and Isaak to trek toward Ironshore without the company of the animals.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for them to reach the gates, which had grown more elaborate over the past few months. The guard wasn’t recognizable, further proof that the world had kept spinning while Miguel was gone.

If he’d had any doubts about that, Ironshore’s further development – evident as soon as he entered the city proper – made it absolutely clear. New buildings were in abundance, and the existing structures had grown, both in scope and artistry. The streets were wider and lined with ethereal lamps while throngs of people moved about the city.

It was a thriving place with a very distinct aesthetic that set it apart from everywhere else Miguel had visited. But more importantly, it felt like home, and not just because it had been the only placed he’d felt safe since the world had changed. It was also where he could find his family.

And Hope.

Briefly, he considered going to find her first, but then he thought better of it. She would have chastised him for neglecting his mother. So, he soon led Isaak through the city, following a familiar path through unrecognizable streets until he arrived at the site of the Forge of Creation.

And to his surprise, it had been completed.

“What is this place?” Isaak asked, awe-struck by the size and power of the building. Even amidst the thick atmosphere of ethera that suffused the city, the structure thrummed with powerful energy. When Miguel felt it, it made him think about all the projects he’d considered over the past few months.

He had some ideas about armor and weapons that he hoped to put into practice, and now, those plans leaped to the forefront of his mind.

People moved in and out of the building, obviously engaged in various tasks. Still, it wasn’t long before Miguel saw someone he recognized from his time in the city. The woman’s name escaped him, but she knew him instantly.

“You’re skin and bones. Your mother’s not going to be pleased, young man. Not pleased at all!” said the motherly woman.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied before asking where he could find his mother. The woman nitpicked his appearance and a lack of “meat on his bones” for a few more moments before giving him directions. Miguel thanked her before heading inside the Forge of Creation.

Inside the building, the aura of inspiration felt even stronger, but even that was overwhelmed by the meticulous detail evident in the Forge of Creation’s construction. Miguel knew a little of what had gone into building it, but seeing how everything had come together was more than a little awe-inspiring.

“Your mom built this?” asked Isaak, staring around in appreciation. Passersby, obviously busy, looked on in annoyance as they were forced to veer around the two.

“Not by herself, but it was her idea. Her project,” Miguel answered with pride. “I’m surprised she finished it.”

That wasn’t because he thought her incapable. Rather, he knew all too well just how much of a perfectionist she was. That she had finally cut herself off from making continuous improvement was a source of a surprise for him. Still, he was grateful for it. She often grew obsessive about those sorts of things.

“Come on,” he beckoned to Isaak.

The Sorcerer didn’t want to move very quickly, so distracted by the artistic flourishes and details in the building, but Miguel knew how to get the other young man going. So, it wasn’t long before they were following the twists and turns of the maze-like halls. Eventually, they ended their short trek when they stood before a heavy door. Miguel could feel the blazing heat on the other side.

It felt familiar. Comforting. Like he was back in Easton and sitting nearby while his mother forged weapons or armor meant to protect the city.

It was home.

He pushed through the door to find his mother kneeling with her face only inches from the forge itself. If Miguel had gotten that close, his skin would have blistered with third-degree burns. But she didn’t even look uncomfortable.

“Leave it by the door. I’ll get to it in a minute,” she called. When no one answered, she let out a sight of annoyance and turned to face the newcomers. Her frustration died a second later as she beheld her son.

“Hey mom,” Miguel said.

In only a moment, she’d shot to her feet and covered the distance between them. Even after all of his advancement, Miguel felt like his bones were being crushed beneath the pressure of her hug. But it didn’t matter. At last, he relaxed, knowing that he was home.