The Bastion's Secrets

The moment they stepped inside the bastion, the air around them seemed to shift, becoming thick with history and power. The grand hall that greeted them was vast and imposing, its sheer scale and intricate design overwhelming the senses. The walls were lined with towering pillars of dark stone, each one carved with the likeness of ancient warriors, their stern faces gazing down at those who entered. Between the pillars, tapestries of deep crimson and gold hung, depicting scenes of epic battles and the rise of great leaders who had once ruled these lands.

The floor beneath their feet was a mosaic of black and silver tiles, arranged in intricate patterns that seemed to shift and change as they walked across them. At the far end of the hall, a massive fireplace roared with life, its flames casting long, flickering shadows across the room. The ceiling, far above, was adorned with a mural that seemed to tell the story of the bastion itself, its rise, its wars, and its ultimate triumph over its enemies.

Scattered throughout the hall were long tables made of heavy, dark wood, their surfaces polished to a reflective sheen. Around these tables sat the warlords of this world, each one a figure of strength and authority. Their eyes, sharp and calculating, followed the newcomers as they entered, but there was no hostility in their gazes, only curiosity and a deep respect for the man leading them.

Arne walked ahead, his footsteps echoing off the stone floor. The warlords, who had been deep in conversation, fell silent as he passed, nodding in respect. Only a few of them received a greeting from Arne in return, a sign of the deep bonds that had been forged over countless battles.

The group felt the weight of the warlords' stares, their presence heavy and intimidating. Yet, following Arne's lead, they kept their composure, doing their best to appear confident in this strange and dangerous place. They had faced deadly beasts and the unknown together, but this hall, with its aura of power and the eyes of its formidable inhabitants, was something altogether different.

Arne led them to a large table near the center of the hall and gestured for them to sit. They complied, taking seats around the table while the warlords continued to watch with interest. Murmurs of conversation broke out among the gathered warriors, and it wasn't long before some began openly discussing the newcomers.

"These ones look like they can fight," one warlord commented, his voice carrying across the hall. "I wouldn't mind testing their mettle.

"Another nodded in agreement, his eyes lingering on Bruno and Blank. "Especially that one," he said. "I've heard the stories. A match with Arne and lived to tell the tale?"

The group tensed, their hands inching closer to their weapons, but before any challenges could be made, the atmosphere in the hall shifted abruptly. A hush fell over the room, as if the very air had stilled in anticipation. The warlords, who had been speaking freely, fell silent, their attention snapping to the large doors at the far end of the hall.

Through those doors, a figure emerged, a woman who moved with a grace that was both commanding and elegant. She wore a long, flowing robe of deep blue, embroidered with silver threads that sparkled in the firelight. Her hair was dark as night, cascading down her back in loose waves, and her eyes, sharp and intelligent, seemed to pierce through anyone who met her gaze. This was Sylvi, the leader of the bastion, and her mere presence commanded the respect and obedience of everyone in the room.

As she approached, the warlords bowed their heads in deference, and the group felt an overwhelming sense of awe. Sylvi's power was palpable, an almost physical force that seemed to fill the room.

When she reached the table where the group was seated, she paused, her eyes scanning each of them before settling on Arne. "Who are these people, and who brought them here?" she asked, her voice calm but laced with authority.

Arne stepped forward, inclining his head slightly in respect. "I brought them here, Sylvi. The half-naked one with scars, she defeated me in a duel."

Sylvi's eyes flicked to Blank, her expression unreadable. "You were unconscious for at least a day, perhaps two," Arne continued, his tone even. "When I woke, she was still there, unconscious herself. I have brought them here because… I owe her a rematch."

The warlords exchanged glances, their faces frozen in shock. The idea that this skinny, scarred young girl could have defeated Arne, a warlord of their realm, seemed impossible. Yet Arne's words carried weight, and there was no denying the truth behind them.

Sylvi's gaze remained on Blank, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed her. "How did you defeat Arne?" she asked, her tone curious but firm. "And why?"

Blank met her gaze, her expression calm and nonchalant. "I let everything explode," she said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.A slight curve appeared on Sylvi's lips, a hint of amusement. "And your name?"

"They call me Blank," she replied. "I fought Arne because I thought he was going to invade our home."

Sylvi's smile widened ever so slightly. "I see."

Bruno, sensing the moment was right, cleared his throat and stepped forward. "May I speak?" he asked, his tone respectful but confident.

Sylvi nodded, allowing him to continue.

Bruno didn't hesitate. "We've heard about a prophecy. What is it about, and how can we get back to our own world?"

At this, Sylvi's expression shifted to one of mild confusion and amusement. She turned to Arne, one eyebrow raised. "A prophecy, Arne? Care to explain?"

Arne looked slightly abashed but met her gaze steadily. "I may have… stretched the truth," he admitted. "There is no prophecy. I said that to convince them to follow me here. I want my rematch with Blank, but I needed them to come willingly."

A flicker of fury flashed in Bruno's eyes, but he kept his composure. "And what about a way to get home? Did you lie about that too?"

Arne shook his head. "Only partially. There might be a way to get home, but only Sylvi knows for certain."

All eyes turned back to Sylvi, who seemed to take the situation in stride. "I understand now," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Yes, there is a way, potentially. There is an ancient device here, behind those colossal doors," she gestured to the massive doors behind her, their surfaces covered in intricate carvings and runes. "No one knows exactly how it works, but it is believed to have the power to send you back to your own world.

"Tamara, who had been watching Sylvi closely, spoke up, a knowing smile on her lips. "And I'm guessing you won't just let us use it without something in return. What's the catch?"

Sylvi's smile widened, her eyes glinting with a mixture of cunning and challenge. "You're correct, Tamara," she said, her tone almost playful. "There is a catch, and it's one that I think you'll find quite… interesting."