Beneath the Ice

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Five days had passed since the battle.

Zoren slowly opened his eyes, his body aching as the pain from his wounds surged through him. He was wrapped tightly in fabric, rolled like bandages across his chest and shoulders, remnants of his fierce struggle with the robotic golem.

The pain was a constant reminder of what he had endured, but it was nothing compared to the sorrow that filled his heart as he recalled his fallen companions. A wave of grief threatened to engulf him, but before he could fully succumb, a system notification appeared in front of him.

[Notification is Full. Do you want to see it?]

[Yes] [No]

Zoren stared at the options for a moment, then muttered to himself, "No. I'll check it later." He dismissed the notification and turned to see Elara beside him, her head resting on the edge of his bed, fast asleep.

As he shifted slightly, Elara stirred and woke up, her eyes widening in surprise and relief. "Master! You're awake!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with emotion.

She made a move to get up, intending to call the others, but Zoren gently placed a hand on her arm, shaking his head slightly. "No, not yet. How many days did I sleep? And tell me... what happened after I passed out?" His voice was devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the storm raging within him.

Elara hesitated for a moment, then began recounting the events that unfolded after he fell unconscious. She detailed how the survivors had gathered, the sorrow that had gripped them, and the steps they had taken to preserve the bodies of the fallen. As she spoke, her voice trembled with something else—a glimmer of hope.

"We can still save them, Master!" Elara suddenly declared, her eyes shining with determination.

Zoren looked at her intently, his gaze piercing. "How?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"In the village where I came from, there is a holy site nearby. My ancestors spoke of it—a place with the power to bring the dead back to life. I don't know if the stories are true, but..." Elara's voice faltered as she saw the intense look in Zoren's eyes.

"I don't care if it's true or not," Zoren interrupted, his voice filled with a renewed sense of purpose. "If there's even a chance to bring them back, I'll do anything." The determination in his voice was unshakable, and for the first time in days, a flicker of hope lit up his face.

"Take me to where the fallen are," he ordered.

Elara nodded and helped Zoren to his feet. Together, they left the room, with Elara guiding him through the territory.

As they walked, Zoren observed the activity around him. Hogfolk were busy farming, while Faun warriors trained their Basilisk mounts. In the distance, Nyx was leading a group of Khajiit in archery drills. The once quiet and desolate territory was now alive with activity.

A loud noise caught Zoren's attention, and he turned to Elara. "What's that sound?" he asked.

"It's better if you see it for yourself," Elara replied with a small smile. As they approached the source of the noise, the sound became clearer—cheering and the heavy thud of fists meeting flesh.

Zoren and Elara stood at a distance, watching as Kaen and Grishak sparred in a makeshift arena with their fists, their bodies glistening with sweat under the midday sun. Each strike echoed through the air, and the crowd roared with approval at every blow. "What are they doing?" Zoren asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"After the battle, Kaen and Grishak blamed themselves for what happened," Elara explained. "They said if they had been stronger, things might have been different. So, they've been training non-stop, pushing themselves to their limits."

Zoren watched from afar, ensuring he remained unseen by the pair. As his gaze wandered, he noticed new faces among the crowd—Black Beetlefolk, Blue Orcs, and even a few Tortle. "Is it just me, or have we grown a lot?" he asked.

Elara nodded. "Master, while you were recovering, Rashka and Morgak scouted far and wide. They found these people scattered and brought them here," she explained.

As they continued to walk, two humanoid turtles approached them. The first, an old turtle carrying a staff, bowed respectfully. "Greetings, I am Splinter," he introduced himself.

The second turtle, larger and more muscular with a prideful demeanor, eyed Zoren critically. "So, this is the so-called leader? Weak and frail. Hand over leadership to me, and I will manage this city properly." the gray turtle mocked.

Zoren looked up, his eyes cold and unyielding. "What's your name?" he asked calmly.

The gray turtle puffed out his chest. "I am the Great Kojin of the North," he declared, arrogance dripping from every word.

Zoren's expression remained impassive. "Alright, Great Kojin of the North. If you can withstand one of my punches, I'll hand over the territory to you. But if you can't, you'll be known as Michelangelo from now on."

Kojin laughed, his deep voice echoing across the field. "A hundred punches wouldn't even scratch me!" he boasted. But before he could finish his sentence, Zoren's fist struck him in the stomach with all the force he could muster. All his pent-up frustration and rage channeled into that single blow.

The force of the punch sent the mighty turtle to his knees, gasping for breath as he passed out. Zoren stood over him, his voice steady as he declared, "Welcome to my territory, Michelangelo."

The old turtle, Splinter, quickly stepped forward and began healing Kojin.

As they continued to walk, a plume of smoke caught Zoren's attention, rising from the direction of the smithy house. His heart skipped a beat, and without a word, he rushed toward it, hope surging through him that he might find Lyra working there. Elara followed closely behind.

When Zoren reached the smithy, his heart sank. Instead of Lyra, a large humanoid turtle was tending to the forge.

The turtle turned to face Zoren, his expression apologetic. "I am Kappa, a blacksmith," he said slowly, his voice deep and measured. "I saw the smithy house was unused, so I took the liberty of working here. I apologize if I have caused any offense."

Zoren nodded, the sadness in his eyes evident as he looked around the empty forge. "It's fine," he murmured, his voice tinged with melancholy. He turned away, and they continued their journey.

Finally, Elara stopped in front of a large building that resembled a warehouse. She opened the door, revealing rows upon rows of bodies encased in ice. The sight took Zoren's breath away, and his eyes filled with sorrow as he looked upon the faces of his fallen comrades.

"Is this your magic?" Zoren asked quietly, his voice trembling.

Elara nodded. "Yes, Master. I'm sorry, this was the only way I could think to preserve them," she replied, her voice soft with regret.

Zoren took a deep breath, his heart aching with loss. "Let's go back," he said finally, his voice heavy with grief.