Chapter 12.3. Silver Dragons.

– Elizabeth’s grandfather buried little dragon amongst its kin. A final show of respect. Prince grew up and became a king. Great king. Best tactician of his time. On his death bed he asked Elizabeth to bury him alongside his childhood friend.

 

Elizabeth stood before the crypt’s entrance, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The door closed behind her with a resounding thud, sealing father within final resting place, alongside dearest friend.

The young queen took a deep breath, steeling herself against weight of grief that threatened to overwhelm senses. She turned away slowly, each step feeling heavier than last, as distance grew between self and those laid to rest beneath stone walls.

As she walked through winding tunnel, Elizabeth couldn’t help but remember days spent playing with her father – late king. But now, he was gone, and passage echoed only with footsteps of knighthood, chosen to accompany her on solemn journey.

A single tear escaped confinement eyelid, trailing down cheek, leaving glistening path behind, as wind whispered secrets, through passages surrounding them all…

– Your Majesty? – a knight asked softly, noticing distressed state.

Elizabeth shook head slightly, offering small smile despite ache within chest.

– I am well, – she replied: – I simply… I will miss him so.

The knights nodded solemnly, their faces etched with understanding and empathy alike.

As group emerged from crypt at last, light filtering through entrance like promise of new dawn after darkest night – Elizabeth paused one final moment, before stepping out into world beyond…

She casted glance backward over her shoulder, eyes lingering upon heavy door that now stood between self and memories too painful to bear alone. Then, with resolve, burning bright within soul itself… Young queen turned towards future, awaiting outside Iron Mountains.

 

Graig and Dravid continued their path. They trekked through the rugged terrain of Iron Mountains, footsteps echoing amidst towering peaks. The air was crisp and cool, carrying with it whispers of ages long passed.

Dravid suddenly halted, his keen eye catching sight of something concealed among weathered rocks.

– There, – he breathed, pointing towards a barely visible crack in mountainside. Together, they approached cautiously, brush aside layers of dirt and debris until finally revealed: an imposing door fashioned from dense ironwood.

The portal stood at least seven feet tall, its surface adorned by intricate carvings depicting scenes of dragon lore – mighty wyrms battling heroes, guarding hoards of treasure… Each detail rendered meticulously precise.

A massive ring-handle jutted out center door, its tarnished bronze hinting at countless centuries of exposure to harsh mountain climate.

Hovering above handle though… was symbol to none familiar: a stylized pair interlocking keys surrounded by arcane glyphs.

Dravid reached out tentatively to touch surface, marveling craftsmanship preserved intact through eons.

– Behold, – he muttered reverently: – A gateway – untrodden since times of myth.

Dravid took out a key, which he got from royal treasury and inserted it into a keyhole. Door creaked and slowly opened before them. Graig saw a long passageway, that led into darkness. Air was still and felt cold.

– Ready? – Dravid asked, his voice barely audible over creaking hinges. At Graig’s nod, he raised torch aloft, illuminating narrow corridor, stretching endlessly into darkness ahead.

Their footsteps echoed hollowly off stone walls, as they ventured further, air growing colder with each step taken.

Dravid paused suddenly, his keen eye catching glimpse of oddity along passage.

–  What’s this? – he wondered aloud.

Stooping down for closer inspection, the torchlight revealed a crude drawing etched into rock: a stylized depiction of dragon surrounded by what appeared to be symbols of power and reign.

They stepped inside into hidden room. As Dravid’s torch sputtered back to life, the flickering flame revealed a chilling sight before them: an ancient crypt, its stone walls covered in moss and dust. At center lay coffin, hewn from solid block of granite.

– Open it, – Dravid commanded Graig sternly.

With trembling hands, the knight obeyed orders – reaching out to grasp heavy lid with effort straining muscles.

Slowly, but surely, he began to pry open crypt’s seal. A sickening creak filled chamber, as coffin groaned aside at last, revealing contents within: the desiccated remains of some long forgotten soul.

Graig recoiled instinctively, his stomach churning at sight before eyes. But Dravid merely stepped forward eagerly, inspecting withered corpse, with critical eye of scholar, examining rare artifact.

– This one will do nicely, – he murmured, almost to self.

Graig staggered back in shock as Dravid’s incantation echoed through crypt, his eyes wide with disbelief at sight before them. The necromancer’s outstretched hand crackled with energy, illuminating chamber in eerie glow.

-Who are you? – Graig whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and dread: – And what have you done?

The bony hand emerged from coffin first, its fingers groping blindly through air, as if seeking anchor after long slumber. Slowly, agonizingly, the rest of skeletal form followed suit – rising up from ancient resting place, like grotesque marionette pulled by unseen strings.

– I am Ordas, – answered Dravid, revealing his true name: – And I have just started a new future…

Ordas grinned madly, his eyes alight with twisted satisfaction at successful resurrection.

Graig realized just how far down path of madness they had ventured. And wondered if there was any way to turn back from brink of disaster unleashed here today.