Sanctuary: Safe Haven

Canna stood amidst the chaos of the battlefield, the air thick with the acrid scent of blood and smoke. The clash of steel and the desperate cries of the combatants filled his ears, a cacophony of violence that he had become all too familiar with. But this time, something felt different. As he surveyed the scene before him, a pang of hesitation gripped his heart.

The humans he saw were dressed in ragged clothes, typical of bandits or mercenaries. Their faces were hardened, eyes glinting with desperation and malice. They fought viciously, not for honor or glory, but for survival and profit. Among them, Canna noticed other races—trolls, ghouls, and orcs—distinctly marked by black collars around their necks.

Slaves, he surmised, forced to fight for their captors' cause.

For a moment, Canna felt a wave of doubt wash over him. These weren't monsters or faceless enemies; they were people, each with their own stories, lives, and perhaps even dreams. The slaves, in particular, stirred a sense of pity within him. They were not here by choice but by compulsion, their fates dictated by the collars they wore.

Canna's hand hesitated on the hilt of his sword, his resolve wavering.

"Am I really going to do this?" he muttered under his breath, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. The dragon egg needed souls to hatch, and this battlefield offered a grim but efficient opportunity. Yet, the idea of slaughtering these people, many of whom were likely unwilling participants, gnawed at his conscience.

But the moment of doubt was fleeting. Canna's eyes hardened, his jaw set with grim determination. He couldn't afford to be swayed by sentimentality or moral quandaries. His mission was clear, and the stakes were too high to entertain second thoughts. The dragon egg represented a new beginning, a cornerstone of his grand vision for the sanctuary he planned to create.

It needed to hatch, and the souls on this battlefield were a necessary sacrifice.

With a resigned sigh, Canna pushed aside the unnecessary thoughts. His face became an unreadable mask of indifference, a necessary detachment to carry out the grim task before him. He drew his weapon, its blade gleaming with a cold, deadly light. The air around him seemed to thicken with anticipation as he prepared to unleash his power.

In a flash, Canna was upon the nearest group of bandits. They barely had time to react before he was among them, his sword cutting through their ranks with terrifying efficiency. His movements were swift and precise, each strike deliberate and lethal. The bandits fell before him, their bodies crumpling to the ground in lifeless heaps.

Canna felt a surge of energy as the dragon egg absorbed their souls, the faint glow within it growing stronger with each life taken.

He moved through the battlefield like a specter of death, his presence barely registering among the chaos until it was too late. Bandits and slaves alike fell before him, their screams echoing in the air. Canna's indifference shielded him from the horror of his actions, allowing him to focus solely on the task at hand.

He avoided looking into the eyes of his victims, knowing that any hesitation could compromise his resolve.

The slaves, with their black collars, posed no threat. They fought with a half-hearted desperation, clearly aware of their inevitable fate. Canna dispatched them quickly, their deaths a mercy compared to the brutality they had likely endured under their masters. Yet, even as he struck them down, he couldn't shake a nagging sense of unease.

These were not the faceless monsters he was used to fighting, and their deaths weighed heavier on his conscience.

As the battle raged on, Canna's detachment began to falter. He tried to suppress the growing discomfort, focusing on the end goal—the hatching of the dragon egg. But the sheer number of lives he was taking, and the realization that many of them were unwilling participants, began to gnaw at him.

He forced himself to remember the greater purpose: the sanctuary he planned to build, a place where all could live in peace and safety. The dragon, once hatched, would be a key part of that vision, a guardian of the sanctuary and a symbol of hope.

Finally, the battlefield began to quiet. The last of the bandits fell, and the remaining slaves stood dazed and confused, their collars now lifeless. Canna surveyed the scene, his chest heaving with exertion. The ground was littered with bodies, the air heavy with the stench of death. He sheathed his sword, feeling a hollow emptiness settle in his gut.

The dragon egg in his storage ring pulsed with a soft glow, signaling that it had absorbed enough souls. "1,000,000 / 1,000,000," the counter read, the number a grim tally of the lives taken. Canna's shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of his actions pressing down on him. He had done what was necessary, but the cost was greater than he had anticipated.

He turned to leave, casting one last glance over the battlefield. The sight was haunting, a grim reminder of the lengths he was willing to go to achieve his goals. Canna steeled himself, knowing that there would be more difficult decisions ahead. The dragon egg was just the beginning; the path he had chosen was fraught with moral complexities and harsh realities.

As he stepped through the portal back to the dungeon, Canna couldn't help but wonder what kind of future awaited him and the sanctuary he hoped to build. The dragon would soon hatch, a new chapter in his journey. But the memories of this battlefield, and the lives he had taken, would linger in his mind, a reminder of the heavy burden of leadership and the sacrifices it demanded.

_______

Upon returning to the dungeon, Canna's three subordinates immediately sensed that something was wrong. Kael, too, appeared uneasy, his usually steady demeanor shaken. Grimruk, noticing his master's troubled expression, instinctively stepped forward to offer comfort. However, he was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

It was Vorgrim, who gave a subtle shake of his head. "Our liege knew that the path he chose would lead to moments like this. To comfort him now would be to insult his resolve. We must trust him to handle this in his own way."

Grimruk nodded, accepting Vorgrim's wisdom. Meanwhile, Mortem stood holding the dragon egg, which Canna had handed to him upon their return. The egg, glowing with an intense light, suddenly began to grow in size, swelling until it stood at least twelve feet tall.

The room fell silent, save for the sound of the egg's expansion. Then, a loud cracking noise echoed through the dungeon, drawing everyone's attention. It was time—the dragon was about to hatch. All of their efforts, the battles fought, and the souls gathered had led to this pivotal moment.

As Canna watched, his earlier doubts and turmoil momentarily faded. The egg continued to crack, fissures spreading across its surface. The anticipation in the room was palpable, the air thick with expectation. Canna knew this was not just the birth of a powerful new ally but a significant step towards realizing his vision for the sanctuary.