Orange light bled across the valley as the sun dipped behind the western peaks, casting long, jagged shadows toward the base of Val Karok.

  The caravan rattled into the lower waystation, a limestone plaza teeming with a vertical kind of chaos. High above, the mountain face wasn't just a cliff—it was a hive of industrial choreography.

  Iron tracks bolted into the stone vanished upward at impossible angles. Multiple skyrail lifts operated in a synchronized dance. One platform descended with empty crates, another hovered mid-ascent, while a third sat grounded, its heavy chains vibrating with latent tension.

  The sound hit Alph first—a deep, metallic symphony. Pulleys whined at a specific, well-maintained pitch, and the massive chains didn't just creak; they sang a rhythmic harmony that echoed off the rock.

  "Look at their size," the merchant commented, showcasing his race's craftsmanship marvel to the new arrivals, pulling the grain cart toward a massive open cargo bed.

  Alph watched a stone block the size of a small house descend slowly along a parallel track. It was a counterweight, its sheer mass balancing the load of the ascending platform. In his past life, Alph had spent years riding elevators in glass-and-steel office buildings, but those were hidden miracles of cables and electricity. Here, the guts of the machine were exposed—stone and magic doing what motors used to do.

  The merchant stepped to a booth, dropping several silver coins into a copper bowl. A dwarven mage sat cross-legged at a control station nearby, his weathered hands resting on a rune-etched slab of obsidian.

  "Move it along, then," a guard grunted, waving the cart onto the platform.

  The armored dwarves boarded casually, leaning against their shields with practiced boredom. The laborers followed, settling onto the floor like weary commuters on a city bus. They had seen this a thousand times.

  Alph stayed quiet, his rucksack tight against his shoulders. His Hunter senses picked up the faint, rhythmic thrum of the mountain wind, but the platform felt anchored. He looked down at the edges of the bed; a faint blue shimmer pulsed through the stone. Runes with faint glow on the track bolts fixed into the cliff side. Stabilization wards?

  The dwarven mage's eyes opened. A visible surge of mana flowed from his fingertips into the obsidian slab.

  "Brace," the shield-bearer said, yawning.

  The platform lurches as the chains engaged with a visceral metallic groan. Then, the climb began—smooth and steady. As they rose, the massive counterweight slid past them into the depths, a silent stone giant falling into the shadows. Alph peered over the side, watching Gloomwater shrink into a cluster of miniature lanterns and fog.

  Constant mana supply, Alph noted, watching the mage's concentration. The runes aren't self-sustaining; they need a battery.

  As the lift accelerated, the sheer scale of the defenses became clear. Crossbow nests were carved into the cliff at precise intervals, and higher up, rune-turrets glowed with a predatory dimness. There were no blind spots here. If the city didn't want you, the mountain would simply shake you off.

  "Look how high it goes!" the young woman cried, her fingers white as she gripped the railing. "Can you believe this is real?"

  Her husband smoothed his tunic, his lip curling in a dismissive line. "Wait until you see our new home in the upper tiers, darling. This is just the lower districts' entrance."

  The air grew thin and biting. The sunset colors faded into a bruised purple as they approached a massive stone shelf jutting from the mountain face. The first wind-terrace loomed ahead, a public space where dwarves socialized in the cold air, their voices blurring into the hum of the machinery.

  The platform slowed with agonizing precision, the chains clicking into a final, heavy lock as they leveled with the terrace.

  "Transfer point," the guard announced, stepping off before the bed had even fully settled.

  The gauntlet-wielding dwarf noticed Alph's unease. "I suggest you get off at the main gate up top, lad. These laborers are common handymen while you are a professional. Go to the guild directly—it's open till the eighth bell. You need to register yourself to secure proper smithy work if that's your intent."

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  "I will," Alph told him, nodding. "Thank you."

  The platform groaned to a halt against the first wind-terrace, a massive shelf of granite carved hundreds of feet above the valley floor. The merchant signaled the laborers, who began hauling crates off the lift with practiced haste. The two dwarven guards stepped onto the terrace, their heavy boots thumping against the stone as they made for a nearby tavern stall.

  Alph stayed by the rail, watching the terrace come to life. Groups of off-duty dwarves clustered around stone tables, shouting over the wind as they tilted metal flasks of ale. Two dwarves with long grey beards, their leather apparel smudged with soot, used a bench as their perch above the precipice, their legs dangling freely, engaged in a casual game of dice with no railing offering them protection.

  They didn't just work here. They lived within the verticality of the mountain.

  The merchant tipped his cap to Alph and followed his cargo, leaving the lift nearly empty. Only the wealthy young couple remained at the far side of the platform, looking increasingly out of place amidst the grease and stone.

  The lift lurching forward caught them all off guard. The terrace dropped away, replaced by the blur of iron tracks and the rhythmic thrum-thrum of the stabilization runes.

  In his past life, Alph had stepped into elevators thousands of times. He had pushed buttons and stood in silent, carpeted boxes, never once wondering about the physics of the cables or the logic of the counterweights. He had been a passenger, a consumer of convenience.

  He had admired the Burj Khalifa once, a building of sleek glass and steel that was predictable and governed by electric motors and safety codes. This city felt raw, functional, and alive with intent. Alph peered at the precipitous descent and the yawning void, and deep anxiety coiled in his gut, representing a primal fear unconnected to his analytical calculations about weight tolerances. He perched on a sheer drop, and only dwarven magic and stubborn material science prevented his demise. The vulnerability overwhelmed him.

  Yet awe pierced the dread, and that feeling was both intoxicating and electric. A city carved into the mountain's throat defied gravity itself, and this sight stirred profound ambition within him. This sight defined enduring power, representing both creation and mastery. Every pulley squeal sang of dwarven grit, and every rune challenged his broken core. He desperately craved the knowledge necessary to replicate such feats, and he hoped that understanding this system might unlock the ability to rebuild his own core.

  His gaze now tracked the massive iron bolts pinning the rails to the mountain. He saw the reinforcement runes etched into the metal faintly pulsate. How did they balance the weight reduction against the friction? Did the runes adjust the tension if the track expanded in the cold?

  A deep hunger, raw and insistent, gnawed at his chest, and he longed close study of those runes, tracing every sigil the scribe had inscribed to secure ten tons over a bottomless chasm. Magic intertwined with engineering here, and his fingers tingled, for he felt compelled to explore that union of reason and substance to its ultimate, inescapable conclusion. The academic aspect of his existence momentarily emerged beneath the pragmatic temperament he had cultivated since inheriting the recollections of a former life.

  The lift briefly slowed at the second level, a quieter station dedicated to industrial venting. A new dwarven mage assumed control at the plinth; the departing mage’s brow glistened with sweat.

  The sheer scale of the labor required to keep the city breathing was staggering. Somewhere in that sprawl above, someone knew the secrets behind every gear and glowing line.

  "The clouds!" the wife gasped, gripping her husband's arm as the view opened below them.

  "Impressive, isn't it?" the husband said. "Though you should see the view from our estate. We have our own private lift—smaller scale, but much smoother."

  "It's still magnificent, dear," she murmured, eyes wide as they passed the next terrace.

  The sound changed as they neared the summit. The whining of individual pulleys merged into a distant, tectonic roar—the sound of a hundred forges and ten thousand voices.

  The platform crested the final mountain edge, leveling off onto the Barren Crown. As the lift locked into the upper waystation, Val Karok finally revealed itself. It was a forest of stone and brass, buildings rising in tiered terraces that hugged the jagged peak. Plumes of dark forge smoke climbed into the purple evening sky, and amber light from ever-glow crystals spilled from narrow windows.

  Main gates of reinforced iron stood flanked by massive crossbow nests and rune-turrets that hummed with predatory intent.

  A mechanical carriage waited at the edge of the station, its dark lacquered wood gleaming under the lanterns. A driver in clean livery stepped forward, assisting the young couple as they disembarked. The carriage hissed, steam venting from brass pipes beneath the chassis as it pulled away toward the upper districts.

  Alph adjusted the rucksack on his shoulders, feeling the weight settle more firmly against his spine. The straps dug into muscles still sore from entire days' travel, a dull ache that grounded him in the moment. He stepped off the platform deliberately, each movement measured, and his boots met the cold, meticulously laid cobblestones of the plateau with hollow finality.

  The sound echoed differently here—harder, flatter, as though the mountain itself rejected softness.

  He stood alone in the shadow of the gate, isolated among the dispersing crowd. The thin air burned sharp in his lungs with each breath, carrying the acrid bite of forge smoke and heated metal. His chest tightened reflexively, forcing him to draw slower, deeper pulls of oxygen as his body struggled to adjust to the altitude.

  Val-Karok. City of Stone and Brass. Where I become someone new.

  My debut novel is available for pre-order!

  Destiny on the Frozen Peak: The Myriad Constellations

  Released on January 1st, 2026