The corridors of the subterranean palace stretched like veins of light through living stone. Runes pulsed faintly along the walls, feeding warmth into the air. The scent of roasted herbs from the royal kitchen still lingered on James’s coat as the heavy doors closed behind them.

  He followed Villen and Nyindnir through a long marble passage that gradually sloped downward. The path twisted like a serpent, each turn revealing another marvel of dwarven design: archways carved with dragons, waterfalls flowing through crystal conduits, and luminous moss arranged to resemble constellations.

  So this is what a queen’s palace looks like, James thought. Luxurious enough to make Versailles look like a basement.

  They passed a terrace where a faint, false daylight shone through a chasm in the mountain. Beyond it, a city shimmered in the distance, its towers lit by veins of mana that crawled through the cliffside like lightning frozen in stone.

  Eventually, they stopped before a massive circular gate built from blackened steel. Runes glowed faintly along its rim. Nyindnir stepped forward, pulled a thick rope from the wall, and somewhere behind the metal, a deep hum awoke.

  A moment later, gears shifted. The door split in half and slid apart, revealing a wide platform enclosed by metal rails.

  James blinked. “Wait a second… you built a lift?”

  Nyindnir turned, brow furrowing. “A what now?”

  “A—uh…” James rubbed the back of his neck. “Just… logical deduction, you know? Lift down, lift up. Catchy name for a platform that lifts things?”

  The dwarf squinted at him for a moment, then chuckled. “Strange mind you’ve got. Still, not a bad guess. This here is one of our proudest inventions. Dwarven craftsmanship at its finest! We use counterweights, mana pressure, and a chain system powered by runic alignment—”

  He began explaining in detail, his hands gesturing animatedly, but James only half-listened. His eyes drifted toward the ceiling of the shaft where faint light shimmered like molten gold. His mind, however, was far from gears and levers.

  Rennalinda. Even thinking the name made his stomach tighten. The way she had looked at him, equal parts fury and fascination, lingered like the aftertaste of strong espresso.

  “—and that’s how we ensure stability even when transporting full cargo loads,” Nyindnir finished proudly.

  “Right, fascinating,” James murmured absently, then turned to Villen. “Hey, uh… random question. What does Rennalinda… like?”

  Nyindnir cleared his throat loudly. “Ahem.”

  Villen’s glare could have frozen magma. “Choose your words carefully, human.”

  James’s ears turned red. “I meant, foodwise! Obviously! I was just thinking maybe I could cook her something she’d actually enjoy.”

  Nyindnir chuckled, stroking his beard. “Our Queen isn’t overly picky. She eats what we eat, dwarven and elven dishes alike.”

  James frowned. “And what exactly do you eat?”

  “Whatever goes best with ale,” Nyindnir replied cheerfully. “We’re not choosy.”

  James inhaled slowly through his nose. “Okay… specifics?”

  “Meat,” the dwarf said, counting with thick fingers. “Roasted, smoked, or stewed. Fish, lamb, boar, whatever’s fresh. Mushrooms, root vegetables, bread.”

  James stared at him. “Congratulations. You just listed every edible thing in existence.”

  Nyindnir grinned. “Told you, not picky. But when it comes to drink, none surpass the dwarves. After dragons, of course.”

  “Huh,” James said, crossing his arms. “So that’s why Villen’s wine tasted decent.”

  Villen’s head turned slowly. “Decent?”

  Nyindnir’s brows shot up. “Sir Villen served you wine? Wingfire Jubilee, no less? And you call it decent?”

  “It was… fine,” James said cautiously. “I’ve had better.”

  Both of them froze.

  Villen’s eyes narrowed to slits. “A bold claim. Where and when?”

  James shrugged. “Can’t say I’ve made wine myself, but someday, maybe—”

  Villen’s smirk cut him off. “Rennalinda’s favorite drink is Wingfire Jubilee. If you can create something better, human, you might just catch her attention.”

  The lift gave a deep rumble beneath their feet. The chains clanked, and the platform began to descend. As the walls glowed red with molten light from the forges below, James smiled faintly.

  “Then I guess it’s time to invent something that even a Queen can’t forget.”

  The doors opened with a hiss of steam, revealing the vast underground gardens of the dwarves.

  When the lift came to a stop, the doors groaned open again with a hiss of steam. What waited beyond made James forget how to breathe.

  Massive pillars of black stone stretched toward the unseen ceiling, carved with glowing veins that pulsed like slow lightning. Yet there were no real walls, only open air. It was as if the mountain itself had been hollowed out, leaving a vast half-circle open to the world outside. Through that opening, daylight spilled in, revealing the valley below and a horizon painted in gold.

  They carved an entire mountain, James thought, jaw slack. And they say humans are bad with real estate.

  The platform opened into a terrace overlooking chaos wrapped in beauty. To one side stretched rows upon rows of long wooden tables. Elves and dwarves sat shoulder to shoulder, laughing, singing, mugs raised high as roasted meats smoked over open pits. To the other, work crews unloaded supplies from wagons, crates of ore, sacks of grain, bundles of strange tools. Sparks flew where blacksmiths hammered at portable forges, their rhythm blending with the laughter and music.

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  James whistled low. “You guys start drinking early, huh? Are you aware you might have a mild alcohol problem?”

  Nyindnir snorted. “Those aren’t drunkards, human. They’ve just returned from the lower mines.”

  “So you dug both above and below the mountain,” James said, stepping off the lift.

  “Ha! Don’t be ridiculous. Even we can’t hollow out something this size,” Nyindnir replied. “Each floor of the dungeon connects to another dimension. This—” he swept his arm wide “—is the lowest one.”

  “Wait. Dungeon?” James blinked.

  “Indeed,” Nyindnir said. “You now stand at the bottom of it. This isn’t just the bottom floor. The mountain itself is the lowest layer. Everything above belongs to a different dimension.”

  “Dungeon?” he repeated, as if tasting the word. “You mean… an infinite pantry?”

  Villen gave a faint nod. “This place has belonged to my family for generations. It passed from my brother to Rennalinda.”

  Nyindnir’s chest swelled with pride. “Among us, it’s known as the Wokzalcoatlnople Dungeon, or as we sometimes call it, the Kingdom of Wokzalcoatl.”

  James raised an eyebrow. “So you and Rennalinda are descendants of the Jade Dragon?”

  Villen cast him a sidelong look. “Not just us. Every dragon traces its blood to him. The first. The mightiest.”

  They walked as they spoke, boots clicking against the polished floor. Gradually, the music behind them softened. Conversations faded. One by one, elves and dwarves turned to stare. The clinking of mugs died away until only footsteps echoed between the pillars.

  James leaned closer to Nyindnir and whispered, “Why’s everyone staring at me?”

  “Because,” the dwarf said simply, “you’re the first and only human to ever step foot here.”

  James gulped. “Psst, Villen. Quick question. After we plant these beans, you’re not planning to kill me, right?”

  Villen smirked. “I don’t recall making any promises.”

  “Then maybe now’s a good time to start,” James said under his breath. “Because no promise means no coffee. And the wine you like so much? Forget about it.”

  Villen’s grin widened. “Let’s grow the coffee first. Then we’ll discuss wine.”

  Nyindnir chuckled. “Come now, my lord. Surely you’d admit nothing replaces a fine vintage.”

  James cut in, deadpan. “Actually, a cup of coffee after a few drinks sobers you right up.”

  Nyindnir froze mid-step. “What? Truly?”

  “Truly,” James said. “Might even save your miners from falling into holes.”

  The dwarf’s eyes gleamed. “Then we need coffee, Sir Villen. Urgently.”

  The tunnel opened into sunlight.

  Outside spread a city so breathtaking that even James fell silent. Towers of white stone climbed the mountainside, bridges wove between them like spider silk, and shimmering streams of mana ran through aqueducts that glittered like glass veins. Overhead, a false sky stretched blue and bright, complete with drifting clouds and a golden sun that shouldn’t exist underground.

  He blinked. “Wait. If we’re still inside a dungeon, how is there a sky? And a sun?”

  Nyindnir laughed. “You’ve truly never been inside one, have you?”

  “What gave it away?” James asked.

  “Everything,” Villen said dryly.

  “These are common facts, human,” the dwarf added. “Where have you been living?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve spent my life perfecting my art,” James answered with mock pride.

  “Kudos on the coffee,” Nyindnir said, “but I doubt you’ll please the Queen’s palate.”

  James grinned. “Watch me. But if you come asking for seconds, just know you’ll get a tasting portion only. No refills.”

  Nyindnir puffed up. “Hah! My wife’s cooking could humble kings. She’s the best among dwarves.”

  “Then you just haven't tasted my food yet.”

  Villen said nothing, but the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed amusement as they crossed the crowded streets. The city turned its head to watch them pass, whispers following in their wake like ripples on water.

  James adjusted his collar and whispered, “Feels like I’m on a cooking show.”

  Nyindnir squinted. “A what?”

  “Never mind. Where are we going?”

  “To the fields,” Villen replied. “Time to plant your magic beans.”

  They left the shimmering streets behind, the noise of the city fading into distant echoes. Before long a large stone building came into view at the edge of the valley, its roof glimmering with copper tiles, its walls breathing faint traces of mana. Beyond it stretched an endless sea of green.

  Rows upon rows of fields rolled outward until they met the false horizon, each section bursting with different colors: emerald leaves, scarlet berries, golden grains, vines heavy with fruit. From a distance it looked like the mountain’s heart had turned inside out to show the world its garden.

  James stopped walking. “Holy hell. Why is it so big?”

  Villen’s voice was calm, almost reverent. “Because every plant, fruit, and vegetable that grows upon the earth is grown here as well.”

  James blinked. “Every one?”

  Nyindnir nodded. “Sir Villen’s sacred duty.”

  James glanced between them. “And what duty would that be?”

  The dwarf straightened his back with pride. “To ensure that everything we need can be produced within our own lands.”

  James whistled. “So, you keep a list of everything you grow, right?”

  “Ask Ruune,” Nyindnir said with a shrug. “Agriculture’s not my craft.”

  James slowed his steps, eyes catching on a patch of violet flowers swaying gently near the irrigation channels. Their color was deep, too deep,almost unnatural against the sea of green.

  Violet. Just like her eyes.

  The memory hit before he could stop it.

  She was radiant and terrible, beauty sharpened into a blade. He remembered the way her voice had sliced through the air: cold silk wrapped around steel.

  He tore his gaze away, exhaling through a quiet laugh that wasn’t quite steady. “Beautiful and terrifying,” he murmured. “Figures I’d fall for someone who could vaporize me by blinking.”

  Nyindnir glanced back. “You say something?”

  “Nothing,” James said, forcing a grin. “Just admiring the local flora.”

  They reached the building’s doors and stepped inside. The air was cooler here, heavy with the scent of soil and pollen. The interior was filled with tables stacked high with parchments, tools, and glowing orbs that projected floating runes of data.

  An elf spotted them from across the hall and hurried over, excitement lighting his pale green eyes.

  “Sir Villen! Have you brought a new seed?”

  Villen smiled faintly. “Ruune, my dear friend, you know me too well.”

  Nyindnir leaned toward James and whispered, “In the kingdom we call those two the Agricultural Twins. You’ll see why soon enough, they take farming a bit too seriously.”

  James murmured back, “I realized that the moment he kidnapped me and threatened to kill me.”

  “I can hear you both,” Villen said flatly without turning.

  They straightened instantly.

  Ruune’s gaze shifted to James. “Is that… a human? What is he doing here?”

  “This human’s name is James,” Villen said. “He possesses a most unusual seed, one that produces a remarkable drink. James.”

  Catching the cue, James reached into his inventory and pulled out a single glossy bean. He held it up between his fingers.

  Ruune snatched it almost reverently. “What is this? I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  He narrowed his eyes, focusing. A faint hum filled the air as mana gathered around his hand, swirling like liquid glass. The energy responded to his intent, wrapping around the seed in delicate spirals until it pulsed with inner light, threads of blue flickering like captured lightning.

  His brows furrowed. “Strange. It isn’t natural. It feels as though it was formed from pure mana itself.”

  Villen smiled. “Exactly as expected. James created it through his own unique ability.”

  James folded his arms. “It’s called a coffee bean. It comes from a sweet fruit, though the fruit’s too small to eat because the seed makes up nearly ninety percent of it.”

  Ruune’s eyes shone. “Fascinating. I’ve studied thousands of seeds, but none quite like this. What other seeds can you create?”

  “I think… just about anything,” James said. “If you have a list, I might even be able to replicate plants you’ve never grown.”

  Ruune’s ears twitched. “Truly? You would do that?”

  James smirked. “On one condition.”

  “Name it. Whatever you want.”

  “I want my life guaranteed,” he said simply.

  For a moment Ruune’s expression melted into something almost childlike, wide eyes, pleading like a cat begging for milk. He turned to Villen. “Sir Villen?”

  Villen sighed, first glancing at James, then at the elf. “If my dear Ruune insists, I suppose I have no choice.”

  James narrowed his eyes. “So you were planning to kill me. Good to know. In that case, no more cooki—”

  “Occasionally I make thoughtless decisions when I’m hungry,” Villen interrupted smoothly.

  “Glutton,” James muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh, I said low blood sugar causes irritability. Perfectly normal,” James said quickly.

  Ruune burst into laughter, the sound bright as wind chimes. Even Villen’s lips twitched before he turned toward the door.

  “Come,” he said. “Let’s see if your miraculous bean can grow in our soil.”

  James followed, the faintly glowing bean still in Ruune’s hand, unaware that this single seed would soon change the entire kingdom beneath the mountain’s skin.

  Author’s Note

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