The throne room of the elven capital was less a seat of power, more a theater of light. Gold-woven silks framed high windows, casting sun-dappled patterns onto marble floors. The air smelled faintly of amberwood and pressed parchment.

  Rell stood like a misplaced storm at its center.

  Thessia and Neyxa flanked him, both dressed more properly than he was—though Neyxa’s tunic still flirted with the rules of court fashion. Rell, by contrast, wore loose desert pants, boots scuffed from alleyways, and a sleeveless vest that showed more scars than style.

  The King stepped down from his elevated seat with the grace of someone who preferred to walk as a man, not rule like a god. His circlet was simple. His robes finely made, but practical.

  “Sir Rell,” he greeted, hands clasped behind his back. “Miss Thessia. Lady Neyxa. I trust your rest was… sufficient?”

  “It was,” Thessia replied smoothly.

  Neyxa bowed slightly. “Peaceful until the guards nearly kicked down our door.”

  The King offered a small smile. “They were under orders to be prompt. You’ve drawn attention—not all of it cautious.”

  Rell grunted.

  The King’s gaze rested on him for a moment longer before turning toward the open hall behind them.

  “We’ve sent word to the neighboring dwarven territory—Khurnstadt.”

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  Thessia perked up. “Haven’t heard of them much. Isolationists?”

  “To a fault,” the King said. “They trade through intermediaries. Rarely leave the mountain.”

  “Then why call us?” Neyxa asked, arms folded.

  “They didn’t,” the King said. “I’m the one asking.”

  That earned him a look.

  Neyxa blinked. “Isn’t this more of a… engineering thing? If it’s an industrial zone—”

  “They reported a loss of contact from their southern tier. Machinery frozen. Magic flickering. The mountain quakes. And then…”

  The King reached for a scroll. Unfurled it.

  A sketch—hastily drawn, but unnerving: a vague shape in shadow, dozens of slits like mouths or eyes—or both.

  “…this.”

  Neyxa narrowed her eyes. “That’s not tech failure.”

  “It’s cursed,” Thessia muttered.

  The King nodded. “The dwarves haven’t confirmed that. But I trust the rhythm of danger. And this one is echoing.”

  Rell stepped forward slightly. “Why us?”

  The King met his eyes.

  “Because you bring chaos,” he said plainly. “But you also bring results.”

  Rell squinted. “You say that like it compliment.”

  “Take it how you will.”

  The King moved to a large table laid with maps. He gestured toward the mountain range bordering the elven kingdom and the dwarven industrial sectors hidden beneath.

  “They won’t let soldiers in. Or scholars. But they might not see you as either.”

  Neyxa snorted. “Right. Just mysterious strangers with dangerous auras and the ability to ruin economies.”

  The King chuckled.

  “Not so different from dwarves.”

  They exchanged more briefings—logistics, safe paths, conditions. Thessia asked about provisions. Neyxa demanded encryption keys for the courier birds. Rell just listened.

  Until the King said one more thing.

  “This is not a royal order,” he clarified. “I ask this of you not as your ruler… but as someone who believes this world still has rot beneath the stone.”

  Rell stared at the map a long while.

  Then out the window.

  Desert winds stirred the banners.

  “Peace,” he muttered. “Always look like war…”

  Neither woman commented. They just stood beside him, waiting for the next step.

  And without a sound, they all took it together.