The return to his cell was accompanied by a profound sense of weariness that went beyond physical exhaustion. Lunrik had succeeded in persuading Eryndor to cooperate, framing it as the best way to keep the dangerous knowledge of the Whispering Ice Pass out of Magdra Ashgrim's hands. It felt like the least manipulative path, the most ethical choice under the circumstances, yet the victory tasted like ashes. He had still used Eryndor's fear, leveraged their shared cursed lineage, and ultimately delivered potentially crucial intelligence into the hands of the dwarves, whose long-term motives remained opaque. Thrain might claim they only sought to secure their borders, but power, Lunrik knew from Alaric's memories, corrupts ambition. Knowledge of a secret pass, even one guarded by ancient warnings and 'watchers', could prove too tempting for future generations of dwarves, or even for Thrain himself if circumstances changed.
He found Kaelith waiting in the shared cell, her relief at his safe return palpable, quickly followed by searching questions in her eyes. The wardens, perhaps under new orders reflecting their slightly improved status, had allowed her to remain rather than returning Lunrik to solitary confinement immediately.
"What happened?" she asked quietly as the door hissed shut, giving them privacy once more. "Thrain summoned you about Banehallow history?"
Lunrik sank onto his slab, rubbing his face tiredly. He recounted the conversation with Thrain – the probing questions about Alaric's potential interest in the Peaks or advanced technology, the High Loremaster's hints about intercepted communications before Alaric's fall, the strategic 'divergence of paths' that sent Kaelith on her mission while keeping him under supervision.
Kaelith listened intently, her brow furrowed. "Intercepted communications? External consultations? That doesn't sound like the Alaric you remember."
"No," Lunrik admitted. "Alaric was arrogant, focused on consolidating his own power within Lykandra. He dismissed external threats and dwarven legends." He hesitated. "Unless… unless Thrain was right? Perhaps someone else in Alaric's court was pursuing these things? Malakor Silverhowl comes to mind. Ambitious, cunning, skilled in arts beyond standard enchanting…" He thought of Velryn, her manipulation, her father's influence. Could Malakor have been playing a deeper game even then, operating under Alaric's nose? The possibility was deeply unsettling.
He then described the summons to the Vault Sector, the brief reunion with Kaelith, and the task assigned to him: persuading Eryndor. He explained the difficult conversation, Eryndor's terror, the fragments of lore about the pass being tied to Banehallow blood and guarded by 'watchers', and Eryndor's eventual, reluctant agreement to cooperate with the Loremasters.
Kaelith listened, her expression growing increasingly troubled. "Banehallow blood?" she repeated slowly. "Grandmother's warnings… Watchers?" She shook her head. "Faelan taught me much about the mountains, the spirits, the ancient ways… but never anything quite like that connected to a specific pass. Frostmane lore must run deeper, stranger in these peaks." She looked at Lunrik, concern etched on her face. "You convinced him to talk, Lunrik. But what have we truly unleashed?"
"I don't know," Lunrik admitted honestly. "It felt like the only way to protect him from Magdra, maybe even from harsher dwarven methods. I framed it as securing the pass, keeping it sealed."
"And perhaps Thrain intends just that," Kaelith allowed. "But knowledge, once spoken, cannot be easily contained. Especially knowledge dwarves believe pertains to their ancient history and security." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "My own journey… it was strange. The lower levels Thrain sent us through… they felt… different. Older than the Cog City sections. Filled with dormant machinery, faded runes, pathways that seemed to hum with forgotten power. The Vault itself… it felt like a place holding back immense forces, not just storing knowledge."
"Did you encounter any problems?" Lunrik asked, worried. "Ancient defenses? Guardians?"
"No active defenses," Kaelith reassured him. "The dwarven escort knew the precise path, bypassing trigger points. But the feeling of the place… heavy. Watchful. Like the mountain itself remembers things the dwarves have tried to forget." She shivered slightly. "Eryndor felt it too. He grew more terrified the deeper we went. By the time we reached the transfer point, he was barely coherent."
Their conversation painted a disturbing picture. Ancient dwarven secrets, forgotten technologies, passes tied to cursed bloodlines and unknown watchers, Magdra Ashgrim clawing at the gates, technologically advanced hunters potentially linked to exiled dwarven factions or overseas empires… They were caught in a confluence of immense, ancient, and dangerous forces, deep beneath a hostile mountain.
"So, what now?" Lunrik asked wearily. "We wait? Gyra continues her tests? Borin monitors the Ashfang? Thrain... assesses Eryndor?"
"We wait," Kaelith confirmed. "We rest. We regain strength. We learn what we can." Her gaze was steady, resolute. "And we remain ready. Because whatever game the dwarves are playing, whatever Magdra plans, whatever the hunters seek… it feels like it's all converging here. In these mountains. Beneath this glacier."
They fell silent again, the weight of the knowledge they now possessed settling upon them. Lunrik felt the burden acutely. Persuading Eryndor had potentially provided the dwarves with crucial intelligence against Magdra, fulfilling his side of the bargain. But it had also confirmed the pass's existence and its link to his own bloodline, possibly making him, and Eryndor, even more valuable – or dangerous – in the dwarves' eyes. And what about the 'watchers' Eryndor mentioned? Were they myths? Dormant automatons like the one they fought? Or something else entirely?
He thought back to Borin's speculation about the hunters potentially seeking to eradicate the Banehallow line. If the pass was tied to Banehallow blood, and guarded by 'watchers', could the hunters be seeking the pass not for entry, but to trigger or weaponize whatever defenses lay within against the cursed lineage? The theory was wild, yet disturbingly plausible given the resonance antagonism Gyra had discovered.
Just as Lunrik was sinking deeper into these dark thoughts, the cell door hissed open one more time. It was the young loremaster apprentice again. He looked flustered, carrying a data slate that seemed to almost tremble in his hands.
"Surface-Gamma-Three," the apprentice addressed Lunrik, his voice higher pitched than before, tinged with excitement or perhaps alarm. "High Loremaster Thrain requires your immediate presence. Back in the Chamber of Inquiry. Subject Gamma-One… Eryndor Frostmane… during preliminary assessment under mild calming tonics… he revealed something unexpected. Something… significant."
Lunrik exchanged an uneasy glance with Kaelith. What had Eryndor revealed? Had the 'gentle techniques' already broken him?
"What is it?" Lunrik asked, rising slowly.
The apprentice hesitated, glancing nervously down the corridor before leaning closer. "He spoke not just of landmarks for the Whispering Ice Pass," he whispered, his eyes wide. "He spoke of… a key. Not a physical key, but a catalyst. Required to safely navigate the pass, or perhaps appease the watchers he fears. He claims the catalyst is… active Banehallow blood."
Lunrik felt his blood run cold. Active Banehallow blood. Not just ancestral knowledge, but a living key. Eryndor believed Lunrik himself, or someone like him bearing the active Stigma, was necessary to traverse the pass safely.
"And," the apprentice continued, his voice dropping further, "he claims Magdra Ashgrim knows this. That her primary goal isn't just the location of the pass, but securing a living key to open it."
The final piece clicked into place with horrifying clarity. Magdra hadn't just been hunting Eryndor for his knowledge; she had likely been hunting any accessible marked heir to use as a sacrificial key. Alaric, Velryn, Eryndor, Sylvra... any of them would do. And now, Lunrik, the Banehallow-marked omega, was potentially the only 'key' within her reach, currently residing deep within a dwarven mountain she was actively probing.
The weight of knowledge became suddenly, terrifyingly personal. His blood, his curse, was not just a target for hunters, but a necessary component for Magdra's ambitions. The dwarves now knew this too. His value, and his danger, had just increased exponentially. He followed the apprentice towards the Chamber of Inquiry, dread coiling like a frozen serpent in his gut.