The Bridge shimmered like a fragile dream, a glowing ring of ancient runes and interwoven vines that pulsed with magic. It was beautiful, Elandriel thought, but also terrifying in its fragility. The portal’s surface flickered with instability as the ley lines beneath Aldarin continued to disintegrate. There was no more time to perfect the structure or reinforce the magic that powered it. Soon, the bridge would be their only lifeline to the new world.
Outside the Great Spire, the city was quiet—eerily so. The once-bustling streets, lined with solar-powered homes and vibrant vertical gardens, had emptied as the people prepared for the crossing. No more workshops hummed with the sound of machines blending seamlessly with magic. No more laughter or songs echoed through the air. Even the trees, once alive with the sounds of birds and magical creatures, had fallen silent.
Elandriel stood on a balcony overlooking the city, her heart heavy with sorrow. She had spent centuries protecting this place, guiding her people to live in harmony with nature and magic. Now, it felt like all those efforts had been in vain. Aldarin was dying, and nothing she could do would save it.
She heard a soft footfall behind her and turned to see Dravith. He had shifted into his more elven-like form, though his eyes still held the molten glow of his dragon spirit. His dark hair fell around his shoulders like the shadows of a forest at dusk.
“I can feel the earth crying,” Dravith said quietly, joining her at the edge of the balcony. “The trees, the rivers, the very soil—they know the end is near.”
Elandriel nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “I’ve heard the same whispers in the wind. It’s as if the world itself is mourning.”
Dravith closed his eyes, listening to the silent lament of the land. “I’ve spent the last days traveling to the far reaches of the forests. I gave rites to the last of the great nature spirits—those that were still alive, at least. Many have already returned to the earth, their essence fading with the ley lines.”
Elandriel placed a hand on his arm, offering comfort. “You’ve done all you can, Dravith. More than anyone. You should come with us.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough,” Dravith replied, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve protected this world for centuries, and now I’m powerless to stop its death.”
“We all feel powerless,” Elandriel said softly. “But we still have a chance to preserve some of what we’ve built. A chance to rebuild in the new world.”
Dravith’s gaze shifted to the glowing portal far below them. “That world will not be like this one. No magic, no ley lines. It will be barren in comparison.”
“But it will be a new beginning,” Elandriel said, though she didn’t fully believe her own words. “Perhaps we can find balance again. Even without magic.”
Dravith gave her a somber nod. “Perhaps.”
They stood in silence for a while longer, watching the city below. Elandriel’s heart ached for what they were about to leave behind. The forests where she had played as a child, the ancient trees that had lived for millennia, and the delicate balance of magic and nature they had cultivated. All of it would soon be gone.
***
As the sun set behind the dying landscape, Karg Bloodclaw stood at the edge of the orc encampment, overlooking the vast plains that stretched toward the distant mountains. His people had gathered, their tents packed, their weapons sharp. There was an unsettling stillness in the air as they waited for the command to march toward the Bridge.
Karg watched as the orc children played in the dust, unaware of the enormity of what was about to happen. The older warriors, seasoned veterans of countless battles, sat in grim silence, sharpening their axes and adjusting their armor. They would be ready for whatever awaited them on the other side.
“Karg.”
The voice of his second-in-command, Urgan, broke the silence. The younger orc approached, his eyes dark and serious.
“Are the preparations complete?” Karg asked, his voice a low growl.
Urgan nodded. “Yes. We’ve packed everything we’ll need for the crossing. Food, weapons, armor. But…” He hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the distant mountains. “Some elders… they don’t want to leave. They say we should die here, with honor. That crossing into another world, without knowing what’s there, is a betrayal of our ancestors.”
Karg’s jaw tightened. He had expected this. The orcish tradition of dying with honor, especially in the face of a lost battle, ran deep in their culture. But this was no battlefield, and the idea of abandoning their home went against everything they had been taught.
“I’ve heard their concerns,” Karg said, his tone sharp. “But we are not abandoning anything. We are surviving. Our ancestors wouldn’t want us to die for no reason. We fight to live.”
Urgan nodded but remained uneasy. “And if this new world has no place for us? If there’s no war to fight, no enemies to conquer?”
“Then we make a place for ourselves,” Karg said, his eyes hard. “If we find no enemies, we will carve out our own land. Orcs do not die easily, and we do not go quietly.”
The younger orc bowed his head. “I will inform the elders.”
Karg watched as Urgan walked away, his gaze returning to the plains. He understood the fears of his people. The unknown was a terrifying prospect, especially for warriors who thrived on battle and honor. But Karg had no intention of leading his people to their deaths. This new world would be different, yes, but it would be a place for them to rebuild. To grow stronger. To conquer.
He gripped the hilt of his sword, his muscles tense with anticipation. Whatever awaited them beyond the portal, they would be ready.
***
Deep beneath the surface, in the ancient mountain cities of the dwarves, Brun Stoneforge wandered the vast halls of his people’s archives. Towering shelves of stone and metal stretched as far as the eye could see, filled with the knowledge of centuries. The glowing runes carved into the walls flickered weakly, a sign that even the dwarves’ advanced technology was failing as the ley lines crumbled.
Brun’s heart ached as he walked past the rows of tablets, scrolls, and mechanical blueprints. There was no way to take it all with them. So much of their history, their legacy, left behind, lost forever to the collapse of their world.
He stopped before a massive tome bound in iron and stone, the Book of Kings—a record of every dwarven ruler since the founding of their kingdom. He ran his fingers over the intricate carvings on the cover, feeling the weight of his ancestors’ eyes upon him.
“We won’t be able to save it all, will we?”
The voice of his daughter, Kara, pulled him from his thoughts. She stood beside him, her hands stained with the soot of the forges where she had been working tirelessly to prepare for the crossing.
Brun shook his head. “No. We won’t.”
Kara frowned, her eyes scanning the endless rows of knowledge. “So much will be lost. It doesn’t seem fair. We built all of this, and now we’re leaving it behind.”
“Life isn’t fair, Kara,” Brun said quietly. “But we’ve made our choice. We can’t bring the past with us. We can only carry forward what we need to survive.”
Kara nodded, though her face remained troubled. “I’ve packed what I can—blueprints, schematics for the forges. But… it’s not enough. It never feels like enough.”
“It never is,” Brun agreed, his voice heavy with sorrow. “But we’ll rebuild. We always do.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their people’s legacy pressing down on them. Brun knew that the crossing would mark the end of an era for the dwarves. Their vast underground cities, their great forges, and their unparalleled craftsmanship would be reduced to memories. But he also knew that his people were resilient. They would adapt. They would survive.
“Come,” Brun said, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “It’s time. We have to go.”
Kara hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on the Book of Kings before turning to follow her father. As they left the archives behind, Brun couldn’t help but feel as though a part of his soul had been left in those halls.
***
As the preparations neared completion, the day of the crossing grew closer. The leaders gathered their people, their supplies, and their legacies. Each carried with them the weight of their world, knowing that not everything could be saved.
The Bridge stood ready, its shimmering surface reflecting the fading light of a dying world. Elandriel, Karg, Brun, and Dravith stood together at the base of the portal, the final moment upon them.
“This is it,” Elandriel whispered, her heart pounding. “There’s no turning back.”
Dravith’s golden eyes flickered with sorrow and determination. “You carry our world’s essence with you. Whatever awaits you on the other side, remember that you are the keepers of balance.”
Karg grunted, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Balance or not, we’ll make sure we survive.”
Brun glanced back at the distant mountains, the homes of his people buried deep within the earth. “We’ve prepared as much as we can. Now, we face the unknown.”
Elandriel nodded, her hands trembling slightly.
The crossing had begun.
