----Page 11----
Elaina's voice pierced through the smoke-filled air like a whip.
"What in the blazes was that?!"
The innkeeper stormed into the alley, face smudged with soot, red hair frizzed from the sudden heat.
Her eyes darted between the glowing runes, the scorched stones, and Rynveil, the imposing man standing before the forge hammer in hand.
"I saw it all from my window! A giant forge just appeared in my backyard! What have you done to my inn?!"
Rynveil looked up mid-hammer swing, unimpressed.
"You call this an inn? Looks more like a wooden tinderbox. Be glad I didn't melt the roof."
Elaina's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?!"
Lysera quickly stepped forward, holding up her hands. "Apologies, ma'am. The forge was… temporary."
"Temporary?!"
Nivara's calm voice slipped in like a cooling breeze. "Yes, it fades once the summoning completes. No harm done."
The older woman blinked at the now-empty space where molten light had once burned. Only faint scorch marks remained. Her expression softened slightly.
"…Well, it better not happen again. Last thing I need is my walls turning into charcoal."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Rynveil muttered, wiping soot from his arms.
Lysera elbowed him sharply. "Quiet."
The innkeeper huffed and pointed toward the door. "If you're staying, pay up front. And no more explosions!"
As she stomped away, Rynveil smirked. "Fiery one. I like her."
Lysera pinched the bridge of her nose. "You would."
We moved inside before Elaina could change her mind about letting us stay. The inn creaked under our boots, the wooden floors groaning, the scent of ale and soot hanging in the air.
Rynveil claimed a chair by the window, crossing his arms behind his head. "Not bad. Bit drafty, but I've slept in worse caves."
Nivara quirked a brow. "Considering your last home was an active volcano, I'm not surprised."
"Volcano had better ventilation."
Lysera sighed, muttering, "Please… just one evening without a headache."
Right on cue, the front door creaked open. Arin and Seraphine entered, arms full of supplies, Tauren perched irritably on a sack of dried grain.
Arin froze at the sight of the unfamiliar man sitting casually near the table, hammer resting against his shoulder. "Uh… who's the walking mountain with a bad attitude?"
Rynveil didn't even glance up. "Who's the noisy twig?"
Arin blinked. "Twig?! You wanna go, old man?"
Lysera groaned. "Arin, meet Rynveil. Rynveil, Arin. For the love of mana, don't break anything."
Rynveil finally looked at Arin and smirked. "He's got fire. Annoying kind, but I like it."
Arin grinned back. "You drink?"
"Only if it's strong enough to kill regrets."
"Perfect. Two mugs coming right up."
Lysera facepalmed while Nivara quietly chuckled. "They're going to be insufferable."
Before long, Rynveil and Arin were laughing like old comrades, mugs clinking, half of the tavern watching the odd pair swap battle and forge tales like long-lost brothers.
By the time the laughter faded, Arin's tone turned more serious. "Jokes aside, there's something off about this town," he said, lowering his voice. "I've been asking around while buying supplies. The locals are terrified."
I leaned forward. "Terrified of what?"
Seraphine exchanged a grim look with me. "The Khel Mines. There's talk of miners vanishing. People say the tunnels glow at night. Some think it's another mana disturbance like the spring."
Nivara's eyes sharpened. "An Ancient Mana Deposit?"
"Exactly," Arin replied. "Rumor says there's something buried deep a power sealed long ago, guarded by some kind of creature. The villagers call it The Phantasmal Guardian."
Rynveil's smirk faded slightly. "Guardian, huh?"
Seraphine nodded. "And that's not all. Someone spotted cloaked figures near the mine. The Tyrant's Hand might already be there."
The table fell silent. The sound of the crackling hearth filled the pause.
I clenched my fists. "Then we can't ignore it."
Lysera met my eyes. "We'll move at dawn."
Nivara placed her hand over the Codex, its runes humming faintly in agreement. "So it begins again."
That night, silence settled over the inn. The streets outside had long gone dark, and faint rain tapped the windows.
I stirred awake, unable to sleep. My thoughts swirled the mines, the guardian, the looming shadow of the Tyrant's Hand.
When I glanced toward the window, I saw Rynveil sitting there, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the night sky.
"Can't sleep, kid?" Rynveil asked, not turning around.
I shook my head slightly. "Sort of."
Rynveil leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "If you're thinking about the Khel Mines, don't bother. Won't help you rest."
I frowned. "You think the rumors are true?"
"Oh, they're true," Rynveil said, his tone oddly calm. "If my instinct's right, the guardian under those mines is Mog."
I blinked. "Mog?"
Rynveil nodded, resting his hammer across his lap. "Phantasmal Golem. Big lump of enchanted stone. Thick-headed but loyal. That idiot once guarded the old forges back in the Age of Flame." He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Back when the dragons still sang to the mountains, and the Runeforge was more than just a legend."
I tilted my head. "You… know him?"
A faint grin tugged at Rynveil's lips. "Yeah. Fought beside him once. He was all rock and no sense, but he kept the forge burning when the world tried to snuff it out."
Rynveil leaned back further, arms folded behind his head, eyes half-closed. "That pile of stone… glad he's still alive."
For a long moment, only the sound of rain filled the room.
I looked out the window, the reflection of the dim moon glinting off my reforged blade. "Then tomorrow… we see if he still remembers his friends."
Rynveil smirked, eyes still shut. "He better. Otherwise, I'll have to knock some memory into him."
I smiled faintly. "You really don't change, do you?"
"Change?" Rynveil muttered lazily. "Not my thing. Sleep's better."
Within moments, the blacksmith's breathing evened out calm, steady. I stayed awake a little longer, watching the faint shimmer of the forge's magic still clinging to the blade.
The night was quiet…
But beyond Thalorein's borders, deep beneath the Khel Mines, something ancient stirred the echo of stone shifting against stone.
A pair of eyes, blue as molten mana, opened in the dark.
The wagon creaked as we approached the gate of Thalorein. Morning sunlight glinted off the worn wooden structure, highlighting the patches of moss and rot that clung to the aging wood. As we drew closer, Libert, one of the guards, spotted us, and a weary smile touched his lips. His hand instinctively moved to the Codex symbol stitched onto his worn leather pauldron.
"Kinon. Lysera. Arin," he said, his voice a mix of relief and cautious optimism. "Welcome back to Thalorein." There wasn't a crowd or a celebration, but his greeting carried the weight of a town's hopes. "Heard you made it through Seralyn Pass. That's… good news. We haven't had much of that lately." His eyes held a depth of loyalty that went beyond a simple greeting a silent promise of unwavering support.
The gate groaned open with a drawn-out creak that seemed to echo the town's own weariness. Inside, Thalorein felt… quieter than I remembered. The familiar cobblestone streets were mostly empty, and the few townsfolk we passed offered nods that were more subdued than celebratory. The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and something else… a faint undercurrent of resignation. The buildings sagged, the signs were faded, and the overall impression was one of a town slowly giving up. But there were also small signs of resilience: a newly patched roof, a freshly painted window box, a child's laughter echoing in the distance. It was a town clinging to life, a town that had been knocked down but wasn't quite out.
"This place…" Rynveil murmured, scanning the streets. "Feels like it's holding its breath."
Lysera nodded, her gaze sweeping over the town with a practiced eye. "It's been harder since the Tyrant's Hand tightened its grip. They're squeezing the life out of this place."
Rynveil stretched, cracking his neck. "Well, we're here to squeeze back."
We stopped in front of a large, two-story building near the square. The wood was darkened by age, the sign hanging crooked above the door barely legible Thalorein Adventurer's Guild. It was here, years ago, that Lysera, Arin, and I had first signed our names in the Codex of Binding, eager to make a difference. It was here we had received the Tauranus quest, the quest that had defined us and nearly broken us.
The moment I stepped inside, the air hit me old parchment, dust, and faint traces of oil from worn weapon racks. I knew this place like the back of my hand, every creak of the floorboards, every shadow cast by the dim light filtering through cracked windows. The well-worn map of the region still hung crookedly on the wall, a testament to countless journeys taken and quests completed… and failed.
At the reception desk, Follie looked up, her expression a mix of disbelief and overwhelming relief. Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth.
"Kinon? Lysera? Arin?" she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You're… you're back." Tears welled up in her eyes, and a few spilled down her cheeks. "I… I never should have let you take that quest. It was too dangerous. I was so worried…" She choked back a sob, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Oh, thank the gods. You're safe." Her smile was shaky but genuine, a beacon of warmth in the otherwise dreary room. "Welcome home. Really welcome home."
Her voice was cheerful despite the exhaustion in her eyes. A nameplate read Follie.
Lysera stepped forward. "We're here to file quest completion from Seralyn Pass request clearance and bounty verification."
Follie nodded quickly, fumbling for papers, her hands trembling slightly. "Of course. Let me just…" Her eyes widened as she took a closer look at us. "You actually took down the beast in Seralyn Pass? I heard it was nasty."
Then her gaze shot up to Rynveil.
Her expression went pale.
"R-Rynveil…" She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "The Runeforge Master?!"
Rynveil raised a brow lazily. "Yeah, that's me. Try not to break anything."
Follie's eyes widened, but she managed a shaky smile. "I-I've read about you in the archives! The guild keeps records of… well, everything." She fumbled through a drawer and pulled out an old, nearly crumbling tome. "They mention you as a divine blacksmith from the Age of Flame! Some even said you were a god of runes and forge"
Rynveil grunted. "Tch. People talk too much."
Arin leaned on the counter, smirking. "So you're telling me this guy's basically a living legend? Guess that explains the ego."
Rynveil shot him a look. "Careful, twig. I forge blades sharper than your wit."
Tauren laughed. "And yet, both could probably cut something important."
Then, her eyes landed on Tauren, a look of surprise spreading across her face. "Wait a minute… is that… is that your familiar?"
I, caught off guard, hesitated. "Eh… uhmm…"
Before I could answer, Arin blurted out, "He's Tauranus!"
Follie's eyes widened to an impossible degree, and she let out a high-pitched shriek. "Eh… ehhhhhhhh!"
The sound echoed through the guild hall, and a moment later, heavy footsteps thudded on the stairs.
Ruscious, looking disheveled and half-awake, appeared at the top of the staircase, rubbing his eyes. "What in the blazes is all the noise, Follie?" he grumbled, his voice rough with sleep.
Follie, still wide-eyed, pointed a trembling finger at Tauren. "T-That's… that's Tauranus!"
Ruscious blinked, his gaze shifting to Tauren. He stared for a long moment, his expression slowly morphing from annoyance to disbelief. "Tauranus?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "But… that's impossible."
Libert, who had been standing quietly near the door, stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Tauranus? The magic-eater? The behemoth from the Scar of Varnash?"
I stepped forward, my expression serious. "It's a long story. But yes, this is Tauranus. And he's… different now."
Ruscious shook his head, still trying to process the information. "Different? How can a creature like that be… different?"
Rynveil chuckled. "Let's just say the kid here has a way with the impossible."
Arin puffed out his chest. "Yeah, Kinon's got a knack for taming the untamable."
Follie, finally regaining some composure, took a deep breath. "Okay, okay. A magic-eating behemoth in our guild hall. Right. Just another Tuesday in Thalorein." She pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering to herself. "I really need a raise."
Ruscious, however, seemed to be taking the news surprisingly well. A thoughtful expression crossed his face, and he stroked his beard. "A magic-eater… that could actually be useful. Especially with what's happening in the Khel Mines."
Lysera raised an eyebrow. "You're not… concerned?"
Ruscious shrugged. "Concerned? Of course, I'm concerned. But I've learned to expect the unexpected in this line of work. And if this… Tauranus… can help us deal with the Tyrant's Hand, then I'm willing to consider it."
He turned his gaze back to me. "So, tell me. How did you manage to tame a creature that's supposed to be nothing but destruction?"
I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. "It's… complicated. But he's on our side now. And he's willing to help."
Tauren, who had been silent throughout the exchange, rumbled softly, his eyes glowing with a faint blue light.
Ruscious nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll take your word for it. For now." He paused, then a wry smile touched his lips. "But if he starts eating all the magic in the guild hall, you're paying for the damages."
Follie groaned. "Don't even joke about that."
The tension in the room eased slightly, but the underlying sense of unease remained. The revelation of Tauranus's true identity had added another layer of complexity to an already dangerous situation.
Ruscious cleared his throat, his expression turning serious once more. "Now, about the Khel Mines…"
He turned his gaze back to the group, his eyes filled with concern. "This is not a quest to be taken lightly. The Tyrant's Hand is involved, and something… unnatural… is happening down there. I wouldn't send anyone into those mines if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary."
He paused, then looked directly at me. "But I have a feeling… that you're the only ones who can do this. You've faced the impossible before. And you've come out on top."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Just… be careful. And come back alive."
Follie nodded in agreement, her eyes filled with worry. "Please. We can't afford to lose anyone else."
The weight of the quest settled heavily on my shoulders. I knew the risks were immense, but I also knew that I couldn't turn away. Not when the fate of Thalorein, and perhaps the entire region, hung in the balance.
I met Ruscious's gaze, my expression resolute. "We'll do everything we can."
And as we prepared to face the darkness that awaited us in the Khel Mines, we knew that we were not just fighting for ourselves, but for the hope of a town that had almost given up on dreaming.
----
Meanwhile, deep beneath Thalorein…
In the buried veins of the Khel Mines, the dark was not silent. Stone groaned softly, as if remembering the weight of centuries. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, settling over the remnants of broken tools and forgotten chains.
Something ancient shifted.
A tremor rolled through the hollow earth. Cracked runes along a massive wall flickered faintly then flared to life with blue light.
And in the blackness, two enormous eyes blinked open cold, blue, and pulsing with mana's glow.