In the tense silence that filled the room, Alcard wasted no time on pleasantries. His sharp gaze locked onto Tharvin with an unwavering intensity, his presence demanding answers without the need for force. "I want to know," he said, his voice low but firm, "are the legends about the fragments true? Do these objects truly exist—artifacts with immense power, capable of choosing their wielder?"
Tharvin did not respond immediately. His piercing Dwarven eyes studied Alcard with cautious scrutiny, as if weighing whether the man before him was worthy of such knowledge. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, but it vanished the moment Alcard reached into his cloak and retrieved a small pouch. With deliberate slowness, he loosened the drawstrings and revealed its contents—a green, octagonal prism that pulsed faintly under the dim light of the chamber.
Tharvin's reaction was immediate. His eyes widened, his breath caught, and the harsh demeanor he had maintained just moments ago was momentarily replaced with a rare expression of disbelief. He did not speak right away; instead, he simply stared at the prism, as if unable to accept the reality of what lay before him.
"Where did you get this?" he finally asked, his voice now hushed, almost as if he feared the very walls would listen.
Alcard did not answer immediately. He watched Tharvin's face, studying every shift in his expression. "The question you should be asking," he said at last, his voice carrying an edge, "is not where I got it—but whether you truly understand what it is."
Tharvin inhaled deeply, leaning back against his chair, his face hardening once more, but now tinged with something else—something close to reverence. "Yes," he admitted, his voice slow and measured, as though each word carried great weight. "If our clan's records are accurate, then this artifact is no mere trinket. The fragments are said to be pieces of a primordial crystal, created by the Creator One himself. They are imbued with a power beyond our comprehension."
His gaze flickered back to the prism as he continued, his voice now quieter, almost reverent. "Our legends tell us that a fragment grants its wielder great power—but not without cost. The artifact chooses its bearer, but even those deemed worthy are not free from its consequences."
Alcard's eyes narrowed. "Consequences?" His tone had shifted, becoming more serious, more demanding. "What kind of consequences are we talking about?"
Tharvin nodded slowly, his face grim. "Each fragment carries its own burden," he explained. "Some are said to drive their wielders to madness. Others cause vivid nightmares so real they break the mind of those who possess them. There are accounts of warriors who wielded fragments only to find their bodies slowly changing, transforming into something… no longer human, no longer Elf, no longer Dwarf."
Silence settled between them, heavy and oppressive. Alcard did not respond immediately, his mind racing back to the moment he first touched the prism. He remembered the strange sensation—an unsettling calm, as if the artifact itself had reached into his very soul. At the time, he had dismissed it as nothing more than an oddity, but now, with Tharvin's words echoing in his mind, he began to wonder. Had he already felt the early signs of the fragment's influence? Was it already working its way into his being?
Tharvin seemed to sense the turmoil brewing in Alcard's thoughts and continued, "In our historical records, only seven fragments were known to exist by the time of the Second Era. They were wielded by kings, warlords, and those with grand ambitions. But after the great war known as the Battle of Last Hope, one of the fragments vanished, leaving only six. They were divided among the three great races—Humans, Elves, and Dwarves—but then disappeared entirely for centuries. By the time the Third Era began, no trace of them remained. The knowledge of their existence faded into obscurity, dismissed as nothing more than myth."
There was a pause before he added, his voice turning graver, "The last confirmed use of a fragment was by Olkan Hamongrad, the first emperor of his name. He wielded the golden fragment, using its power to begin his conquest of Middle Earth. After his reign, no one ever saw another fragment again. It was as if they had simply… vanished from the world."
Alcard listened intently, absorbing every word. It was now beyond any doubt—what he carried was no mere artifact. If this was truly a fragment, then its very existence threatened to disrupt the delicate balance of the world. If it fell into the wrong hands—be it The Veil, the Council of Shadows, or another hidden force—the consequences would be catastrophic.
"So," Alcard finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of realization, "just possessing this fragment is enough to throw Middle Earth into chaos."
Tharvin gave a slow, solemn nod. "You understand now," he said. "A fragment is not just a source of power—it is a catalyst for destruction. Those who possess it will be hunted. Those who desire it will stop at nothing to claim it. And should this fragment fall into the hands of the wrong people… then Middle Earth as we know it will cease to exist."
For a long moment, Alcard said nothing. Then, with careful precision, he slid the prism back into its pouch, securing it once more beneath his cloak. His expression was colder now, more resolute. He pushed himself to his feet, coming to a clear conclusion.
"I will make sure this does not fall into the wrong hands," he declared, his voice unwavering.
Tharvin studied him for a moment before nodding in acknowledgment. But just as Alcard turned to leave, the Dwarf leader spoke once more, his voice laced with a warning. "Be careful, Outcast," he said, his tone darker now. "If word spreads that you possess a fragment, many will come for you. And worse still… the fragment itself may test you."
Alcard did not reply, but he understood the meaning behind the words. With steady steps, he exited Tharvin's chamber, his mind heavy with the weight of their conversation. His mission was no longer just about supplies for The Wall—it had become something far greater, far more dangerous.
He was now in possession of an artifact that could determine the fate of Middle Earth.
And the world would soon come to know it.