CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Helgrind

The first light of dawn spilled over the horizon, illuminating the day we'd set aside for our daring plan. It was bold, dangerous even, but I knew it would catch both the Ra'zac and Galbatorix off guard. The timing was perfect; Galbatorix was too preoccupied with his obsessive pursuit of the name of the ancient language. He wouldn't show himself unless directly provoked. With Murtagh and Thorn not yet under his control, this was our best shot to eliminate key threats and then regroup with the Varden to prepare for the looming Urgal menace.

After revisiting every detail of the plan, we finalized our preparations. Baldor and Angela remained behind on the control deck, monitoring everything as we descended into the ship's cargo bay. The air was charged with anticipation. Saphira, cloaked along with the ship, awaited us. We hovered silently above Dras-Leona, near Helgrind, the Ra'zac's lair.

Baldor carefully maneuvered the cloaked vessel onto a jagged outcrop protruding from Helgrind's grotesque form—a natural landing pad sculpted by cruel chance. The ship's door hissed open, and I stepped out alongside Roran and Eragon. The oppressive aura of the mountain weighed heavily on us. Moments later, Saphira emerged from her concealed perch, her wings unfurling in silent majesty as she glided to land softly beside us.

I had explained the Ra'zac's ability to cloak their lair the night before, a plausible justification for why it had remained undiscovered for so long. Casting my mind outward, I searched for life and felt the faint signatures of four people—Katrina and Sloan, but who were the other two?. Eragon turned to me, his brow furrowed.

"I can't sense the Ra'zac or the Lethrblaka," he said. "Could they have left? And who are the other two minds I sense"

I shook my head. "Unlikely. They're probably shielded by magic. And I'm not sure who the other two are, probably other prisoners."

He nodded thoughtfully but looked at the sheer face of the mountain with a puzzled expression. "Why is there no entrance? Could it really be cloaked as you said?"

I scanned the rock face, my gaze narrowing as I spotted it: a single, unnaturally vibrant flower thriving in the oppressive darkness. A subtle, knowing smile crossed my lips as I pointed toward it. "There," I said, gesturing toward the incongruous bloom. "That flower shouldn't exist here, not without light."

I stepped toward it, extending my hands. As I approached, my fingertips disappeared, vanishing into the illusion. "Looks like I was right, an illusion, meant to hide the lair," I said, glancing back at the others. "There's our entrance."

Saphira exhaled a puff of smoke, her voice clear and warm in my mind. "Great job, Mark."

Roran and Eragon exchanged impressed looks, nodding at my discovery. Together, we passed through the illusion. What lay beyond was the entrance to the Ra'zac's hidden lair—a massive, foreboding cavern.

The opening yawned before us, an irregular oval roughly fifty feet high and sixty feet wide. The space expanded as we ventured inside, easily doubling in size before ending in a chaotic pile of jagged stone slabs. The slabs leaned together at impossible angles, their geometry unnatural and unsettling. The floor was marred by a tangle of deep scratches, a grim testament to the many times the Lethrblaka had landed, taken off, and paced restlessly.

Five low tunnels, like sinister mouths, punctured the sides of the cavern, while a larger passage—narrow and jagged but sizable enough even for Saphira—extended deeper into Helgrind's oppressive interior. Eragon moved toward the tunnels, probing them with magic, but their depths were impenetrably dark.

"They're empty," he murmured, his voice uneasy.

I reached out with my mind to confirm his findings. Nothing stirred within the shadows of those tunnels, though faint whispers echoed from deeper within Helgrind. The eerie murmurs were disjointed, unnatural, and joined by the rhythmic sound of dripping water. The tension of the moment was amplified by the steady rise and fall of Saphira's breathing, her every breath seeming to fill the cavern with a tangible sense of purpose.

We stood in the dim chamber, the silence heavy as we prepared to descend further into the lair. I couldn't shake the feeling that unseen eyes were watching, that something ancient and vile waited just beyond our reach.

I turned to face the group, my voice steady but carrying the weight of the mission ahead. "Okay, so here's how are going to do this, Eragon, Roran, stay close behind me. Tight formation. Call out if any stray Ra'zac that attack, but our main objective is saving Katrina and Sloan. Understood?"

Eragon's expression twisted with disdain. "The Ra'zac are foul creatures. They need to be exterminated; we kill them all."

I held his gaze firmly. "Foul, yes, but that doesn't mean their entire race deserves to be wiped from existence. We're not here to play judge, jury, and executioner. We're here to do a job, and we'll do it."

Roran's jaw tightened, and he nodded, his eyes blazing with determination. "I agree with Mark. I'm no fan of the Ra'zac, but we are here for Katrina, and I'll kill anything that stands in my way."

Eragon hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Fine, I understand. Let's just get this done."

I turned to Saphira, her great blue form looming over us like a sentinel. "Saphira, you're too large for these tunnels. Stay behind and be ready. Expect the Lethrblaka to attack. If they come in numbers, coordinate with Angela and Baldor and lead them into the ship's path. Baldor knows what to do."

Saphira's thoughts brushed against mine, a mental nod of understanding. "I understand, Mark. Please be careful, look after my rider."

With the plan set, we moved into the cave system, the oppressive darkness closing around us. The air was damp and carried a faint, putrid smell, likely remnants of the Ra'zac's last meal. The rocky walls glistened with moisture, and faint whispers echoed from the depths—dripping water and the distant rustle of unseen creatures.

We hadn't gone far when a sharp, clicking noise pierced the silence, faint but unmistakable. My heart jumped; they were here. I shot a mental warning to Saphira. "The Ra'zac are moving. Get ready." Then I sent a message to Eragon and Roran. "Form up. They're coming."

Eragon and Roran moved closer, their weapons drawn, their faces tense. Unlike me, their human senses hadn't picked up the danger yet. Their only real advantages against the Ra'zac were the enchanted vests and a spell to block the creatures' noxious fumes. I had to ensure no one got hurt.

Suddenly, the air was rent by a bone-chilling screech, and a hulking, grotesque shape burst from the lancet passageway. The Lethrblaka. Its black, rimless eyes bulged obscenely, its beak stretched nearly seven feet long, and its massive, bat-like wings unfurled with a sickening whoosh. The creature's torso, hairless and grotesquely muscular, glistened in the dim light, its claws gleaming like iron spikes.

Before I could react, the Lethrblaka hurled itself at Saphira, crashing into her with the ferocity of an avalanche. The ground shook beneath the force of the impact, and dust rained down from the cavern ceiling. Saphira roared, her wings flaring as she braced herself against the onslaught. A second Lethrblaka followed, screeching as it dove at her, but she was ready. With a powerful beat of her wings, she propelled herself upward, drawing both creatures away from us and toward the surface.

"Saphira!" Eragon screamed, his voice filled with panic as he watched her disappear into the shadows above. His fists clenched, but he forced himself to focus. "She's leading them to the ship," he said, his voice tight. "She'll be fine."

I placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't worry, Saphira is a natural. She knows what she's doing. Trust her."

The air reverberated with the sounds of their battle above, growls and screeches mingling with the rush of wings. The Lethrblaka were slightly larger than Saphira, and in a direct fight, the odds would have been against her. But she had the advantage of strategy, leading them toward the ship's magical cannons.

We pressed on, descending deeper into the caves. The atmosphere grew heavier, the air colder. The faint luminescence of the moss clinging to the walls cast eerie greenish shadows that danced with each step we took. Every sound seemed amplified—the crunch of our boots on the stone, the drip of water, the faint echoes of the Lethrblaka's cries.

Then came a deafening boom, the sound of the ship's magical cannons firing. Once. Twice. Silence.

Eragon's voice cut through the tension, a mix of relief and awe. "They're down. Saphira and Baldor got them."

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. "And Saphira?"

"She's fine," Eragon said, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "A few scratches, but nothing serious, but a few of the fisherman witnessed the fight, they are rushing back to Dras Leona."

"Good," I said. "This is a solid start. Now let's finish what we came here for, we should be gone soon."

We pressed on, the shadows closing in around us like silent witnesses to the battle yet to come.

Behind Roran, two Ra'zac emerged from a nearby tunnel, their forms silhouetted by the dim, flickering light of the cave's damp interior. They wielded long, pale blades of an ancient design, their edges gleaming faintly like malevolent fangs. Though smaller and less imposing than their parents, the Ra'zac were no less terrifying. They were roughly human-sized, with an ebony exoskeleton that encased their entire bodies, though much of it was hidden beneath their dark robes and tattered cloaks, even here in the sanctuary of Helgrind.

Their movements were sharp and insect-like, their jerks and clicks eerily synchronized as they advanced with startling speed. Their heads cocked unnaturally; black, faceless eyes fixed on their prey. I felt a wave of unease; their presence was unnervingly empty, void of the life force I could usually sense. I recalled from the books how Galbatorix had used magic to conceal their essence, turning them into perfect hunters, invisible even to magicians. This battle would be grueling.

The cave's narrow corridors left little room to maneuver, and the oppressive darkness pressed against us. Yet we were prepared. Roran let out a fierce battle cry, his voice echoing through the tunnels. "Yah!" he shouted, charging forward with his hammer raised. His speed was extraordinary, his movements enhanced by the power vest he wore. Each swing of his hammer was precise and devastating. He sidestepped a swipe from the Ra'zac's blade, the weapon whistling past him, and countered with a bone-crushing blow that sent his opponent staggering.

Eragon, on the other hand, moved like a dancer. His sword flashed in the dim light, the blade a blur as he parried and struck with flawless precision. Though tempted to use magic, we had agreed earlier that the Ra'zac were likely protected by Galbatorix's enchantments, making physical combat our best option. His strikes were relentless, driving his opponent back step by step.

Before I could offer assistance, two more Ra'zac burst into the corridor, their high-pitched screeches piercing the air. They lunged at me with ferocious speed, their blades slashing in rapid arcs. My sword moved instinctively, meeting their attacks with calculated grace. The clash of steel reverberated around us as I parried their strikes, my blade slicing through their defenses with practiced precision. With a powerful sweep, I cleaved through both of them in a single motion, their shrieks silenced as they crumpled to the ground.

Panting but uninjured, I turned to see Eragon and Roran dispatch their foes with equal efficiency. "Let's move!" I called, urgency lacing my voice. The tunnels seemed to twist endlessly ahead of us, and every shadow felt alive with potential danger. We descended deeper, our breaths echoing in the confined space.

Suddenly, a cacophony of screeches erupted from the darkness. More Ra'zac, at least six, closed in from all sides. "Kveykva!" I shouted, summoning a blinding red light. It flared into existence, illuminating the cave with an unnatural brightness. The shadows vanished, leaving the jagged rock walls stark and unyielding. The Ra'zac recoiled, their sensitive eyes unable to withstand the sudden glare. They screeched in pain, clawing at their faces.

"Now!" I yelled. Roran and Eragon charged forward, their weapons a flurry of motion. The blinded Ra'zac fell swiftly, their disoriented movements no match for our coordinated strikes. The cave fell silent once more, save for our heavy breathing.

As we regrouped, a sharp hiss broke the stillness. From the shadows, an arrow whistled toward us. It grazed Eragon's arm before embedding itself in the rock behind him. He winced, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his fingers.

"Hold still," I said, my voice firm but calm. Placing a hand over the injury, I murmured an incantation, the ancient language flowing effortlessly from my lips. The wound closed beneath my touch, leaving only a faint scar. "That should hold," I said. Eragon nodded in gratitude, flexing his arm experimentally.

The air grew colder as we pressed onward, the oppressive silence broken only by the distant drip of water. Guided by the faint mental presence of Katrina and Sloan, we finally reached a series of stone cells. The tunnel was lined with heavy doors, each one weathered and scarred by time.

Eragon raised his hand, whispering, "Brisingr raudhr." A stationary werelight flared to life on the ceiling, casting an even, shadowless glow. The unnatural light painted the scene in stark relief, making every detail of the grim surroundings painfully clear.

"Where would we be without magic, eh?" Eragon joked, his voice tinged with fatigue but laced with determination.

Roran chuckled, his grip tightening on his hammer. "Probably back on the farm, worrying about the next harvest instead of Galbatorix and his lackeys."

Eragon smiled faintly but sobered quickly. "Let's hurry. Saphira's fight and the cannons will have drawn attention. We don't have much time."

Nodding, I approached the nearest door. Inside, the sight that greeted me left me momentarily speechless. A woman stood shackled against the far wall. Her skin was a dusky gray-green, her yellow eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Long, wavy black hair framed her strong, striking features. She was tall—easily over six feet—and her muscular build was tempered by a graceful, almost regal presence.

Her attire was pitiful: ragged cloth barely covering her, and her bare feet were caked with grime. Despite her disheveled state, there was an undeniable fierceness in her stance, her small horns glinting faintly in the light.

"Stay away from me, human!" she growled, her voice thick with an Urgal accent. "You will not force yourself on to me."

I raised my hands in a gesture of peace. "We're not here to harm you. We came to rescue our own. If you want, I'll free you, and you can go your own way."

Her yellow eyes narrowed, studying me intently. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. With a whispered incantation, I released her chains. She rubbed her wrists, her expression softening slightly.

"My brother," she said, her voice heavy with concern. "He was with me when we were captured."

I nodded. "He is probably in the next cell, let's find him." Together, we stepped out of the cell, her towering form a stark contrast to the cramped, oppressive surroundings.

We made our way toward the next cell, our footsteps echoing faintly in the damp and narrow corridor. The air was thick with the scent of mildew, rot and despair, a grim reminder of the atrocities that had taken place here. Eragon and Roran had disappeared into another cell nearby. Moments later, Eragon emerged with Sloan, his face a mix of determination and restrained anger. I had spoken to him the previous night, ensuring he wouldn't attempt to pass judgment on Sloan like in the books. Whatever judgment was to come, it wasn't his to give. Roran's voice called out from inside the cell, summoning Eragon back, and they disappeared from view.

I focused on the mind I could sense within the cell before me. The presence was faint but alive. Muttering a phrase in the ancient language, I opened the door, the heavy wood creaking ominously on rusted hinges. The half- Urgal woman walked in behind me. As the door swung open fully, she froze, her breath catching audibly.

"No! Kargvek!" she cried, her voice breaking with raw emotion. Without hesitation, she bolted forward, dropping to her knees beside the massive figure slumped against the far wall.

The figure stirred faintly—a colossal Urgal, even larger than the woman, though his condition was appalling. His body was covered in grime, and the stench of blood and neglect filled the air. He wore only a tattered loincloth, his muscular frame marred by horrific injuries. His left arm was missing entirely, the wound poorly healed, and the lower half of his left leg had been gnawed away, leaving a grotesque, jagged stump.

Nadara wrapped her arms around him, her tears cutting streaks through the dirt on her face. "You're alive," she whispered, though her voice held a note of despair. She turned to me, her eyes blazing. "He's alive, but what does it matter now? He's crippled. The other Urgals would kill him for this weakness."

I knelt beside her, the cold, damp stone biting into my knees. "He's not beyond saving," I said firmly. "I'm not skilled enough to regrow limbs, but I know people who might be. And if they can't, I'll make something for him. Something to help him stand tall again."

Her gaze snapped to mine, filled with equal parts hope and suspicion. "Why would you do this, human? You don't know us. You owe us nothing. Why go out of your way to help us?"

I chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension. "I don't need a reason to help someone in need. No one deserves to be left like this if there's a chance to make it right. You have my word—I'll do everything in my power to save him."

Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me as if searching for a lie. Finally, she spoke, her voice heavy with bitterness. "Ever since I can remember, no one but Kargvek has been kind to me. Humans call us beasts. The Urgals are no better, they burned my mother at the stake for loving a human and giving birth to me.I have known only cruelty. So forgive me if I find your words hard to believe."

I met her gaze steadily. "Please, call me Mark," I said gently. "And I'm sorry for what's been done to you. I'm not from these lands—I don't share their prejudices. When I give my word, it means something."

She studied me for a moment longer before nodding slowly. "My name is Nadara," she said. "And this is my adopted brother, Kargvek. I met him during my sixth winter. His village was attacked, his people slaughtered by humans while their warriors were away. He was just a boy then—only three winters old."

I glanced at the unconscious Urgal, noting the youth still evident in his features despite his massive size. His horns were short, and his muscles, while formidable, lacked the full maturity of an adult. "How old is he now?" I asked.

"Fourteen winters," she replied softly.

I raised an eyebrow, glancing between her and Kargvek. "And you?"

She smiled faintly. "Seventeen winters."

I let out a low whistle, my mind racing at the implications. If Kargvek was already this large, how much bigger would he grow? Fully grown Kull were said to be eight or nine feet tall, and he already stood close to six foot eight.

Nadara's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "I accept your oath, Mark," she said solemnly. "I will stay with you until my brother is healed. But know this: I will not tolerate abuse from you."

"I wouldn't expect you to," I replied. "But if you stay with us, understand that others may not trust you easily. They might try to read your mind to ensure your intentions are pure."

She frowned, her expression thoughtful. After a long pause, she asked, "Do you wish to read my mind?"

The question caught me off guard, but I recognized her offer as a gesture of trust. "It would be the quickest way to prove your intentions," I admitted. "But only if you're comfortable with it."

She nodded, her golden eyes steady. "I do not mind. Do it."

I explained the process, keeping my tone gentle, and she closed her eyes, her body relaxing slightly. Reaching out with my mind, I entered hers, careful to tread lightly, determined to show her the same respect I would demand for myself.

I delved gently into Nadara's mind, her thoughts and memories swirling like a complex tapestry woven with both human and Urgal threads. The structure was familiar yet alien, a blend of two heritages that marked her as different. Beneath the surface, I felt the scars of her suffering—years of abuse from both humans and Urgals, each rejecting her for what she represented. Yet amidst that torrent of pain, a fragile ember of hope glowed, faint but tenacious. It was buried deep beneath the floodwaters of hatred and betrayal, but it refused to extinguish.

That ember told me everything I needed to know about Nadara. Despite the cruelty she'd endured, she hadn't given up on people entirely. She had walled herself off from the world, shielding her heart, but a small part of her still yearned to believe in kindness, to trust that someone—anyone—might see her worth. Her love for her brother was profound, her sense of justice unwavering. These traits defined her, shaped her identity despite the darkness that had threatened to consume her.

As I sifted through her memories, one drew my attention—a vivid, early recollection that stood out among the others. It was of her mother, a fierce and beautiful woman who radiated strength. At first, I paid it little mind, assuming it to be a tender, bittersweet echo of the past. But then the scene shifted, revealing an argument between her mother and the chief of Clan Bolvek, Nar Garzhvorg.

"Brother," her mother had called him.

The word struck like a hammer. My breath caught as the implications unraveled in my mind. Nar Garzhvorg—warlord, clan chief, one of the most feared Urgal leaders—was her uncle. Which meant that Nadara was, in essence, royalty. My mind reeled at the revelation, struggling to reconcile this newfound knowledge with the woman before me.

I withdrew from her mind abruptly, clutching my head as the influx of information overwhelmed me. Angela's cryptic prediction surfaced in my thoughts. Was this her? The illegitimate child of nobility, born of infidelity, hated by all? Nadara fit the description almost too perfectly. But now wasn't the time to dwell on prophecies. There were more immediate questions demanding answers—why was she here, in the Razac's lair? What horrors had brought her and her brother to this wretched place?

I didn't dare re-enter her mind. The risk of delving too deeply into her past felt invasive and unnecessary. She noticed my absence, her golden eyes locking onto mine with a trace of apprehension.

"Did you find something bad?" she asked hesitantly, her voice low but steady.

I shook my head and met her gaze with sincerity. "No, I trust you."

Her expression softened, and she nodded, her wariness giving way to a flicker of relief. She turned her attention back to her brother, her hands moving to lift his unconscious form. "Let me carry him," she said, her voice firm but laced with determination.

I stepped forward, stopping her. "Please, let me."

She scoffed, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Hum—Mark, you lack the strength to—"

Before she could finish her protest, I crouched and effortlessly lifted Kargvek's massive body, cradling him as if he weighed no more than a child. The sheer bulk of the young Kull—easily over six feet and heavily muscled—should have made the task almost impossible for a human. Yet I bore his weight with ease.

Nadara stared, her jaw slack with disbelief. "That's... impossible," she breathed. Her voice was tinged with awe and suspicion. "No human could lift an Urgal like that. Not casually, not without strain."

I chuckled lightly, adjusting my hold on Kargvek to make him more comfortable. "I'm full of surprises," I replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile.

She shook her head, clearly still stunned, but made no further comment. Instead, she stepped aside, allowing me to lead the way as we exited the cell. The cold, damp air of the corridor greeted us once more, mingling with the lingering scent of fear and decay. I glanced back to see Nadara following closely, her expression unreadable but her golden eyes watching me intently. we were greeted by the sight of Eragon, Roran, a weary-looking Katrina leaning on Roran for support, and Sloan, his sightless eyes gazing blankly ahead.

Katrina froze the moment her gaze fell upon me carrying Kargvek's unconscious body. Her lips parted in shock, her eyes darting to Nadara standing at my side. Recognition flickered in her expression—recognition of the otherness, the unfamiliar. Roran, standing protectively beside Katrina, frowned and pointed toward the massive figure in my arms.

"What in the blazes is that?" he asked, his voice a mixture of alarm and incredulity. "Is that an Urgal?"

Eragon's piercing gaze shifted between Kargvek and Nadara before landing squarely on me. His unspoken question was clear—he had felt their minds earlier, like faint whispers beneath the oppressive weight of the Razac's lair, and now he sought an explanation.

"They were prisoners," I said calmly, my voice steady but firm. "This is Nadara and he is Kargvek. They need our help and they're coming with us."

Eragon raised a hand to halt me, his expression hardening. "The traders that used to visit in Carvahall—and Garrow himself—warned me that Urgals are an evil race of warmongers. Why should we trust these two? Besides, how do we know they won't side with the other Urgals attacking the Varden?"

Before I could respond, Nadara's golden eyes narrowed, her lips curling in disdain. She looked as though she wanted to spit venomous words at him but restrained herself, her gaze flicking to me instead. I swore under my breath, the sharp sound echoing in the silence. Turning to Eragon, I squared my shoulders and met his gaze with an intensity that brooked no argument.

"Eragon," I began, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade, "You're a Dragon Rider now. You don't have the luxury of letting your prejudices cloud your judgment or interfere with your duties. You're supposed to be a symbol of hope, fairness and Justice, a hero to those who have none. Pray tell, how can you fulfill that role if you allow hatred and ignorance to rule you?"

Eragon's face reddened, his eyes dropping to the ground. My words had struck home. After a moment of heavy silence, he muttered, "I understand."

Satisfied, I softened my tone. "if it helps to ease your suspicions, I've read Nadara's mind. I trust her."

Roran, who had been watching the exchange intently, nodded. "that's great, Is there anyone else we missed? Can we leave now?"

Eragon shook his head. "No. I didn't sense anyone else. I think we can leave."

"Then let's head back to the airship," Roran suggested, his voice firm but weary.

Nadara's head tilted slightly at the word, curiosity lighting her features. "What is an airship?" she asked, her voice sharp yet measured. "And is he truly a Rider?" She gestured toward Eragon with a flick of her chin.

"Yes," I replied with a small smile. "Eragon is a Rider, and as for the airship, you'll see soon enough."

We began our ascent toward the cave's entrance, the faint glow of daylight ahead growing steadily brighter. As the light intensified, Katrina and Nadara both flinched, their hands instinctively shielding their eyes.

"It burns, he light, my eyes burn!" Nadara hissed, her voice tinged with pain.

I frowned, remembering this reaction from the books. "Don't worry, you've been underground too long. Your eyes just need time to adjust." Ripping a strip of cloth from my sleeve, I turned to Nadara. "Bend down slightly."

Her brow furrowed, but she complied. Gently, I tied the makeshift blindfold around her eyes. Beside me, Roran did the same for Katrina, offering her a comforting smile.

We pressed on, passing through the illusion that masked the cave's entrance. The sudden whoosh greeted us as the cargo bay of the cloaked airship opened, its massive doors unfolding into a drawbridge. The air was fresher now, tinged with the faint wooden scent of the ship's structure. We stepped inside, the dim interior lighting flickering on as I led the way to the medical chamber.

Inside, I laid Kargvek on a clean, padded surface, my hands moving quickly to assess his condition. Nadara stood beside me, her towering figure casting a long shadow. Her golden eyes bore into me, worry etched across her face.

"Will he be okay?" she asked, her voice soft but strained.

I nodded reassuringly. "Yes. He'll pull through." As if on cue, Kargvek stirred, his eyes fluttering open. His movements were quick and sharp, his reflexes unnaturally fast, but there was a gangly awkwardness to him that spoke of youth.

His gaze darted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. When his eyes landed on me, they narrowed, and his lips curled into a snarl. He bared his teeth, his body coiling as if preparing to lunge.

"Kargvek!" Nadara's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. He froze, his gaze snapping to her. "These people are our allies. They rescued us. They mean us no harm, little brother."

The tension in his posture eased slightly, though his eyes still smoldered with distrust. When he noticed his missing arm and the gnawed flesh of his leg, his anger flared anew, but I stepped forward.

"I promise you," I said, my voice steady and sincere, "I'll do everything in my power to see you healed. You have my word."

Kargvek's gaze shifted to Nadara, who nodded solemnly. Slowly, he turned back to me. In a guttural, thickly accented voice, he said, "I thank you, human. No other of your kind has shown us kindness."

I inclined my head. "My name is Mark. While most humans might not accept you, you can count me as an ally, now, can I get you something to eat."

He nodded once, then lay back, his exhaustion overtaking him. "I am not hungry, Mark. I just need to rest." he murmured before closing his eyes.

Nadara lingered for a moment, her gaze lingering on her brother before she turned to me. Together, we left the chamber. I asked Nadara to follow me to my quarters. The other rooms that had working showers, but I figured mine was the closest to the control room, in case I needed to reach her If anything happened.

As we entered my quarters, her golden eyes scanned the space warily. Her gaze fell on the bed, and her body tensed, her expression defensive.

I quickly raised my hands. "Whoa! Easy now. That's not why I brought you here."

She relaxed, though suspicion still lingered in her gaze. "Then why am I here?"

I gestured toward the adjacent room. "To clean up. The shower is there. I'll show you how it works."

Her eyes widened slightly as I explained the mechanisms, even handing her a bar of soap and clean clothes from my stash. She held the fabric to her face, inhaling deeply, a soft smile breaking through her guarded expression.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"You're welcome. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

She nodded and began to disrobe, and I quickly averted my gaze, exiting the room. As I made my way to the control deck, I couldn't help but smile. There was much to discuss with Baldor, Angela, and Saphira, but first, we had to return to Tronjheim.