After several weeks had passed since the meeting held in the Dwarven Council inside the royal palace, rumors began spreading across the continent of Mira like wildfire. News of the theft of the new metals circulated rapidly, and the blame was soon linked to the Elves—especially after the Dwarves officially announced their accusation that the Elves were behind what had happened.
The Elves, for their part, did not remain silent. Their elders and their Saint issued clear statements denying the accusations, asserting that the Dwarves were exploiting the Elves' name and tarnishing their reputation for political and economic gain. They declared that what the Dwarves were spreading were nothing but fabricated lies meant to blackmail them and weaken their influence among the races of the continent.
However, the balance of power shifted completely when the King of the Dwarves informed the Dragons of the matter, presenting irrefutable proof of the breach of the metal vault, along with magical evidence proving that one of the Elves had been involved in opening the vault gate. At that point, the Dragons did not hesitate. They stood by the Dwarves and directly demanded that the Elves return the stolen metals or compensate them with something of equal value and importance.
Once the Dragons intervened, the Elves had no room left to maneuver. Even when the Elven Saint swore a sacred oath that her people had not stolen the metals, the Dragons did not listen to her words and relied solely on the evidence possessed by the Dwarves. Thus, the Elves had no choice but to submit to the judgment.
The Elves were forced to offer enormous compensation. They brought forth rare treasures that had been stored for centuries in their royal vaults, and they were even compelled to provide a portion of the essence of their Sacred Lake—an ancient, legendary resource that was never touched except in the direst of circumstances.
When news of this reached the kings of the other races, shock spread among them. The Elves' Sacred Lake had long been an object of desire for all, for a single drop of its essence was capable of healing the gravest injuries and curing incurable diseases. When they learned that the Dwarves would obtain this essence, their hearts filled with envy and resentment. Yet no one dared even consider stealing a single drop, for the Dragons themselves were overseeing the execution of the judgment and ensuring compliance.
Several months passed after that incident, and relations between the Elves and the Dwarves deteriorated dangerously. The Dwarves halted the sale of weapons to the Elves, and the Elves retaliated by ceasing their support for the Dwarves in the Fallen Isles. This resulted in heavy losses within the Dwarven forces there, with many soldiers falling in battles where they no longer received the usual support.
Despite the severity of the situation, neither side informed the Dragons of what was happening. Both knew well that the Dragons would not concern themselves with the details of the conflict, but would instead punish both parties for disrupting the balance they had imposed—something neither side was prepared to endure.
In the palace of the Elven Saint, a council of great importance was convened. All those of consequence in the Elven Kingdom gathered: elders, guard commanders, and high mages. The Saint sat upon the main seat, anger still evident on her face, while the elders argued heatedly over the next step.
The anger in the hearts of the Elves had not yet subsided. True, they had submitted to the Dragons' judgment, but the humiliation they had suffered ran deep. Amid the heated debate, it became clear that the Elves had already sent spies into the Dwarven Kingdom to monitor the situation of the new metal and learn how the Dwarves were making use of what they had obtained.
Yet the Elves were not the ones who had stolen the metals in the first place. Still, their fury burned fiercely over being unjustly accused by the Dwarves. Worse yet, the Dwarves had dragged the Dragons into the matter, forcing the Elves to pay a price for a crime they had not committed—losing even the water of their Sacred Lake, a resource touched only during the most sacred rites and the darkest of times.
From that moment on, hostility took deep root in the hearts of the Elves. It was no longer a fleeting political dispute, but a wound to their pride that would not heal easily. In the Elven Council, elders and knight commanders spoke heatedly, their voices rising as they discussed revenge, breaking the Dwarves' power, and reclaiming what had been unjustly taken from them.
Yet amid all that boiling anger, there was one figure who did not share their impulsiveness—the Elven Saint.
She sat upon her ancient stone seat, her features unusually calm, her eyes distant as though gazing beyond the walls, at hidden threads only she could see. She was not thinking about how to retaliate, but about who had set all of this in motion from the very beginning.
The Elven Saint was certain that the Dwarves, despite their legendary mastery in crafting artifacts, magical weapons, and even sacred relics, had never been known for political genius or deep-rooted scheming. What had happened was greater than a mere angry reaction from the Dwarves, and too precise to be a coincidence.
She thought to herself:
"This is not Dwarven thinking… This is a game being played from behind the curtain."
Suddenly, her thoughts stopped at a name she had not expected at first.
Humans.
And specifically… the Human Emperor.
Her expression hardened slightly as she recalled that humanity, for centuries, had always been present in every continental conflict, even if only from afar. They excelled at appearing when it suited them, and disappearing when they wished to divert suspicion. But this time… their silence was absolute—suspiciously so, as if they had deliberately remained outside the spotlight.
Her suspicion grew stronger. The Human Emperor had not made a single move—had sent no envoy, made no comment, not even attempted to exploit the chaos—as though the matter did not concern him. And that, in itself, was the most alarming thing of all.
The Elven Saint suddenly raised her head. The elders' voices immediately fell silent, and the hall grew quiet.
She spoke in a calm voice, yet one heard clearly by all:
"Has anyone noticed whether the Human Emperor has made any unusual moves recently?"
The elders exchanged glances, then one of them answered with a slight bow:
"No, my Lady. Our spies have detected no unusual activity from the human side."
Her surprise deepened, and she said slowly:
"Isn't that strange? Humanity has never been distant from the continent's conflicts, even when claiming neutrality."
Silence fell again, but this time it was the silence of understanding rather than confusion. The Elves began to grasp her meaning.
The commander of the Elven knights stepped forward and said:
"My Lady… do you believe humans had a hand in what happened?"
She did not answer immediately. She closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering the threads of the picture in her mind, then said:
"I have no proof yet. But humanity's calm is unnatural. This silence… is the silence of someone watching their plan succeed."
One of the ancient Elven priests nodded and said:
"You are right, my Lady. Humans are known for cunning and long-term schemes, and their absence from this conflict is unprecedented."
The knight commander said firmly:
"Then let us watch them. We will send our spies to see if they were involved."
The Saint looked at him with sharp eyes and said:
"I want our best spies. Send them to the imperial capital of the humans. I want no rumors… I want facts."
The commander bowed in respect, and everyone present knew that a decisive choice had been made.
At the same time, far from the eyes of the Elves, in the heart of the human imperial capital, the scene was entirely different.
In the royal palace, inside a side chamber isolated by magic, the Human Emperor sat alone with a figure dressed entirely in black, his whole body concealed—his face hidden beneath a dark hood.
The Emperor spoke in a calm yet cautious tone:
"Was it not dangerous for you to come so quickly? Won't the Dwarves suspect your absence?"
The masked figure chuckled softly, then raised his hand and removed the dark hood from his face, saying confidently:
"Do not worry, Your Majesty. I have earned the complete trust of the Dwarven King… and even of their council. They will never suspect me."
And when his face was revealed, it was the same young man—
the clever Dwarven minister, the one in whom the King of the Dwarves had placed absolute trust, unaware that he had been, from the very beginning, one of the threads of the grand game woven in the shadows.