The building's interior matched its exterior: rigid efficiency wrapped in military pride. Polished stone floors. Walls lined with notice boards displaying shift rotations, safety protocols, and production quotas. Everything was clean, and everything had its place.

  The soldier who'd announced them led Sael and Bulma down a corridor lit by lights set into brass fixtures. Their boots echoed against the floor in a rhythm that would have been pleasant if Sael weren't being escorted like a man about to deliver very bad news.

  Which, to be fair, he was.

  They passed offices with open doors. Clerks bent over ledgers. A woman arguing with someone about requisition forms. The smell of coffee and ink and metal dust.

  At the end of the corridor stood a much larger door. Dark wood, reinforced with iron bands, and flanked by two more guards in Concordia's colors.

  And in front of that door stood the biggest human being Sael had ever seen.

  No, not human. The man had to be seven and a half feet tall, perhaps closer to eight. Shoulders like the beams that held up temple ceilings. Arms that could probably lift a horse without much complaint. His uniform had clearly been tailored specifically for him, and even then it looked like the fabric was under considerable strain.

  Giantborn, Sael thought.

  The term had started appearing in the last few decades. People born with giant ancestry, though nobody seemed to know exactly how that ancestry had come about. The first recorded cases were recent enough that scholars were still arguing about origins.

  Giants themselves were rare and reclusive. Most lived in mountain ranges so remote that even adventurers avoided them, and the ones who did interact with other races weren't exactly chatty about their personal lives.

  So how did a giant and a human produce offspring?

  The question was purely academic, Sael told himself. A matter of biological curiosity. The mechanics involved would be... problematic. Giants averaged fifteen to twenty feet in height. Humans averaged five to six. The proportions simply didn't align in any practical sense.

  Perhaps magic was involved. Some kind of transformation spell. But that raised further questions about which party would need to be transformed, and whether the transformation would need to be maintained throughout... the entire process.

  Or perhaps giants had a smaller form they could assume temporarily. Though no literature Sael had read mentioned such an ability.

  Or perhaps there was a intermediate stage of giant development where they were closer to human size, and...

  He realized his mind had been working through this problem for several seconds while he stared at the giantborn man.

  Stop thinking about giant reproduction.

  The giantborn man noticed them approaching. His eyes were a pale grey, and his face broke into a smile so warm it caught Sael off guard.

  "Eh, Lieutenant!" he called out, his voice carrying an accent Sael couldn't quite place. Not Concordian. Something coastal. The vowels were rounder, more relaxed. "This the Duke's man?"

  "Corporal Thane," Bulma said. "This is Sael Hel. He has business with the Captain."

  Corporal Thane looked at Sael, and his smile widened. "Brother, you look like you just ran all the way here. Long ride from the capital, yeah?"

  He gestured at the door with one massive hand.

  "Captain's expecting both of you. Come, come."

  Bulma nodded. "Thank you, Corporal."

  "Anytime, Lieutenant. You know that." Thane pulled the door open, holding it with apparent ease despite its considerable weight. The two guards flanking it saluted him, and he threw them each a casual salute back. "After you."

  Bulma walked through first. Sael followed.

  The corridor beyond was quieter. Narrower. The walls here displayed maps of the mining territory, geological surveys, and production charts tracking ore output by week.

  Thane fell into step beside them, though he had to angle himself slightly to fit the width of the corridor. His presence made the space feel considerably smaller.

  "First time at the outpost?" Thane asked Sael.

  "Yes."

  "Long ride. We don't get many visitors out here. Mostly just the supply caravans and the occasional inspector." He was clearly unbothered by military formality. "You bring news from the Duke himself?"

  "I do."

  "Good news or bad news?"

  Sael considered this. "Bad news."

  "Ah, well." Thane sounded genuinely sympathetic. "Captain Dernwell handles bad news well. Better than most. You'll see."

  They turned a corner.

  "Corporal Thane is from Kai'mora," Bulma said, glancing back at Sael. Her tone suggested this was information worth knowing.

  "Good memory, Lieutenant!" Thane's grin was undiminished. "Yeah, born and raised. Came to the mainland about ten years back now. Joined up with Concordia five years ago. Best decision I ever made, honestly. Love the work. Love the people." He paused. "Even love the cold, though my ma would laugh herself sick if she heard me say that."

  There was something about Thane's easy manner that made it difficult to stay tense. Sael found his shoulders relaxing slightly despite the nature of his errand.

  "You're giantborn," Sael said.

  "That I am, brother."

  A pause.

  Sael's brain immediately began circling back to the reproduction question, and he forced it to stop.

  Do not ask.

  Do not ask him how his parents managed it.

  That would be unforgivably rude.

  "Must've been interesting," Sael said carefully. "Growing up."

  Thane laughed. It was a deep, rolling sound that seemed to fill the corridor. "Oh, brother, you have no idea. I was the tallest kid in my village by the time I was eight. By twelve I was taller than every adult. My poor ma had to keep letting out my clothes every few months." He shook his head, still smiling. "The doorways were the worst. Hit my head so many times I thought I'd knock something loose."

  "The barracks had to be modified when he arrived," Bulma said. There was no judgment in her voice, just statement of fact. "The ceiling in his quarters is a foot higher than standard."

  "And I still hit my head some mornings," Thane added cheerfully. "You'd think I'd learn, yeah? But no. Wake up too fast, forget how tall I am, boom." He mimed hitting his head.

  They turned another corner.

  "Do you know..." Sael started, then stopped.

  "Know what?" Thane asked.

  "How the giantborn came to be. Generally speaking. As a... phenomenon."

  Thane glanced down at him. His grey eyes were amused. "You asking if I know how my parents made me, brother?"

  Sael felt heat creep up his neck. "No. I meant historically. As a broader question of... origins."

  Bulma made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh.

  "Sure you did." Thane's grin was absolutely unrepentant. "Nah, I don't know the history of it all. My ma's human, regular size. My da..." He paused. "Well, I never met him. Ma says he was a good man, though. Said he had giant blood in him, passed it on to me." He shrugged, massive shoulders rising and falling. "That's all I know."

  They reached another door. Heavy oak, with a bronze plate that read: CAPTAIN ROLAND DERNWELL.

  Thane's demeanor shifted slightly. Still friendly, but more focused. He knocked twice, sharp and clear.

  A voice from inside: "Enter."

  Thane pushed the door open and stepped aside. "Good luck, both of you."

  Bulma inclined her head to him. "Thank you, Corporal."

  "Anytime, Lieutenant. You know where to find me if you need anything."

  "I do."

  Thane's eyes shifted to Sael. "You too, brother. Door's always open."

  "Thank you," Sael said, and meant it.

  He followed Bulma through.

  The office was larger than he'd expected. Windows along the far wall let in afternoon light that illuminated a space both functional and carefully maintained.

  A wide desk dominated the center, its surface organized with military precision. Reports in neat piles. An inkwell positioned exactly parallel to the desk's edge. A letter opener that looked decorative but probably wasn't.

  Behind the desk hung a coat of arms. A shield divided quarterly, bearing symbols Sael recognized as noble heraldry. A lion. A tower. Crossed swords. A crown at the top. The Dernwell family crest.

  Three officers stood at attention to the right of the desk. All men. All wearing Concordia's burgundy and silver with various insignia marking their ranks. They turned to look as Sael and Bulma entered.

  And behind the desk sat Captain Roland Dernwell.

  Young.

  That was Sael's first thought.

  He'd expected someone older and grizzled. A military man whose face had been weathered by decades of service and hard decisions.

  Instead, he found himself looking at a man who couldn't be older than his early to mid-thirties. Brown hair, well-trimmed. A beard maintained with clear intention, not too long, shaped close to his jaw.

  The Captain stood as they entered.

  He was tall, though not giantborn tall, and carried himself with the bearing of nobility. His uniform was immaculate. A silver chain hung around his neck, disappearing beneath his collar. Probably a family heirloom. His left hand bore a signet ring with the same crest that hung on the wall behind him.

  "Lieutenant Farrow," Dernwell said.

  "Sir." Bulma came to attention, her posture perfect.

  Dernwell's gaze shifted to Sael. "And you must be Sael Hel."

  "Captain Dernwell," Sael said, nodding respectfully.

  Dernwell gestured to the officers standing nearby. "Major Wren. Lieutenant Commander Ford. Lieutenant Sever."

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  Each man nodded as his name was called. Wren was older than the others, perhaps fifty, with grey at his temples. Ford was younger, maybe late twenties, with sharp features and observant eyes. Sever looked like he'd been carved from stone, stocky and serious, with scars on his hands.

  "I'm told you're an envoy from Duke Eryndor," Dernwell continued, settling back into his chair. He gestured to the chairs across from his desk. "Please, both of you, sit."

  Sael remained standing. So did Bulma.

  "Not quite an envoy," Sael said.

  Dernwell's eyebrow rose slightly.

  Sael felt the explanation building in his throat. The entire story about why he was here, the implications for the mining operation. He caught himself just before the words could start tumbling out.

  Don't overexplain.

  He reached into his coat and withdrew the letter instead.

  "If you'd read this first," Sael said, extending it across the desk, "then we can talk after."

  Dernwell took the letter. His eyes found the ducal seal immediately.

  "Thank you," he said to Sael.

  He broke the seal carefully and unfolded the paper.

  The room fell silent except for the faint sound of wind against the windows.

  Dernwell's eyes moved across the first line. Then the second. His brow furrowed slightly.

  Third line. Fourth. The furrow deepened.

  He kept reading.

  His eyes widened. Just a fraction at first, then more noticeably. His grip on the paper tightened, knuckles going white against the parchment.

  He glanced up at Sael. A quick look, as if to confirm he was real, still standing there. Then back to the letter.

  Major Wren shifted his weight, clearly curious but maintaining discipline. Lieutenant Commander Ford's sharp features had gone very still, watching his Captain's reaction with obvious concern. Lieutenant Sever's jaw tightened.

  Dernwell's eyes were wider now. He read a section, then went back and read it again. His lips parted slightly.

  Another glance at Sael. Longer this time. Something between disbelief and dawning realization.

  Back to the letter.

  His hand trembled. Just once, just barely, before he steadied it with visible effort.

  He reached the end. His eyes tracked back up to reread a particular passage. Then another. His breathing had changed, Sael noticed. Shallower and faster.

  Dernwell set the letter down on his desk with extreme care, as if it might shatter.

  He looked at Sael for a long moment.

  Then he stood.

  Abruptly. His chair scraped against the floor.

  And before Sael could process what was happening, Captain Roland Dernwell brought his right fist to his chest in a sharp military salute.

  "Sael the Great," Dernwell said. "It is an honor, Lord Archmage."

  Sael nodded politely.

  Behind Dernwell, the three officers exchanged quick, confused glances. But their Captain had just saluted someone, which meant protocol demanded they follow.

  Major Wren snapped to attention first, fist to chest. "L–Lord Archmage."

  Lieutenant Commander Ford followed immediately after. "My lord."

  Lieutenant Sever completed the gesture a half-second later, his scarred hands moving fast. "Sir."

  Bulma stood perfectly still.

  Her eyes traveled over Sael. Head to toe. Back up again. Her expression was utterly unreadable, that same analytical assessment she'd given him in the courtyard but sharper now, more focused.

  Whatever she saw seemed to satisfy some internal calculation.

  She brought her fist to her chest in the same formal salute.

  "Archmage, huh," she murmured, just loud enough for Sael to hear given how close she stood.

  Sael stared at all of them.

  He wasn't entirely sure what Richter had written in that letter, but he was grateful for it.

  Whatever the Duke's words had been, they'd given him authority. Which meant this situation wouldn't need to become more complicated than necessary.

  The matter at hand was too important for bureaucratic delays.

  "Captain Dernwell," Sael said.

  "Yes, Lord Archmage."

  "I need you to halt all mining operations immediately. Please bring in the individuals whose names I trust Duke Eryndor has listed in that letter. They'll need to be questioned."

  Dernwell looked at him for perhaps five full seconds.

  Then something shifted behind the Captain's eyes. The shock and disbelief crystallized into focus. His posture adjusted. Not dramatically, but enough that Sael could see the military training reasserting itself over the surprise.

  Dernwell nodded once.

  "Understood."

  He turned toward the three officers. "Major Wren, Lieutenant Commander Ford, Lieutenant Sever. With me."

  The three men saluted Sael as they filed out and the door closed behind them.

  Ah.

  Competent people truly were a pleasure to work with.

  Sael turned toward the remaining person in the room.

  Bulma stood exactly where she'd been, arms crossed, watching him with those sharp eyes.

  "Will you not join them?" Sael asked.

  "The Captain said the others should follow him."

  "I see."

  Silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable, exactly. More like two people taking each other's measure.

  "Is it true?" Bulma asked.

  "Is what true?"

  "What the Captain called you."

  "My identity, you mean."

  She nodded.

  "Yes."

  Bulma's expression didn't change. "Huh."

  Another pause.

  "There's a painting of you in the Concordian National Museum," she said. "By Faysa Strongwood. Famous piece. Worth more than this entire outpost, probably." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I always thought your eyes were blue in that painting."

  "Common misconception."

  "The painting got it wrong?"

  "Most paintings do."

  The sound of drums began outside. Deep, rhythmic beats that carried through the windows. Then a whistle, high and sharp, cutting through the afternoon air.

  Sael's attention shifted toward the sound.

  "Alert protocol," Bulma said, noting his interest. "Three drums, one whistle. Means cease all operations, return to designated assembly points. Everyone in the mines will be coming up within the next ten minutes."

  "Efficient."

  "We try."

  Another silence.

  Bulma uncrossed her arms. "How did you survive this long?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "You're supposed to be over four hundred years old." Her gaze tracked over him again. "But you look thirty at most. Good-looking, too. Unfairly so, honestly." She paused. "So how does that work?"

  "It's quite a long story."

  "I like long stories."

  "Perhaps another time."

  "Or you could—"

  BOOM.

  An explosion cut her off. The sound was massive. Deep enough that Sael felt it in his chest, in his bones. The floor shook. The windows rattled in their frames. Dust drifted down from the ceiling.

  Screaming started immediately after. It was distant but clear. Multiple voices. Panic and pain mixing together in a sound that made Sael's stomach tighten.

  He looked at Bulma, and she looked back.

  Neither of them said anything.

  They moved for the door at exactly the same time.

  The corridor back seemed longer than before.

  Sael moved fast, Bulma keeping pace beside him. Their boots struck the polished stone in rapid rhythm. The building shuddered again; it wasn't an explosion this time, but a tremor that ran through the floor and walls like the earth itself was shifting.

  More screaming. Closer now.

  Then another sound. This one heavy. A crash of stone against stone that echoed through the facility.

  "What the hell is happening out there?" Bulma's hand had moved to the sword at her hip.

  Sael didn't answer. His mind was already working through possibilities. An attack. Coordinated. The timing too convenient to be coincidence, right after he'd arrived, right after he'd ordered operations halted.

  They turned the corner where Corporal Thane had been stationed.

  The big man was gone, and the door stood open.

  BOOM

  Another tremor. Dust fell from the ceiling. Someone screamed, the sound cutting off abruptly in a way that made Sael's chest tighten. They reached the main corridor. The offices they'd passed earlier were empty now, chairs knocked over, papers scattered across desks. Everyone had evacuated.

  Almost there.

  The entrance was just ahead.

  "I'm going ahead," Sael said.

  "What—"

  He didn't wait for her to finish.

  The wall beside him was stone. Thick, reinforced and irrelevant. With [Phase], Sael stepped forward and the stone offered no resistance. The world shifted—that strange sensation of passing through solid matter, like walking through a curtain of cold water—and then he was through.

  Outside.

  And it was chaos. Absolute chaos.

  The courtyard was a warzone. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, some crushed beneath massive chunks of rock that had cratered into the earth. Blood pooled around them, soaking into the dirt. A woman's hand protruded from beneath one boulder, fingers still twitching. A man's body was bent at an angle that shouldn't have been possible, his spine clearly shattered.

  Soldiers ran in every direction. Some carried wounded. Others had weapons drawn but no clear target. Screaming filled the air: pain, terror, orders being shouted that were immediately drowned out by more impacts.

  And in the sky, about forty feet up, floated a mage.

  Male. Maybe mid-thirties. Robes that marked him as a mine affiliate, reinforced fabric, no excess material. His hands moved in practiced patterns, and the air around him shimmered with magical energy.

  It was a barrier. Translucent but visible, a spherical shield that enclosed him completely. The kind of defensive spell that could deflect arrows, turn aside blades, absorb lesser magical attacks.

  The mage's hands completed another pattern.

  The ground twenty feet to his left erupted. A boulder tore free from the earth, easily the size of a horse, and launched into the air. For a moment it hung there, suspended by pure magical force.

  Then it shot forward like a catapult stone, directly at a group of soldiers trying to help wounded near the barracks.

  Sael's hand snapped out, and the boulder stopped mid-flight, suspended in the air thirty feet from its targets, and trembling against the invisible force holding it in place.

  Sael clenched his fist.

  The boulder crushed inward. Stone compressed, cracks racing across its surface, and then it simply collapsed into itself. What had been several tons of deadly projectile became a shower of harmless gravel that pattered to the ground like rain.

  The aerial mage's head whipped toward him.

  Their eyes met.

  Distance didn't matter. Sael could see them clearly. The man's irises were bloodshot, shot through with red veins that didn't belong. But worse—much worse—were the veins around his eyes. Purple. This was a clear sign of Corruption.

  Sael's jaw tightened.

  Below, on the ground, other mages fought. A woman in Concordia colors hurled lightning at an attacker in the same robes. The lightning connected, but the enemy mage's own barrier absorbed most of it. They retaliated with a lance of ice that she barely managed to deflect.

  Another explosion near the mine entrance. A Concordia mage went down, clutching his side where something had burned through his defenses.

  The aerial mage's hands moved again. Another boulder ripped free from the earth.

  Sael jumped and launched himself upward with enough force that the ground where he'd been standing cracked.

  The air screamed past him.

  The mage noticed him coming, truly noticed him now, not just as an interference but as a threat. His eyes widened, those purple veins pulsing faster. His hands shifted, abandoning the boulder spell to reinforce his barrier instead. The translucent sphere around him brightened, solidifying, multiple layers overlapping.

  Good defensive instinct. Wouldn't matter.

  Sael drew his fist back.

  The barrier was three feet away. Two feet. One.

  He punched.

  His fist connected with the barrier and the entire structure shattered. The magical construct exploded outward in fragments of light that dissipated before they could fall. The mage's face went from focused concentration to absolute shock in the space between one heartbeat and the next.

  Sael's other hand was already moving.

  He drove his fist into the mage's torso. Felt ribs crack under the impact. Felt the man's body compress around the blow.

  Then gravity reasserted itself.

  The mage plummeted and hit the ground with enough force to create a crater. The earth buckled. Cracks spider-webbed outward from the impact point. The mage's body bounced once, limbs flopping, then went still in a position that made it very clear he wouldn't be getting back up.

  Sael was already falling.

  No—that boulder. The one the mage had been preparing before Sael attacked.

  It was still in motion.

  Arcing through the air on the last trajectory the mage had given it before his concentration broke. Tumbling now, uncontrolled, but still moving fast.

  Still going to hit people.

  A cluster of soldiers near the eastern wall. They'd seen it coming. Were trying to run. Wouldn't make it in time.

  [Blink]

  The world folded and Sael stood directly in front of the boulder.

  It was massive up close. Jagged edges. Moss on one side. Moving at a speed that would obliterate anything it touched.

  Sael punched it.

  His fist connected with several tons of stone traveling at lethal velocity.

  The boulder exploded, reduced to dust and fragments that sprayed outward in a cloud of pulverized rock.

  The shockwave hit soon after. The soldiers behind Sael were thrown backward, yanked off their feet and sent tumbling across the ground. Better than being crushed. They'd have bruises. Maybe some broken bones. But they'd live.

  The dust cloud settled.

  Sael landed, his boots touching ground that was now covered in a fine layer of stone powder.

  He scanned the courtyard and it was purple. That sickly violet glow crackling around hands and weapons. Purple veins pulsing beneath skin like living things. Twelve of them scattered across the battlefield, cutting through Concordia forces.

  Corrupted. All of them.

  [Blink]

  Sael materialized beside a woman hurling purple fire. His fist drove into her ribs before she could turn. Bone shattered. She launched sideways into the barracks wall hard enough to crater the stone.

  A man with a corrupted blade was mid-swing at a downed soldier. Sael's kick caught him in the chest. Sternum caved. The body flew twenty feet and hit the ground in a twisted heap that didn't move again.

  [Blink]

  Three mages stood together; two maintaining a barrier while the third prepared a massive spell behind them. Sael punched through their shield and caught the first one in the face. Skull fractured. The man dropped. His palm strike caved the second mage's chest inward. Ribs punctured lungs. Blood sprayed from the man's mouth as he collapsed.

  The third one released his spell in desperation, a sphere of condensed purple energy.

  Sael caught it. The corrupted magic writhed in his palm, trying to burn through his skin. He twisted the spell, then hurled the fragments at two other Corrupted mages fifteen feet away. The broken spell detonated between them. Purple energy consumed them both, their own corrupted magic turning against them as they screamed and went down.

  Four down in one motion.

  [Blink]

  A laughing mage near the mine entrance was hurling chunks of earth at fleeing workers. Sael appeared behind him, grabbed his head, and slammed it into the ground. The crater formed. The laughter stopped. Neck broken.

  The other two with him spun around. One threw up a barrier. Sael punched through it, grabbed the mage by the throat, lifted him, and used his body as a club to strike the third mage. Both went down in a tangle of limbs and broken bones.

  [Blink]

  A young man with purple claws stood over a wounded soldier. Sael's boot caught his spine. The crunch echoed across the courtyard. The body dropped, paralyzed.

  Two Corrupted mages fought back-to-back now, having seen their companions fall. Smart positioning. Sael appeared between them anyway. He ducked under one's strike, caught the other's wrist, and twisted. Bone snapped. His other fist drove into the man's chest. Heart stopped.

  The last one tried to run.

  [Blink]

  Sael appeared in his path. The mage ran directly into his fist. Head snapped back. Body lifted off the ground and crashed down unconscious.

  This took about ten seconds.

  The courtyard went quiet as the twelve Corrupted mages went down. Some dead. Some dying. Some incapacitated but still breathing in wet, ragged gasps.

  Sael's expression hadn't changed throughout any of it. This had been necessary work. The kind he'd done hundreds of times before during the Ash Wars when corrupted mages had to be put down before they could cause further chaos. They'd been too far gone.

  The Concordia forces who were still standing stared at him with expressions caught between relief and fear. Some were helping the wounded. Others just stood there, weapons half-raised, not sure what to do.

  "What the hell was that?" someone whispered.

  "Did you see—he just—"

  "Is he on our side?"

  A soldier near the barracks was throwing up. Another was sitting on the ground, staring at nothing, shaking. A woman was crying while trying to bandage a friend's wounds.

  Bulma emerged from the main building, her hand still on her sword hilt. She looked at the bodies scattered across the courtyard, then at Sael. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her knuckles were white where they gripped her weapon.

  Then a roar echoed from the mines. Deep. Guttural. The kind of sound that resonated in your chest and made every instinct scream danger.

  Several soldiers flinched. One dropped his weapon.

  Sael knew that sound. He'd heard it many in caves beneath the Wyrm Peaks, near Gatsby.

  "Troll."