Chapter thirty-seven
The dwarves’ test of obedience
The darkness engulfed them as they delved deeper into the cave. The only sound was the persistent drip of water echoing through the silent space. The ground was steep and muddy, sticking to their boots if they dared to pause for a rest. Mist swirled in the air, while the outside gale carried a scent of harsh winds and blood, unsettling yet intriguing.
Elizabeth’s eyes stayed fixed on the handle of her dagger, where the crystal sparkled. Suddenly, she tripped over a large rock right in their path—an unexpected stumble that made her collapse to the ground, wincing.
Veronica froze, her breathing quickening and shortening as two misty figures materialized re inches in front of them. They were no taller than Elizabeth’s waist, with pointed ears and wide-open noses, their eyes scanning them cautiously, all suggesting they slled the note of intruders breaking into their cave.
“Er, hello—” managed Elizabeth curtly, feeling uneasy. Though the dwarves appeared small and vulnerable, their presence felt nacing, and an undeniable note of danger hung in the air.
"Soulblenders' task, eh?” said the leading dwarf softly, tapping his fingers in his lap.
"Yeah, you see—” Percy broke in, his hands rubbing together.
The dwarves remained silent, their expressions steely and focused. With a swift snap of their fingers, a brilliant flash of light enveloped them, montarily illuminating the darkness around them.
In an instant, they found themselves standing on a cold, damp stone floor, the chill seeping through their boots. The air hung heavy with the musty scent of earth and moss, while shadows danced along the rough, uneven walls of what appeared to be an underground chamber. Each dwarf's breath misted in the frigid air, adding to the eerie atmosphere of this hidden realm.
Hoisting herself up on her elbow, Elizabeth glanced up and found herself lying flat in a damp, humid chamber, with a large glass tube at its center—just big enough for one person—with an armchair placed right inside it.
"You must choose one of yourselves to participate in our obedience task,” the second dwarf coldly declared, his eyes gleaming with a vicious light.
Penelope felt her throat go dry as Datura swiftly injected the vapor into Alicia’s temple, her heart racing with terror and confusion.
The sight of the thick, greenish liquid morphed into a vivid crimson as it filled the syringe, an image that would haunt her dreams.
Was this a normal part of being a barber?
Or was Penelope, ti and again, ignoring the signs that this was much darker than she could ever comprehend?
Datura handed over the now full syringe with an air of casual satisfaction. Penelope felt frozen, as though ti had ceased its relentless march forward.
What had she just witnessed?
Was Datura a monster in disguise, and by extension, what did that make Penelope?
Was her hesitation a sign of cowardice or wisdom in the face of madness?
"Let's see. Who wishes to be the heroine?" inquired the dwarf gleefully, his cold eyes gleaming with sinister intent.
"I will," Veronica whispered firmly.
"No, Veronica, no—not you," Emily pleaded.
“Please—" Elizabeth began, but Percy interrupted softly, "Elizabeth, you've already suffered enough. I'll do it,” patting Elizabeth’s shoulder.
"I’m tough—" Elizabeth insisted nonchalantly.
She won't let anyone suffer anymore, not for her at least. She couldn't leave them alone to take part in that crazy obedience task, which would surely break them down.
The task ahead, judging by the dwarves' sinister grins, would undoubtedly be difficult.
The tube forcefully yanked, and a door materialized out of thin air.
Elizabeth emitted a squawk that drew everyone’s attention, and she dashed forward while the others were distracted.
Glass staircases erged behind the door; she proceeded onto them and entered the tube. She made herself comfortable in the plush armchair, awaiting further instructions. Abruptly, two electric lenses materialized out of nowhere—they clamped to Elizabeth’s temples, tilted her neck upright, and sharply jerked her head to an extrely excruciating angle.
Outside, upon discovering what had happened, Veronica shouted in protest, her voice filled with urgency and her eyes glistening with determination. Tears stread down her cheeks as she confronted the situation head-on.
Elizabeth drew her face into a cheerful curve, forced a small smile, and inhaled deeply.
For her friends, everything she did was worthwhile.
Suddenly, the inner side of the tube went pitch-dark.
Frost adhered to the glass wall, and mist swirled within.
A sudden coldness erged from everywhere; Elizabeth’s breath turned into tiny icicles as soon as it touched the chill air.
Her throat was scratchy—she wanted to cough, but sothing was stuck in her throat.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, and she was ready to overco whatever was coming.
But was she ready or not?
She was very wrong indeed.
Strange mories poured into Elizabeth's mind—so of the most painful monts from her childhood.
This tube has the power to bring your most challenging mories to the surface, overwhelming you with their intensity.
It'll make your worst mories haunt you into madness, and every mory feels so real.
Indeed, the dwarves were called evil-makers for a reason.
They understood that their victims couldn't vanquish the haunting shadows of their own imagination—the terrifying scenes made up by their own minds, and they recognized that the true tornt lay not in external devices but within the mind.
The dwarves required no tools for torture; they knew that the true power lay in allowing their victims to grapple with their own thoughts.
Elizabeth saw the scene when she get bullied in the middle school vividly—when she was falsely accused of theft; when her teachers denied her the opportunity to join individual clubs despite being the most qualified; when no classmate wished to befriend her, often calling her a weirdo or nerd; when her peers ford groups for projects but excluded her, leaving her to shoulder all the work alone; when she sat alone in the hallway with no one willing to sit nearby; when—
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But then, out of the blue, all the mories had vanished from her head. As if they had been wiped out by an extrely gentle hand, all the worries and humiliation disappeared.
Soone had saved her.
No way.
A cool, pleasant sensation suddenly startled throughout her entire body, a tingle—no, a churn broke out from her insides—each vibration was touching her nerves.
Sugariness liquid slid down her throat, and she felt a sudden enthusiasm seared over her; she wanted to do sothing aningful—sothing for the beloved Fairy Lord, a simple desire to dedicate her life to him—she wanted to—even to the point of sacrificing herself. Her sanity and rationality were slipping away, but she took no notice. She was drowning in the deep, infinite abyss. The air around was so sweet and clean—the chilliness dissolved into thin air—it felt luxurious.
She licked at it, and her tongue touched sothing luscious, and the delectable swarm inside her trembled.
Her heart did—it quivered.
Dulcet voice echoed softly inside her ears, with a soft yet strong vibration.
New information gradually began to seep into her mind, a clear whisper: "Obedience is a virtue. Believe the Fairy Lord. Believe us. Do what you have been told, never argue…”
"But that's wrong," another voice rang inside her heart, echoed in her soul, "You didn't deserve this punishnt."
"You don't actually need to think by yourself before acting, no one out there will trick you, you don't need to think before obeying orders, my dear, never argue…”
"That's not true!" the other voice rang.
"Defiance never wins, rebellions can never conquer us. Our strong and fruitful Nonblender Committee never fails." Said the first voice loudly. "Be quiet and accept the truth. Never argue…”
"You're wrong!" Elizabeth exclaid in defiance of the voice's warning.
The precarious lenses that weighed down her head slipped dangerously, and with a disconcerting creak, the ancient door swung open.
In that pivotal mont, Elizabeth felt a rush of exhilaration—she had, indeed, succeeded against all odds.
"You certainly proved to be, well, quite tenacious," remarked the leading dwarf, his voice tinged with disappointnt as he scrutinized her.
He shifted his glare toward Veronica, pointing an accusatory finger.
"You're next.”
Collect the hair on the ground, Datura’s voice echoed ominously in her mind.
Penelope felt a sense of unease creep up her spine, as if invisible fingers were tugging at her thoughts.
Her vision softened, blurring the edges of the world around her.
Datura sent the girl out of the shop with a bag filled to the brim with colorful, tantalizing candies.
What in the nas of the gods had she stored in mind?
In that mont, doubt spiraled within Penelope, twisting her stomach in knots.
Could it be that her own mind was playing tricks on her?
The weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air, like the lingering scent of burnt herbs that clung to the walls of the shop.
“Collect the hair on the ground, babe.” The voice echoed within her again, insistent yet soft, a haunting lody that strumd the strings of her heart.
Who was she to question such an imploring command?
The term of endearnt—“babe”—felt strangely intimate.
However, the dread that gripped Penelope made her feel like an unwilling participant in a twisted ritual.
What choice did she have?
Caught between compliance and rebellion, Penelope could do nothing but obey, her hands trembling as they began to gather the delicate strands that lay scattered like fallen leaves. Each hair felt like a piece of a puzzle she didn’t want to solve, yet could not resist.
What had she walked into?
The room around her dimd, the flickering candlelight casting wavering shadows that seed to mock her hesitation. Every fiber of her being scread for understanding, yet all she could grasp was the emptiness of her questions.
Was she rely an actress on a stage, lost in a script she never wished to play?
‘You next.’
Those words struck Elizabeth like a bolt of lightning, igniting a surge of panic within her. The very essence of her sacrifice had been to shield her beloved friends from further peril, yet here was the dwarf, ruthlessly disregarding his solemn promise.
Despite enduring the torturous punishnt that had tested her resolve, Elizabeth had erged stronger, a testant to her unyielding spirit.
Yet, as she took in the scene around her, a gnawing sense of despair filled her heart; she hadn’t been able to save her friends after all.
The weight of her failure lood heavily, casting a shadow over her eyes.
The victory tasted like ash.
"Go on, my heroine." Said the dwarf sweetly.
Veronica gasped in surprise, but the lenses of the tube suddenly extended themselves and seized her by the collar and dragged her toward the tube.
Elizabeth stood there, her eyes out of focus.
After all her hard work and all her energy, but the dwarves simply broke their promise like this?
But she could do nothing to change the situation.
Elizabeth stood there, paralyzed, and watched Veronica struggle in the tube.
And clearly enough, de Angelo had no fewer childhood nightmares than Elizabeth.
Veronica’s smile was a radiant beacon of warmth, always uplifting and sweet. Yet Elizabeth couldn’t shake the feeling that hidden beneath that exterior were countless unseen struggles. Despite her silent battles, Veronica never complained; she force back her tears and extend her warmth and support to their circle of friends.
As the thought of her suffocations entered her mind, it brought tears to Elizabeth’s eyes, a flood of gratitude and emotion that swelled within her.
Ti felt distorted, stretching on endlessly, and as Elizabeth remained standing there, it was as if she were caught in a dream that stretched for a thousand years.
Her legs began to ache and grow numb, but within her, she wrestled with a whirlwind of unidentifiable feelings. Finally, the glass door swung wide open, and Veronica stumbled out, her face chalk white, and her lips were bleeding.
But judging by her fragile smile, Elizabeth knew she had survived, conquered the terrible thought-controller inside the tube.
The dwarves' faces were turning from vicious to outraged. And they hadn't expected how strong their victims' resilience was.
The leading dwarf snapped his fingers irritably, and a hidden wooden door appeared between the walls.
"In you go." Said the dwarves furiously as they disappeared in a flash of light.
Elizabeth walked forward, and etched on the door were six lines of words:
'Seekers of the descendants' jewels,
First, rember the old tale of Sif's treasure,
and how the wickedest of all stole it with a trick.
A replica was then created to soothe Sif's anger.
Now, co in and discover,
the gold can grow longer on its own.'
With a sudden creak, the ancient wooden door slowly swung open, revealing a dimly lit chamber beyond.
A chill ran through the air as they stepped inside, their senses overwheld by the sight before them. Glistening under the soft glow of flickering torches, the treasures of the dwarves lay scattered throughout the room—golden coins spilling from ornate chests, intricately crafted weapons displayed like works of art, and shimring jewels that caught the light, sending sparkles dancing across the stone walls.
They stood there, breathless and wide-eyed, captivated by the sheer opulence that surrounded them, a testant to the forgotten craftsmanship of a hidden world.
“Oh my god!” gasped Veronica in surprise, "How on earth can we find this golden jewel when almost everything displayed here is made of gold?"
The chamber’s interior was a breathtaking spectacle, overflowing with golden jewels that sparkled like stars beneath the glow of an ornate chandelier. The amber light spilled across the marble floor in radiant strips.
“The gold will grow longer by itself,” Elizabeth murmured, her voice barely rising above the hushed wonder of the room as her eyes swept the opulent surroundings.
Suddenly, sothing intriguing halted her gaze.
“What’s this?” she exclaid, her interest piqued by a photograph resting in the dusty corner. It depicted a goddess with magnificent long golden hair cascading over her shoulders—Sif.
“Sif cherishes her hair more than anything else in the world! Wait, hair can grow longer all on its own!” Emily rushed forward, excitent bubbling inside her.
“And rember, while Sif was sleeping, Loki snipped her hair! He had to persuade the dwarves to craft her a new wig—a golden wig!”
Veronica’s eyes widened in realization. “That must an—” she began, her fingers reaching towards a shimring object suspended in the air ahead of them.
What hung there was a delicate golden wig, its threads so fine and ethereal that every slight movent sent wisps swaying gently in the cool breeze that danced through the chamber.
With trembling fingers, Elizabeth lifted the wig, its soft glow pulsating against her palm, enchanting her senses. Suddenly, it broke free from her grasp, soaring upwards as if enchanted. Before their astonished eyes, the wig began to spin in midair, twirling gracefully, the golden threads within it sending forth radiant tendrils of light that illuminated the chamber in vivid brilliance.
In a heartbeat, it vanished in a dazzling flash, replaced by a golden wedding ring that hung suspended in the air before them, glimring with exquisite detail. Elizabeth reached out, her fingertips brushing the cool surface of the ring, a thrill coursing through her.
To her surprise, it darted calmly downward, slipping into her pocket, which zipped shut on its own.
“Isn’t this incredible?” Emily exclaid, her voice bubbling with joy and astonishnt.
“Yeah—” Elizabeth breathed, a smile blooming as she patted her pocket, feeling the weight of the precious treasure within.
At that mont, a brilliant beam of golden light burst forth from the chandelier above, engulfing them in a srizing glow.
In an instant, they vanished, leaving the room shrouded in shimring mystery.
Silence filled the air. Shadows danced along the walls. Was it a trick of the light? A soft whisper echoed. Sothing ancient stirred.
A door creaked open.
But no one was there.
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