The following day, after Oldman's explicit warning to stay away from Tanivar's territory, Alcard was once again summoned to his chamber. This time, however, the tension in the air was heavier, almost suffocating. Something had shifted. This was no longer just about Tanivar's movements.
As Alcard stepped inside, he found Oldman sitting behind his desk, his usually calm demeanor masked by a contemplative look. The wooden table before him was covered in ancient documents—scrolls written in elven and dwarven script, faded parchments bearing human inscriptions in long-forgotten tongues, records that seemed to have been collected from different eras across history.
Oldman let out a slow breath before finally speaking. "There is something far more pressing that we need to discuss," he said, his tone lacking its usual air of strategic detachment. He carefully rearranged the documents before selecting one in particular and placing it in front of Alcard.
Alcard leaned in slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the aged parchment. Though some of the writing was indecipherable, he quickly recognized the recurring patterns—certain sigils, fragments of history that, even in their incompleteness, hinted at something ancient, something lost. Some of the texts appeared to be historical accounts from the elves and dwarves, while others were written in a human dialect that had long fallen out of use.
"I've gathered information from multiple sources," Oldman continued, his voice steady but weighted. "Beyond the archives we have here, I've received reports from informants scattered across Middle Earth."
His gaze met Alcard's, and in that moment, Alcard could see something rare in the older man's eyes—genuine concern. "And there is indeed a legend that speaks of an octagonal prism," he went on, his fingers tapping lightly on the document. "But what is most intriguing is that such a description appears only once—within the recorded history of the Hamongrad Empire."
At that, Alcard's mind instantly snapped back to the green prism he had retrieved from the ruins. The shape matched perfectly. He could still recall the way it pulsed with energy, the unnatural way it reacted to his presence, the overwhelming force it emitted when he tried to destroy it.
Oldman's voice dropped slightly, as if revealing something that had been buried for centuries. "According to the legend, the first Emperor of Hamongrad, Olkan Hamongrad, discovered a golden fragment in ruins that no longer exist on any map. With that fragment, he wielded an unimaginable power—one that allowed him to unite the scattered human kingdoms under a single empire, creating the greatest dominion ever recorded in our history."
Alcard frowned, trying to grasp the implications of those words. "But that's just a legend, isn't it?" he asked skeptically. "There's no real evidence that such a fragment ever existed, let alone that it granted power to a mortal man."
Oldman nodded slowly but did not entirely agree. "That's what we've always believed," he admitted. "A story passed down through generations, dismissed as a myth. But if the object you brought back truly is a fragment, then we are no longer dealing with folklore. We are holding something real, something with the potential to alter the course of history itself."
He pushed himself up from his chair and walked toward the small window of his chamber, staring out at the vast, barren landscape beyond The Wall. His fingers rested lightly on the wooden frame, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere.
"Alcard," he said finally, his voice steady but laced with gravity. "If this green prism is indeed a fragment, then we are standing at the precipice of something far greater than we can comprehend. Fragments are not mere relics; they are raw power—power that can either build or destroy civilizations."
Oldman turned to face Alcard, his gaze now unwavering. "Now imagine what would happen if The Veil got their hands on it."
A heavy silence fell between them. Alcard didn't need to imagine—his mind had already conjured the worst possible scenarios. He had seen The Veil's influence firsthand, how they manipulated kings, orchestrated wars, controlled the world's fate from behind the curtain. If they acquired a fragment, it wouldn't be a mere shift in power. It would be a catastrophe of unimaginable scale.
"The Veil has always operated from the shadows," Oldman continued, his voice gaining an edge. "They never act recklessly. Every war, every rebellion, every shift in power—many of them have been their doing. They control without being seen, manipulate without leaving a trace. If they acquire this fragment, I cannot even begin to fathom what kind of disaster would follow."
Alcard clenched his fists. He had witnessed what happened when great power fell into the wrong hands. He had lost everything because of it. Now, he stood at the center of yet another conflict, one that could determine the fate of Middle Earth. "We cannot allow that to happen," he said, his voice low but firm.
Oldman nodded, his expression unreadable. "This artifact will be kept in a place known only to the two of us. No one else can know of its existence. If this truly is a fragment, then its secret must die with us."
Neither of them spoke for a long while, the weight of their conversation settling heavily between them. They had faced many dangers before—bandit lords, skirmishes between nobles, the horrors lurking beyond The Wall—but this was different. This was bigger than the outcasts, bigger than the factions fighting for control over Middle Earth. This was about the balance of the world itself.
At last, Oldman moved with purpose. He strode toward the far end of the chamber and pulled a hidden lever concealed behind a bookshelf. With a soft click, a concealed door creaked open, revealing a staircase leading underground. Few knew of this passage, and even fewer had ever set foot inside.
Without hesitation, Oldman descended into the dimly lit chamber, where ancient steel vaults lined the walls. He approached a reinforced chest adorned with intricate seals—barriers not just of metal, but of old magic. Carefully, he placed the green prism inside, sealing it away with a final, decisive movement.
"From this moment forward," Oldman declared as he emerged from the secret vault, "we act as though this fragment was never found. We wait. We watch. We learn how The Veil moves."
Alcard gave a firm nod, though he could feel the weight of his own frustration. Waiting had never been his strong suit. But for now, they had no choice. The stakes were too high. The world was moving in ways they could not yet predict, and a single misstep could change everything.
As he stepped out of Oldman's chamber, his thoughts were far from settled. The secrets buried within the ruins had only led to more questions. If this fragment was real, how many more were scattered across the world? And if The Veil was already searching, how long before they uncovered the truth?
One thing was certain—this was only the beginning. The game had begun, and Alcard and Oldman had just become players in a conflict that had been brewing for centuries.
The balance of Middle Earth now hung by a thread, and sooner or later, someone would come looking for what they had hidden.