Ragnar stood before Torvell, the largest bear he had ever seen in his entire life. The creature had black fur, red eyes, and thick, intimidating paws covered with layers of iron.

  But instead of fulfilling his part of the agreement and telling the druid who Bjorn was, Torvell invited him for a walk. Since Ragnar didn’t want to be rude, he agreed.

  Together they walked through the decaying structures of the sanctuary until they stepped onto the grass outside.

  Ragnar admired the open landscape, bordered in the distance by the trees that stretched all the way to the rocky wall protecting the sanctuary.

  A river of crystal-clear water cut across the scenery diagonally. Some iron bears similar to Torvell, though smaller, drank from the river or rested along its banks.

  “Welcome to the home of the Iron Bears,” Torvell announced.

  “What a beautiful place,” Ragnar said, awestruck.

  “This is where the last of my kind live.”

  Ragnar looked at each of them. There were bears with black, brown, reddish, and even bluish fur. Despite such diversity, he noticed that only the black ones had those intimidating iron-covered paws.

  It would take dozens of Tuskir orcs to bring down just one of them, Ragnar thought, then turned back to Torvell.

  “Was Bjorn a druid?”

  The bear let out a disdainful laugh before replying:

  “A druid? He was far more than a mere druid like you.”

  The comment pierced Ragnar’s heart like an arrow.

  “Our walk is over,” Torvell announced. “The final destination is the Circle of Natural Convergence.”

  Ragnar shivered just hearing the name.

  They stopped before the most well-preserved ruin in the sanctuary; a large stone circle with carvings etched around the center, its edges marked by tall stone pillars.

  “Bjorn used to come here to communicate with the spirits of nature,” said Torvell, walking to the center of the circle. “I’ve fulfilled my part of the deal. If you truly wish to know who the patron of this sanctuary was, you must meditate and commune with his spirit.”

  “You promi…” Ragnar began to protest but was cut off by Torvell.

  “I still have my doubts about you, druid. Convincing the Tuskir to leave us in peace was an impressive feat, but I can still feel weakness pulsing inside you.”

  Of course, I’m still only level 10. Legendary class missions have never been completed by avatars below level 20, Ragnar thought, frustrated by the lack of alternatives.

  He sat in the center of the circle, crossed his legs, and began to meditate.

  Torvell’s voice echoed through the air:

  “Good luck, Ragnar.”

  Daniel, the one controlling the druid, meditated once a week thanks to the time he had spent with Júlia. His ex-girlfriend followed a life philosophy worthy of a Buddhist nun, and it hadn’t taken long for her to push that practice onto him.

  Ragnar let himself drift into thought. The whirlwind of ideas in his mind gradually dissolved until only the sound of the wind brushing against his body remained.

  Time passed. Ragnar heard the chirping of birds, the rustling of grass, and a long, deep roar, not one of fury, but of a beast asserting its presence in the world.

  Then, the sound of a flute reached his ears.

  Ragnar opened his eyes and found himself in a place similar to where he had been before meditating.

  Dozens of bears filled his field of vision, some drinking from the stream, others walking around. He blinked when he saw a group of five druids entering the main building of the sanctuary.

  “You’re far from home, friend,” said a calm voice from behind.

  Ragnar turned toward the voice and came face to face with a tall, strong man wearing a long brown and black robe. In his hands, a bamboo flute.

  “Bjorn?” Ragnar asked hopefully. The long-haired man confirmed his suspicion. “Where am I?”

  “In the past,” Bjorn replied. “Your meditation has attuned you to the natural energy emanating from this sacred place. You’re experiencing an ancient memory of the sanctuary; a moment in history aligned with your desire to meet me.”

  The druid stood speechless, but the spirit continued:

  “Would you care to join me for a walk? I promise to reward you by satisfying your curiosity with my wisdom.”

  Ragnar’s eyes gleamed. Bjorn was the third person to invite him on a walk that day, but this could be the one that finally completed the quest he so coveted.

  Bjorn led him through that version of the sanctuary. Druids were everywhere, feeding animals, tending to plants, and maintaining the structures.

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  “Young druid, why were you so eager to find me?”

  “During an expedition to the Serpents’ Den, I recovered one of your creations—The Viper’s Ruin—and became fascinated by its maker.”

  Ragnar raised the spear. Bjorn’s eyes widened as he saw his old masterpiece. He stepped closer, ran his fingertips along the wooden shaft, and said:

  “You found it… and meditated until you reached my spirit. I may not know you, but I can tell you’re no ordinary druid.”

  “I owe my achievements to those who helped me on this journey,” Ragnar admitted, referring to the mysterious man who had revealed this place’s location.

  Bjorn stroked his chin and nodded.

  “Humility is the greatest virtue of a druid.”

  He stepped closer, stopped in front of Ragnar, raised his arms, and placed both hands on the druid’s head.

  “Incredible, you’ve demonstrated all five virtues in such a short time. You showed justice when confronting that greedy innkeeper. You showed courage by descending into the Serpents’ Den and facing those monstrosities. Your bond with the serpent you named Lady Plissken is something truly noble. And such creativity, using serpent form to enter a tiny burrow to find my spear. Finally, you showed diplomacy by convincing an entire orc tribe to leave this sanctuary in peace.”

  Bjorn paused for a moment, lost in thought. Ragnar waited in silence.

  “You may still be weak, but you are noble and capable of entering the spiritual realm with ease. It has been a hundred years since any druid has come to this refuge. I could make you one of my disciples. What do you say?”

  “I accept.” This was the moment Ragnar had been waiting for.

  “Excellent. But before we begin, you must know my story.”

  “I grew up in an age when bears and druids lived in harmony. Neighboring kingdoms were at peace with one another, and the orc tribes dared not cross our borders.

  “Then, a strange sorcerer appeared at the gates of the city of Salem. His name was Mergraff, a stranger from who-knows-where. Before the city guards, he drew in a deep breath and challenged the king and his knights to a duel.

  “Not wanting to appear weak, the king of Salem—whose name I no longer recall—accepted the challenge and proudly stepped outside the city, accompanied by his strongest and most loyal knights.

  “The battle began and ended with the casting of two spells. The first imprisoned the king and his knights; the second suffocated them to death. The city guards were in shock, and no one else dared to challenge Mergraff.

  “The sorcerer walked into the city. Dominated by fear, the people stepped aside as he passed. He made his way to the royal castle and locked himself inside. Hours later, he appeared atop one of the towers.

  “Mergraff spoke loudly for all to hear: ‘Dear citizens of Salem! As you already know, I, Mergraff, have challenged your sovereign and defeated him in fair combat. Therefore, I now claim what is rightfully mine—the crown of this kingdom. From this day forth, you are all subjects of my will.’

  “The population remained silent. Despite the stranger’s boldness, the nobles of the realm wondered: ‘How will he rule without our support? Without our armies?’

  “The answer came as suddenly as his arrival. He raised his staff, and a dark cloud spread across the city. The people trembled, fearing what might come next.

  “The black cloud descended and drifted among the populace. People coughed and choked as their skin withered and their lives were drained away. The victims collapsed until not a single living soul remained, only Mergraff.

  “The clouds dissipated. From atop the castle, Mergraff gave a faint smile and prepared another spell. A purple mist rose from the ground and spread through the streets. The sorcerer chanted a macabre incantation that made the mist seep into the corpses.

  “When the last traces of mist vanished, one body twitched, then convulsed, before standing up as if nothing had happened. The same process repeated for all who had perished.

  “And that is how vampires were born. The knights of the old king, strong in both body and magic, became members of the new king’s guard—known as the Post-Mortem.”

  Ragnar loved the story, but was hungry for more.

  “When do you come into the story?”

  “Now,” Bjorn reassured him.

  “My story begins ten years after Mergraff’s rise, at the height of his reign of terror. At first, he attacked the most vulnerable villages and towns, killing the inhabitants to enslave their corpses into his army.

  “In no time, his forces numbered hundreds of vampire clans, thousands of zombie servants, dozens of revenant battalions, and other undead legions.

  “The Iron Bears’ Refuge was one of the first Druid Sanctuaries to face Mergraff’s onslaught. We fought bravely, yet our enemies won the early battles thanks to their overwhelming numbers. Nearly half our forces were wiped out.

  “We considered abandoning the sanctuary during those dark days, but in one final act of courage, I journeyed across cities and druid sanctuaries in search of allies willing to fight one last battle. As a gesture of goodwill, I gifted each leader with one of my masterpieces.

  “As you know, young druid, the Viper’s Ruin was given to Najir, the great warrior of the Najalla tribe. To my great joy, every leader I had gifted answered the call.

  “But one stood out, Salazar, the king of a small northern province. He was fascinated by the sword I forged and, in gratitude, gifted me tons of iron.

  “I didn’t know what to do with such excess. It would take years to forge all of it into weapons for our troops.

  “Then I had an idea. On the night of a full moon, when the natural energy flowed strongest through this sanctuary, I performed a ritual unlike any before.

  “I piled all the iron into a great mound and gathered all the bears and druids around it.

  “Then I began to chant. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The pile of iron trembled. The first lightning bolt struck the circle’s center. Everyone was shocked, but the fear of death wasn’t enough to make them flee.

  “They all stood their ground. Hundreds of bolts fell upon the iron, melting it. Then I spoke for the first time since the ritual began: ‘The iron before you is special, a gift from Mother Nature brought by a noble ally. Come, take it, use it as you will.’

  “But no one moved, no one understood. The great black bear, Torhell, ancestor of Torvell, was the first to approach the iron mound. The red-eyed beast plunged its paws into the molten metal.

  “Everyone waited for him to roar in pain, for the liquid must have been as hot as the sun’s heart, but Torhell only grunted in discomfort. The molten iron took shape around his paws as if it was alive. Moments later, metallic layers formed around them, strong as steel and sharp as Salazar’s Blade.

  “Torhell became known as the first Iron Bear. After him, the others followed his example and plunged their paws into the molten metal.

  “When the ritual ended, all the iron had been used by the bears.”

  “And the druids got nothing?” Ragnar asked.

  “The druids gave the iron to the bears as thanks for fighting alongside them for so many years. Of course, a mere layer of iron wouldn’t be enough to defeat Mergraff’s legions. The iron also blessed them with magical power. They could now channel electric currents through their paws.

  “This power proved fatal in the final battle, especially against the death knights in their heavy armor. The claws might not pierce the steel, but the electrical charge stunned them, leaving them vulnerable.

  “We won the war. The legion of the dead was defeated. I drove my axe into Mergraff’s skull. The Necromancer of Salem was dead. The remaining soldiers surrendered. Without a master to serve, they regained part of their humanity and knelt before me, begging for mercy.

  “I spared their lives on one condition: that they lived for good, abandoned cruelty, and returned to the people they once were before being enslaved.

  “From then on, the city of Salem prospered again but it became known as the City of the Dead.

  “And that, my dear Ragnar, is how I became a hero among druids.”

  “If you won the war, then why is the Iron Bears’ Refuge so abandoned now?”

  “I didn’t witness the downfall myself. It must have happened in the hundred years since my death,” Bjorn said with a deep breath. “Enough stories. It’s time to test your skills. If you pass the Druid Trials, I will make you my successor.”

  Thank you for reading my story.