The desert sun was merciless. Heat rose in waves, blurring the horizon. The canyon walls pressed close on both sides, trapping the heat like an oven.

  Luucner and Ziif had been walking for three days. Water ran low. The maps Leelinor provided were accurate, but they couldn’t account for heat that felt like punishment, or for silence that made every footstep sound like an intrusion.

  Then figures stepped out between the rocks.

  A ring of people blocked the path. Their skin was deep red-brown, marked with ceremonial tattoos that ran down their arms in intricate patterns. Their eyes were amber, sharp and watchful. Long braids fell past their shoulders, adorned with small stones and carved bone. They moved without sound, as if they had been waiting for years and could wait years more.

  The First Peoples.

  They formed a circle around the two mercenaries. No weapons drawn. No threat spoken. Just watchful eyes and absolute stillness.

  Luucner’s hand drifted toward his blade. Ziif’s posture shifted. Neither moved further.

  “We come seeking passage,” Luucner said, forcing his voice to stay level. “And we come seeking aid.”

  Silence. The figures didn’t blink. Didn’t shift.

  Then a woman stepped forward. Tall and spare, with a face carved by wind and years. Her eyes were amber lit from within, ancient and sharp. She studied them for a long moment. Then she lowered herself to one knee and pressed her palm flat to the canyon floor.

  A faint tremor ran through the ground. A seam opened at her feet, rock splitting clean to reveal a sloping tunnel. Amber veins pulsed faintly in the walls, glowing like a slow heartbeat.

  “Follow,” she said in the old tongue. Her voice carried absolute authority. “The Council below will hear you.”

  Luucner and Ziif exchanged a glance. Then they descended into a world hidden from the sun.

  ?

  Saal’Ekar revealed itself in spirals beneath the earth.

  The entrance tunnel opened into a cavern so vast the far wall disappeared into shadow. The ceiling arched high overhead, studded with crystals that caught sunlight filtering down through carved shafts. The light refracted through the crystals, splitting into warm gold and soft amber that washed over the stone terraces below.

  Luucner stopped walking. Ziif’s breath caught.

  The city descended in tiers. Black stone terraces carved into the cavern walls, each level connected by ramps that spiraled down like the rings of an ancient tree. Hanging gardens dripped from high vaults, green and lush, fed by springs that sang as they fell into shallow pools. The air smelled of stone and water and growing things, cool and clean after the brutal heat above.

  Somewhere deep below, drums beat in slow rhythm. Not music. The heartbeat of the forges, marking time for the smiths.

  Buildings had been carved directly into the rock. Doorways were rounded and smooth. Windows were narrow slits that caught the refracted light. No two structures were alike. Some were simple and functional. Others were adorned with carvings: storms endured, harvests brought in, ravens raised as kin, warriors standing together against the dark.

  People moved through the terraces with quiet purpose. Children ran along the ramps, their laughter echoing softly. Smiths worked at open forges set into alcoves, hammer strikes ringing in rhythm. Weavers sat in circles, their hands moving over threads dyed in earth tones: ochre, rust, deep gray.

  Crystals pulsed softly in the ceilings and walls, throwing warm light over courtyards where elders sat in conversation, where families gathered to eat, where apprentices practiced with blades that gleamed faintly in the amber glow.

  “This is…” Luucner began, then stopped.

  “Alive,” Ziif murmured. “The city is alive.”

  Their guide didn’t smile, but something in her expression softened. “Saal’Ekar breathes with the earth. We do not build against the stone. We shape with it.”

  She led them deeper, down the spiraling ramps. The air grew warmer as they descended. The sound of water faded, replaced by the low hum of heat rising from below. Forges glowed in the distance, their fires fed by vents that drew directly from the magma deep beneath the desert.

  At the heart of the city, the great hall waited.

  It was carved from a single massive cavern. The walls were lined with murals that stretched from floor to ceiling. Stories written in stone: the founding of Saal’Ekar, the first forging of Sol blades, the pact with the ravens, the wars survived, the droughts endured. At the center of the hall stood a low stone table, circular and smooth, surrounded by carved seats worn by generations of use.

  Seated around the table were the elders.

  Thuriel, keeper of ways, his hair gray as ash. Naramel, the master smith, arms scarred from a lifetime of fire and iron. Vassarel, who remembered runes older than Eldoria itself, his hands marked with faded ink. Domurel, who brokered paths no one else dared walk.

  Genebra stood near the table, arms crossed. Her golden eyes were steady. She studied the two elves as they entered, taking in their dust-stained cloaks, their exhaustion, the way they held themselves despite it.

  “You carry the smell of the plains,” she said. Her tone was neither welcoming nor hostile. A beat passed. Her voice softened slightly. “My son bled for your people. We know that. We will not war against the elves. There is no honor there.” She paused. “But we must understand what is waking in this world, and what will unmake it.”

  Luucner stepped forward and inclined his head. “We come seeking aid. Sol. JaS. ARK blades. Weapons that can pierce dragon hide. Eldoria is bleeding. We cannot stop it with steel alone.”

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  Thuriel’s voice was rough as quarry stone. “You come for our stones. Aid is not given lightly.”

  “Then we earn it,” Luucner answered, meeting his gaze without flinching.

  Silence settled over the hall. The elders exchanged glances. Then Genebra spoke.

  “You will stay. You will work. You will prove that Eldoria’s need is built on desperation, not arrogance.” Her gaze sharpened. “And when my son arrives, you will tell us everything. What you found beneath Gray Stone. What patterns you saw. What magic is being twisted.”

  Luucner nodded once. “Agreed.”

  Genebra turned to the elders. “We grant them passage. They will work the forges. And we will watch.”

  ?

  Six days passed in fire and stone.

  Luucner and Ziif worked the forges alongside the smiths of Saal’Ekar. The heat was brutal. Each breath scorched their lungs. Sweat ran into their eyes, blurring vision. The hammer grew heavier with every strike.

  Their hands blistered. The skin split. Blood mixed with soot. Their shoulders ached from the endless rhythm of hammer and anvil.

  They did not complain. They had come asking for weapons. The First Peoples had answered with labor.

  Naramel watched them with the patient scrutiny of a man who had seen a thousand apprentices break before they learned. He corrected their grips, adjusted their stances. When they faltered, he did not soften.

  “The stone does not care about your pride,” he said, his voice carrying over the roar of the forge. “It only cares if you are willing to suffer for it.”

  Luucner gritted his teeth and swung again. The hammer struck true, sending sparks scattering across the anvil. Beside him, Ziif worked a block of JaS stone, chipping away impurities with careful, deliberate strikes. His hands were raw, the skin split in places. His expression remained fixed.

  They learned. Slowly. Painfully. They learned.

  And then, on the seventh day, Kooel arrived.

  ?

  The living walls of Saal’Ekar pulsed faintly. Kooel descended the spiraling ramps, guided by amber lanterns and the steady thrum of ritual drums echoing through stone. Heat rose from the deep vents, thick and familiar. It wrapped him in a warmth he had not felt in years.

  At the great hall, familiar faces waited. Warriors of his lineage. Apprentices who greeted him with fists pressed to their chests. Old friends, boys and girls he had once trained with, now hardened into fighters. They called his name, clasped his shoulders, welcomed him home with the quiet pride of those who had never doubted he would return.

  At the center stood Genebra.

  The matriarch’s back was as straight as ever. Her golden eyes were sharp and bright. Then they softened at the sight of her son. Her lips trembled. Tears filled her gaze. She stepped forward and pulled him into her arms.

  The embrace was fierce. Neither spoke. Genebra’s hands gripped her son’s shoulders as if letting go would mean losing him again.

  When she finally eased her grip, her voice shook. “Welcome home, my son.” Her voice cracked. “The earth remembers its children. And I have waited.”

  Kooel kept his hands on her shoulders. He forced himself to meet her eyes with an honesty he shared with no one else. “Mother, I’ve missed you.” His voice broke slightly. “Up there, the world is rotting. I have stood beside warriors who can tear cities apart. I have never felt as safe as I do here, in your arms.”

  Heat stung his eyes. He blinked hard and refused to let the tears fall. Genebra’s hand cupped the side of his face. Her thumb brushed over a scar he had not carried when he left.

  “You have bled for them,” she said quietly. “You have grown. You are still my son. And you are still home.”

  For a moment, Kooel allowed himself to be just that. A son who had missed his mother.

  Then the moment passed. Genebra stepped back, composure returning. “Come. Your friends are waiting. The forges are loud with their work.”

  ?

  Luucner and Ziif waited near the mines, where the air pulsed like a forge. The tunnels breathed heat with every gust. Blocks of JaS and Sol stone were dragged along rails by sweat-soaked workers. Every breath tasted metallic, tinged with molten rock.

  When Kooel appeared, descending the ramp with Genebra at his side, Luucner straightened. Ziif set down his hammer and wiped the soot from his hands.

  Kooel’s gaze swept over them. He took in their blistered hands, their exhaustion, the way they stood despite it. His mouth curved faintly. “You look like hell.”

  “We feel worse,” Luucner said.

  “Good. That means you’re earning it.”

  Ziif’s mouth twitched. “Your people are harder than dragons.”

  “They have to be. Dragons burn. Stone endures.”

  Genebra stepped forward. Her gaze moved between the three of them. “You have worked well. Naramel tells me you have not broken. That is worth noting.” She paused. “But I know you did not come only for weapons. There is something else. Something you have not spoken.”

  Luucner exchanged a glance with Ziif. Then he looked at Kooel. “We need to talk. Privately.”

  Kooel’s expression sharpened. He nodded once. “Follow me.”

  ?

  They found a quiet alcove near one of the upper gardens, away from the noise of the forges and the bustle of the city. Water trickled softly from a spring into a shallow pool. The air was cooler here.

  Kooel sat on the edge of the pool, arms resting on his knees. Luucner and Ziif stood across from him.

  “What is it?” Kooel asked.

  Luucner spoke first. “Beneath Gray Stone, we found bodies. Modified. Reinforced muscle, veins carved with channels, metal fused into bone. The magic moved like elven craft. Precise. Controlled. But the structure beneath it was different. There was heat to it. Pressure. Like a second language woven under the first.”

  Ziif continued. “Zeeshoof told us about Ithelmar. An elf who proved that elven magic and the First Peoples’ alchemy could be combined. What we found looks like that kind of work.”

  Kooel’s jaw tightened. “You think my people are involved.”

  “We think someone trained by them might be,” Luucner said carefully. “Or someone who stole their knowledge. We’re not accusing. We’re asking.”

  Kooel was silent for a long moment. His golden eyes were distant. Then he exhaled slowly. “The Council questioned me before I left for the South. They wanted to know if I had seen anything that connected our craft to what was happening in Eldoria. I told them I hadn’t. Because at the time, I hadn’t.”

  He looked up at them. “But now, hearing what you found, I can’t ignore it. If someone is using our alchemy against Eldoria, we need to know who. We need to stop them.”

  “Then we need to speak to the Council,” Ziif said.

  Kooel nodded slowly. “Yes. But my mother needs to hear this first. If we’re going to accuse someone of betraying our craft, we need to be certain. We need her support.”

  Luucner’s gaze was steady. “Do you trust us?”

  Kooel met his eyes without hesitation. “I bled beside you in the South. I’ve seen you hold the line when others broke. Yes. I trust you.”

  “Then let’s talk to your mother,” Luucner said.

  Kooel rose. “Wait here. I’ll bring her.”

  ?

  Genebra arrived quietly. She looked at the three of them, standing together in the alcove. Something in her gaze sharpened.

  “You asked for me.”

  Kooel stepped forward. “Mother, we need to request an audience with the Council. All of us.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why.”

  Luucner spoke. His voice was measured. “Someone trained in your alchemy is creating monsters. Bodies reinforced with runes. Soldiers that don’t die. We found them beneath Gray Stone. We’re not here to accuse your people. We’re here to ask if you know of anyone who might have taken that knowledge and twisted it.”

  Genebra’s expression did not change. Her eyes went cold. “You’re asking if one of our own betrayed us.”

  “We’re asking if it’s possible,” Ziif said quietly.

  Genebra was silent for a long moment. Then she looked at her son. “You believe this.”

  Kooel nodded. “I’ve seen what they found, Mother. I’ve fought beside them. If there’s even a chance that someone from Saal’Ekar is involved, we need to know. For Eldoria. For our people.”

  Genebra’s jaw tightened. Then she exhaled slowly. The sound carried weight. “Very well. I will call the Council. You will speak. They will listen.” Her gaze hardened. “But if you are wrong, if you bring accusation without proof, you will answer for it.”

  “We understand,” Luucner said.

  Genebra turned without another word and walked back toward the great hall. Her footsteps echoed softly against the stone.

  Kooel looked at his friends. “This is it. Whatever happens next, we face it together.”

  Luucner clasped his shoulder. “Together.”

  Ziif nodded. “Always.”

  They followed Genebra into the heart of Saal’Ekar, where the Council waited, and where the truth would finally be dragged into the light.