The mist parted like a curtain torn by unseen hands. One by one, the party crested the final ledge, breath heaving, limbs trembling with exhaustion, but eyes wide as they took in the scene before them. The summit was a wide, flat outcrop of dark stone, ringed by jagged spines of rock that pierced the fog like broken teeth. Wind howled across the plateau, sharp and thin with altitude, but it wasn't the cold that made their skin crawl.

It was the silence.

Stronric was the first to step forward, his boots crunching over old ash and scattered gravel. He adjusted Serene's weight on his back—she had dozed during the climb, worn out by pain and effort—but her head lifted now, eyes scanning the strange quiet that hung in the air.

"Where in the hells…?" she murmured.

Rugiel moved beside them, her hammer drawn but not raised, as if afraid to break the stillness. "This place was lived in," she said softly, noting the scattered remnants of a fire pit. "Recently."

Torn tents flapped limply in the wind, their poles snapped, and cloth shredded by claws or blades. Rusting weapons lay abandoned in the dirt—gnoll-made, twisted iron and jagged steel, some bearing tribal markings. Bones lay scattered here and there. Most were gnoll. A few… weren't.

Bauru crouched near a bloodstained patch of stone. He ran a finger over it, sniffed, then grunted. "Old. At least a day."

"That matches when we fought the giant," Stronric muttered. "They heard it die. Ran before we got here."

"They were organized," Rugiel said, frowning. "This wasn't a raiding party. This was a camp."

"A war camp," Stronric growled, his voice low.

Kara stepped away from the group, eyes drawn to a half-collapsed tent near the cliff's edge. She said nothing as she slipped inside, her movements too smooth, too calculated.

A moment later, Serene noticed her absence and limped over.

"Kara?" she called softly, pulling back the flap. "What is it? Anything in there?"

Kara turned, just a flicker of something passing across her face before she smiled. "No. Nothing useful. Burned scraps and trash. Not worth your time." She stepped past Serene with practiced ease, brushing imaginary dust from her gloves. "This place was already picked clean."

Serene hesitated, but nodded.

Rugiel, who had been watching from a short distance, straightened slowly. Her eyes lingered on Kara's back. The ice witch's lie had been smooth, but not smooth enough to fool ears trained in courtly deceit.

Without a word, Rugiel walked toward the tent.

Inside, the gloom was thick. A crude table stood at the center, a blackened iron brazier beside it. Scattered across the surface were scrolls, parchments, stitched vellum, maps. Detailed. Accurate. Surface-world ink and parchment. Not dungeon-made.

Rugiel's breath caught.

Trade routes. Fortified town plans. Guard rotations. Markings showing grain shipments, caravan paths—King's Road intelligence.

This was no mere camp.

She stepped back out, face pale but composed, then raised her voice.

"Stronric. Bauru. The rest of you, come see this."

They gathered around the tent's interior as she pulled back the flap and stepped aside. A cold hush fell over them.

"These are maps," Giles breathed, his voice low with disbelief. "Maps of ze surface. Mon dieu… this one, it shows ze wall of Redvale. But how? How in all the heavens did it come to be 'ere?"

"Zese are trade routes," Armand muttered, leaning over a parchment and tracing a path with his gloved finger. "And zere, scouting remarks. Someone 'as been watchin' these towns… from without."

Serene's face was pale. "This doesn't make sense. No one from the dungeon should know this. This… this is real."

Stronric stepped inside last, his boots heavy on the stone as he ducked beneath the hanging flap. He said nothing at first, his gaze sweeping the table, then the maps, then the others. The silence stretched, heavy as iron. He moved around the table slowly, fingers brushing over the edge of a parchment that detailed the grain routes between two surface towns. Then a scroll showing the layout of Redvale's eastern wall. Another marked with troop rotations near the mountain pass.

His jaw clenched. He picked up one of the scrolls, turning it slowly in his calloused hands. Then he spoke, his voice low and edged with something cold.

"This… ain't dungeon scrawl. This is surface work. Fresh ink. Modern parchment. Real names. Real roads."

The others looked between each other in growing confusion and unease.

"How could the gnolls get this?" Serene asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Who would give it to them?"

Stronric lifted his eyes, and when he spoke again, it was with grim certainty.

"Someone's helpin' them." He let the words hang in the air for a moment. "This invasion… it wasn't wild, or desperate. It was planned. With maps. Timing. Strategy."

He dropped the scroll back onto the table, the snap of parchment loud in the still air. "Someone from the outside world fed them this. Guided them. Told 'em where tae strike." He looked around at the stunned faces of his companions, eyes narrowing. "This wasn't just monsters crawlin' up from the dark. This was a war, and someone wanted it to happen."

A heavy silence followed. The wind outside picked up, whistling through torn canvas and rattling loose stakes, as if the mountain itself listened.

"No one down here could know this," Lirian said quietly, his eyes scanning the maps again. "Not unless they've been topside recently. And if a gnoll had walked up to a mapmaker and asked nicely, I think we'd have noticed."

"That's assuming they even know what a map is," Bauru muttered, arms folded tight across his chest. "Gnolls don't plan. They burn. They take. They don't chart grain routes and wait for the right day."

"Then someone else did it for them," Serene said softly, unease plain in her voice. "Someone who knew exactly where to strike."

Kara folded her arms, expression cool. "Could be mercenaries. Bandits. Plenty of people make a living feeding war from the sidelines."

Rugiel's voice came gently, yet every word struck with purpose. "How strange, then, that you deemed this tent unworthy of inspection."

Kara's head turned slowly, "Excuse me?"

"When Serene asked what lay within, you assured her there was nothing," Rugiel said, stepping forward with quiet poise. Her gaze was steady, her tone precise. "Yet you stood where I stand now. The maps were not hidden."

The others stilled. The shift in air was unmistakable.

Kara blinked once, then tilted her head. "It looked like rubbish at first. Torn parchment and ash. I didn't think it relevant."

"I do not believe you make such judgments lightly," Rugiel replied, her voice still smooth. "You are cautious, deliberate. You do not mistake a war table for trash."

Kara's lips curved, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Are you implying something, Forgekeeper?"

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"I imply nothing," Rugiel said with grace. "I state only what I saw, and what I heard."

Before Kara could reply, Stronric's voice rang out like steel on stone.

"That's enough."

He stepped in, his presence like a drawn line in the earth. "This ain't the moment to squabble. We've all seen what's here. From now on, anything like this, we share it. No games. No delays."

His eyes locked briefly with Kara's. Firm. Unmoving.

"Understood?"

Kara held his gaze a moment longer, then gave a short nod. "Understood."

Silence returned. The air inside the tent felt too close, too stifling.

Rugiel stepped back, her face unreadable. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and left the tent, the flap whispering shut behind her.

Bauru watched her go. He muttered something under his breath, gave Stronric a pointed glance, then slipped out after her.

He found Rugiel standing at the edge of the plateau, overlooking the mist-wrapped drop below. Her posture was rigid, hands clasped tight before her, shoulders drawn high with restraint.

"She lies," Rugiel said without turning. Her voice was steady, but there was heat beneath it. "She lies and she does not even tremble. It is as though deceit is her second breath."

Bauru approached quietly, boots crunching softly over gravel. "Aye," he said, not arguing. "I saw it too."

"She dismissed the maps," Rugiel continued, eyes locked on the swirling fog. "She tried to bury them with ash and silence. And yet no one challenges her. Stronric, he knows, and still, he does nothing."

"He's not blind, sister," Bauru said gently. "Ye know that."

Rugiel finally turned, her jaw tight, blue eyes simmering. "Then why say nothing? Why allow her to twist words and steal trust while we all pretend not to see?"

"Because he's leadin'," Bauru said. "And leadin' means pickin' the right moment. If he lashes out now, we lose more than just her. We lose the thread. The trail. The chance tae see where this goes."

He stepped closer, dropping his voice. "But don't think for a moment he's fooled. I've known him long enough. Stronric's watchin' her close. He just ain't ready to draw steel yet."

Rugiel's expression shifted—still tense, but something softened at the edge. "I don't trust her."

"Neither do I," Bauru said, with quiet certainty. "But I trust him. And so do ye."

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she gave a slow nod, brushing a strand of wind-blown hair from her cheek. "Very well. But if she moves against us, I will not wait for permission."

Bauru gave a lopsided grin. "Wouldn't expect ye to."

They stood together in the cold wind, brother and sister, two stones holding against the storm.

A quiet tremor rippled beneath their feet. Not violent. Not threatening. Just a subtle shift in the stone beneath their boots, like the mountain had drawn a breath. Inside the command tent, eyes snapped upward.

Stronric's hand dropped to his axe. "What in the…"

The tremor deepened. Not loud, but steady. Present. The stone hummed.

Outside, Bauru straightened. "Feel that?"

Rugiel turned from the edge of the plateau, her expression sharpening. "Yes. Something's coming."

Then the mountain exhaled. A deep rumble echoed beneath them all, strong enough to shake the tattered tents, rattle weapons in scabbards, and send loose scrolls fluttering from the war table. The others bolted from the tent, weapons half-drawn, instinct taking over. They spilled out onto the summit, joining Bauru and Rugiel just as the sky began to clear. The mist thinned like breath fading from glass, revealing the wide plateau under a slate-gray sky. And then, light.

Faint golden runes shimmered to life beneath their boots, etching themselves into the black stone in perfect lines and ancient circles. They'd been there all along, hidden under ash and dust, waiting. A sound filled the air, not quite a voice, but a presence. Felt in the chest more than heard in the ears.

"Challenge complete. Time recorded: eleven hours fifty-eight minutes. Grade: S-Rank."

The glow pulsed once warm, solid and the tremor faded.

"From this point forward, all rewards earned shall be elevated. This mark is now yours."

A final flare sealed the sigil into the stone beneath them. Then it dimmed, leaving a faint, permanent shimmer, like embers cooling in a sacred forge.

No one spoke for a moment.

"What does that mean?" Serene asked softly, brushing her hair from her eyes.

"It means we've been judged," Stronric said, his voice low and certain. "And found worthy. I think?"

"Aye," Bauru added, his one eye narrowing. "From now on, any loot we find, any treasure, any relic, it'll be better. We're marked now."

"The dungeon knows us," Rugiel murmured, eyes scanning the fading sigil. "And it will not forget."

Giles gave a slow, impressed nod. "Elevated rewards. I do enjoy the sound of that."

Armand smirked. "As long as ze next challenge does not involve climbin' another cursed cliff."

"Speak for yourself," Lirian muttered, his gaze still locked on the stone. "I liked this one. Kept the weak-hearted at home."

Stronric said nothing for a moment. His gaze lingered on the glowing remnants of the mark—ancient, binding, and entirely earned.

"We've stepped past the edge now," he said at last. "And whatever's waitin' at the summit of this war… it knows we're comin'."

Stronric's words had barely faded when the mountain rumbled again, deeper now, like something old shifting in its grave.

"What now?" Lirian muttered, his stance tightening as he scanned the clearing.

Up the slope, a section of sheer black stone began to crack. Lines of red light bled from the fissures like veins splitting under the skin. Then, with a long, grinding groan, the wall sank into the earth, revealing a tunnel beyond. Wide. Tall. Blacker than night. And from it poured mist. Not clean fog, not mountain vapor. This was red. Heavy. Wet. It crept across the ground like blood seeking a wound. The smell hit next. Burnt meat. Hot iron. Filth. Something wrong in the bones.

Rugiel took a step back, covering her mouth. "What in Morgal's name…?"

But Stronric was already moving, shoving Serene behind him with one arm, his axe sliding free of its clasp with a hiss of steel.

"Get back," he snapped, eyes locked on the mist. "All of ye."

"What is it?" Serene asked, her voice shaking.

Stronric's jaw clenched. His eyes never left the mist. "That stench… that weight in the air... that's demon-stink."

Silence.

"Demon?" Giles echoed, uncertain. "You're sure?"

"I'm a Wraith-Thane," Stronric growled. "My family earned that name killin' these bastards. You don't forget the stink of the Hells."

The others hesitated, unsettled. No one else moved.

Then a figure appeared. Staggering. Hunched. Dragging an axe behind it. A gnoll… or what was left of one. Its fur was singed away in patches, skin stretched too tight over broken limbs. Black veins pulsed beneath the surface like roots feeding a tree from below. And then it split. From throat to gut, its chest peeled open, revealing a gaping maw of teeth and writhing red tendrils. It screamed high, wet, unnatural and charged.

Bauru raised his crossbow.

"Stand down!" Stronric barked. "It's mine."

"What?!" Dane snapped. "Are ye mad?!"

"I said stand down!" Stronric's voice cut through the roar of the creature like a warhorn. "My ancestors were slayers of these, I wish to test my iron against them as well."

The demon-gnoll shrieked and lunged.

Stronric met the charge without flinching. His axe swung in a brutal arc, steel meeting corrupted flesh with a sound like tearing leather. The beast staggered, bones cracking, but it didn't fall. It twisted, bones shifting, limbs breaking and regrowing at unnatural angles. Its claws lashed out. Stronric ducked low and slammed his shoulder into its flank, knocking it back a step. He pivoted on his heel, dragging the blade of his axe along its exposed ribs, carving a line that sizzled with dark blood.

Behind him, Giles and Kara were already running toward the tent.

"Kara's come back!" Lirian shouted, watching the two disappear into the mist.

"Let her," Bauru muttered, never taking his eye off the fight. "She'll find a reckoning if she tries anything."

The demon-gnoll shrieked again, its form flickering, like a shadow caught in firelight. It lashed out with both hands now, striking fast and wide.

Stronric parried one, and the second across his axe but he didn't slow.

He pressed forward, axe gleaming with cold fury.

"You'll not take another soul, ye filth," he growled. "I've walked the dark once already. I don't fear you."

Stronric circled the demon-gnoll, breathing hard, blood trailing down his arm, though he barely noticed. His chest rose and fell, his grip never slackening. The creature spasmed, tendrils lashing weakly, half its form already shredded, but not dead.

Not yet.

Stronric watched it carefully, eyes narrowed, counting the pulses in its limbs, the way it shifted its weight.

Learning. Still learning.

Then he raised his axe high, not for the final blow, but to signal.

"Bauru!" he barked. "Now!"

The younger Stonesinger moved like lightning, already in motion. He darted from the sidelines, his blade glinting in the red mist. Predator clacked onto his back, ignored in favor of a machete forged in another life—one of Rugiel's first blades.

The two dwarves passed each other without a word, their shoulders brushing in perfect sync. It wasn't just a change of fighters. It was a passing of fire.

Stronric reached the others and exhaled, turning slightly to watch as Bauru slid into stance before the broken demon. The gnoll's head snapped toward the new threat, jaw unhinged, tendrils writhing with renewed frenzy.

Stronric's voice cut through the air like a whetstone on steel. "Take your time its wounded shouldn't be able to hurt you. It leads with the left claw. Fast, but wide. When it lunges, it overextends. Gut's open if ye angle low."

Bauru gave a sharp nod, eyes fixed forward.

The demon lashed out. Bauru shifted right barely and slashed across its midsection, carving through corrupted sinew. It screamed, but the shriek was weaker now.

Dane edged up beside Stronric, wide-eyed. "Are ye… are ye training?"

"Aye," Stronric muttered, not taking his eyes off the fight. "What of it?"

Dane blinked. "Now? With that thing?"

"Aye." Stronric crossed his arms, blood still trickling down one sleeve. "Ye think this is the worst we'll see?"

The demon-gnoll wheeled around again, shrieking, and Bauru caught it in the thigh with a heavy swing, staggering it.

Stronric called again, voice firm but calm. "Let it come tae you. Don't rush. Its rage does the work for ye."

Rugiel stepped beside them, her expression unreadable—but her lips twitched ever so slightly. "Can I go next?"

Stronric shrugged. "Works for me."

Kara and Giles hadn't yet returned from the tent. The air still pulsed with wrongness, and the mist at the mouth of the tunnel writhed like something breathing beneath the stone. There would be more. This was only the beginning.

Dane looked back to Stronric, still watching the fight like a blacksmith judging the heat of steel.

"Are all dwarves as mad as you?" he asked warily.

Stronric smiled at Dane not looking away from the fight, "Wait till its yer turn."

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