Chương 83: Beneath the Mountain’s Gaze

James woke to darkness that wasn't the soft, familiar dark of a longhouse. This dark was heavier. It pressed in from every side, thick with stone and old air, and it carried a faint metallic tang that clung to the back of his throat when he breathed. A single torch burned somewhere nearby, its flame low and stubborn, throwing long shadows across walls that were too straight to be natural and too clean to be a cave. For a long moment he lay still, blinking blearily, trying to remember how he'd gotten here.

His body answered before his mind did. Pain lived in him like an unwanted tenant. It had settled in deep, spreading from his ribs into his spine, from his shoulder down his arm, from his hips into his thighs. It throbbed in slow pulses, the kind that crept in once the adrenaline burned off and left everything exposed. His body finally had its say, tired and offended, as if asking what in Vaelrin's name he had done to it. He swallowed, and even that made his core twinge. That was the stranger part. His core hurt.

He knew the feeling of running low on mana. He knew what it was like to force a weave too hard, or spend too long blueprinting without rest. This was… raw. As if someone had scraped him from the inside and left him exposed to the air. He tried to shift, to find a more comfortable position, and immediately regretted it. Whatever he was lying on was hard, ridged and unforgiving.

"A rock?" he murmured, voice rough as if he hadn't used it in days. He lifted his head an inch and saw the surface beneath him. Dirt would have made sense. Woven mats, even the smooth boards of the longhouse bunks, any of those. Stone. A slab of it, carved flat and arranged like a bed only by someone who thought comfort was an optional luxury for people who complained too much. Memory slammed into him in jagged flashes. The forest. The goblins. Horns calling from the south like the world itself was warning them.

Rogan's voice, calm as a mountain. Inna's knives, moving like silver teeth. The line buckling. The shamans in the back. His own hands shaking as he raised them, again, and again, and again... His heart lurched. My people. James jolted upright so fast the room tilted. Black spots swam across his vision. A wave of nausea rose in his throat, and his muscles protested in a collective, furious groan. A hand pressed against his shoulder, firm and gentle at the same time.

"Don't," a familiar voice said, tight with exhaustion and worry.

"Don't strain yourself." James blinked, forcing his vision to focus. Irla was there, close enough that he could see the faint shimmer in her skin even in the weak torchlight. Her hair was loose and slightly tangled, her face pale with fatigue, and there were lines around her eyes that hadn't been there a season ago. She looked like someone who had been holding a wall up with her bare hands and had only now realized she had arms.

"What are you doing here?" he rasped. His gaze snapped around, searching for wooden beams, for woven reeds, for the familiar shape of the Healing Lodge.

"Where are we? This isn't… this isn't the longhouses." Irla's mouth twitched, almost a smile, but it was the kind of expression that came from relief fighting with irritation.

"You're awake," she said, as if that was the most important thing in the world. Then, softer, "Thank the Circle." James tried to inhale properly and found his ribs refused to expand without sending pain through his side. He remembered collapsing. He remembered Lumen's frantic light. He remembered the taste of blood and damp leaves. His eyes widened again and panic surged back, hot and immediate.

"The battle," he said, voice rising despite himself.

"The goblins..."

"Shh," Irla breathed, and for a second he heard the old Irla, the quiet woman who didn't like conflict, now sharpened by necessity into someone who would tell a chieftain to shut up if it kept a child alive.

"You'll wake him." James froze. Wake who? He followed her gaze, past her shoulder, and saw another shape in the dimness. Amabel was lying on a stone bed across the chamber, her back propped awkwardly against a folded cloak. Her face was drawn, hair damp with sweat, eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. In her arms she cradled a bundle. A small bundle. His mind stuttered, trying to fit the pieces together.

"What," James said, and it came out as a breathless whisper.

"What is going on?" He stared at the bundle like it might vanish if he blinked too hard.

"Amabel?" Amabel lifted her eyes, and the exhaustion there was so immense it bordered on comical. She looked like she'd been wrung out like wet cloth, then told to run another mile for good measure.

"You're not dead," she murmured in a hoarse voice, and there was something smug in it, like she'd personally refused to allow it. Irla snorted softly, then sat on the stone edge beside James. She braced him with one hand at his back, like she didn't trust him not to tip over again.

"First," Irla said, and there was a practiced firmness to her tone that reminded James painfully of Marla organizing half a village with a look.

"You have to hear this. We won." James stared at her. His brain tried to reject the words as impossible. They rang wrong against the image of goblins pouring out of the trees, against the feeling of his mana armor collapsing, against the moment he'd felt his soul tear when Hero's Benediction answered like a hungry thing.

"We…" he began, then stopped because his throat had gone tight.

"We won?" Irla nodded once, sharply, as if she was nailing the statement into place.

"We won," she repeated.

"We are alive. The goblins are not." He searched her face for deception out of habit, for the faint tells of someone softening the truth so a dying man would die calmer. Irla didn't have those tells. Irla had never had them. She was steady honesty incarnate, sometimes infuriatingly so. Relief hit him like a physical force. His shoulders sagged. His breath shuddered out of him, and he realized he'd been holding it like a man bracing for impact. He leaned back against the stone and let his eyes close for a heartbeat.

Then another thought slammed into him.

"By some miracle," Irla said, voice gentler now, "we had only one casualty." James's eyes opened again, dread sliding back in.

"Only one," he echoed, and the word tasted wrong. One was too many. One was a face. One was a name. Irla's gaze flicked to the bundle in Amabel's arms, then back.

"We lost one of the gnomes that arrived the other night," she said quietly.

"One of the adults. He fought like a lunatic." James's brow furrowed. His mind tried to replay the night in the Hearthweaver's Lodge. The bloodied faces. The children with hollow eyes. The way the gnome, Tinker-something? had held up those little wooden balls like they were the only thing in the world keeping him from collapsing.

"The gnomes," James whispered, confused.

"They… they were in the village. They stayed..."

"They didn't," Irla said, and there was an edge of exasperation now, as if she was angry at him for not already knowing.

"Not all of them. After you fell, things… changed." James swallowed. The motion tugged at his wounds again, and he winced. Irla watched him and made a sound that might have been sympathy if she wasn't Irla.

"Lie back a little," she ordered, pushing him gently down.

"You're stitched up, you're wrapped, and if you tear something open again I will personally drag you back into unconsciousness." James managed a faint, shaky smile.

"I'll try," he said, then glanced again at Amabel, still staring at the bundle like his mind couldn't accept it.

"Is that…?" Amabel's mouth quirked, a small proud thing.

"Yes," she whispered, and the pride in her voice was soft as wool and twice as warm.

"That's him." James stared. He felt lightheaded again, but this time it wasn't pain. It was the sheer absurdity of the universe.

"You came into battle," he said, voice low and disbelieving, "and then you…" Amabel's eyes narrowed a fraction.

"Don't," she warned softly.

"Not the lecture. Not from you." Irla barked a quiet laugh that sounded dangerously close to hysterical.

"He's going to be a warrior," Amabel murmured, adjusting the bundle with careful hands.

"He came screaming into the world like he was already angry at goblins." James looked down at his own hands, at the faint tremor still in them, at the bruising along his knuckles.

"I am surrounded by heroes," he said, and it came out more heartfelt than he intended. Irla scoffed, but there was affection in it.

"Look who's talking," she muttered. James closed his eyes briefly, letting the words settle. The warmth of relief mixed with the heaviness of grief, with the raw ache in his core, with the strange sense of being stretched between too many responsibilities.

"Tell me," he said, forcing himself back into the role that didn't allow collapse.

"Tell me what happened." Irla's expression shifted, becoming focused and careful, like she was about to describe a surgery.

"You collapsed," she began.

"After you… after you did that thing again. The golden thread. The second hero." James flinched at the memory of Hero's Benediction answering like teeth.

"You went down," Irla continued, voice tightening.

"I hadn't arrived yet, so I didn't see you. When I did, I started casting Pulse of Renewal across the line and trying to keep people from bleeding out. I didn't realize how bad it was until..."

"Until Havlik," Amabel whispered, eyes still on her baby. Irla nodded.

"Havlik," she said, and the way she said the name carried something like quiet respect.

"He did something reckless and stupid and brave. He fought through a pile of goblins like a man possessed and dragged you back." James pictured Havlik's wide eyes, his clumsy earnestness, the way the young man had once looked at a spear like it might bite him. His chest tightened.

"I… remember a cocoon," James murmured.

"Green-blue. Lumen..." Irla's gaze flicked upward instinctively, and James followed it. Lumen hovered near the ceiling of the chamber like a tired star. His light was dimmer than he had ever seen it, pulsing unevenly, as if he was still recovering from something. He drifted closer when James looked at him, the familiar's glow strengthening a fraction, like a dog lifting its head when its owner speaks.

"You weren't protected by your armor anymore," Irla said.

"It was gone. You had… no weave. No plates. Just blood. And Lumen, Lumen did something I don't fully understand." Lumen pulsed once, softly, as if offended.

"It wrapped you," Irla continued.

"Not fully, but enough to keep you from dying in the mud while we fought." James swallowed hard.

"I owe him," he whispered.

"You owe Havlik too," Irla corrected immediately.

"You owe Maude. You owe Faelor and Lyrien for carving a path. You owe every person who stood around you and decided your life mattered more than their fear." She exhaled and rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand.

"And then," she said, "while Rogan was still blazing and Inna was still… whatever Inna was, the forest decided to throw more problems at us." This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. James frowned.

"The village," he said slowly.

"The village was attacked." Irla's eyes narrowed.

"A pack of mana wolves," she said, like she was still angry at the concept.

"Not normal beasts. Not even normal mana beasts. They were huge. Horse-sized. They came for the village walls like they could smell the way the forest had shifted around you." James's core twinged again, as if in guilty acknowledgment.

"I left Kerrin," he murmured.

"I left Finni and Wicksnap and… Amabel." Amabel lifted her chin, stubborn even with exhaustion dragging at her.

"We held," she said quietly.

"From the walls. We didn't meet them head on. The walls kept them out." Irla nodded.

"Kerrin took command," she said.

"Wicksnap actually listened for once in his life. Finni… Finni did something strange, but we didn't have time to worry about it in the middle of wolves trying to climb a palisade." James's mind caught on that, but Irla kept going, and he sensed she was trying to give him the full picture before he latched onto one thread and started pulling.

"Amabel felt it," Irla said, nodding toward her.

"Through the echoes. Through the choir. She felt… pain. Distant pain. Like a song going out of tune." Amabel's hand tightened around the bundle for a heartbeat, protectively.

"I heard them," she whispered.

"Benalor. Erik. The way their voices kept trying to hold the harmony while goblins screamed over it. It was… wrong. Like someone stepping on a lullaby." Irla's voice softened slightly.

"She forced herself to fight," Irla said.

"Pregnant and terrified and shaking so hard I thought she'd collapse, and still she cast her spells from the wall. Still she held. Still she listened." James looked at Amabel, at the woman who had once been a quiet washerwoman with grief in her eyes, and saw something else now. A core of iron.

"And then," Irla continued, "when the wolves were dead and we had a moment to breathe, she used the crystal bell." James's brow furrowed.

"The bell?" Amabel's tired smile returned, faint but proud.

"The Crystal Bell of Harmonies," she murmured.

"It… finds echoes. Finds people who can sing the world. I thought we could use some help." Irla nodded.

"Among the gnomes," she said.

"Three of them answered. They didn't know what it meant, but they hummed back like it was instinct. Like they'd been waiting their whole lives to find a note that fit." James's throat tightened again. The gnomes had come to them bloodied and broken, carrying grief like a second skin, and now they were part of Heartroot's magic. Part of his burden. Irla leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

"After that," she said, "they made a choice." James's pulse quickened.

"They came."

"They came," Irla confirmed.

"Not just the gnomes. Not just the warriors left behind. Everyone who could hold a weapon came." James's mind flashed to the image he hadn't seen, only felt: the sudden surge in the air, the way the forest had seemed to shiver, the faint sense of his domain pulling like a tide.

"Marla stayed," Irla said.

"With the children. With the elders. Someone had to. She didn't want to, but she did it anyway." James closed his eyes briefly, feeling a rush of gratitude so sharp it hurt.

"And we arrived," Irla continued, "just in time to end it. The battle turned into a slaughter, and not because goblins suddenly got weaker. Because Heartroot stopped being thirty warriors in the woods and became… a people. In the woods. Several warriors got a new profession... Wardens of the Heartroot." James exhaled slowly.

"We won," he whispered again, like saying it twice would make it real. Irla nodded.

"And you," she added, her voice quiet now, "were dying." James's eyes snapped open. Irla held his gaze without flinching.

"You were stabbed," she said.

"Multiple times. Deep. You lost too much blood. Your core was… frayed. If we had stayed in the forest, you would have bled out before dawn." James swallowed, forcing himself to listen.

"So we moved," Irla said.

"We carried you. Havlik did most of it until his legs gave out. Then Kerrin took you. Then Drogrun and his crew helped. Then…" She sighed, and her expression turned complicated.

"The dwarves appeared," Irla said.

"Not Drogrun's small crew. Others. From the mountain." James's mind flashed to Bren's report. The hidden settlement. The blocked entrances. The signs of digging.

"You found them," James murmured.

"Or they found you."

"They found us," Irla corrected.

"And they were not happy." Amabel made a soft sound that might have been amusement if she didn't look so exhausted.

"They were furious," she muttered.

"Like we had personally kicked over their forge." Irla pinched the bridge of her nose.

"They said we brought the goblins to their doorstep," Irla said.

"They said we exposed their tunnels. They said we were loud, reckless, stupid surface folk." James could very easily picture Selathi's face at that. Irla's mouth tightened as if reading his thoughts.

"Selathi almost punched their leader," she admitted.

"Kerrin had to be restrained before he started a new war with wounded people and villagers who didn't know which end of a sword was polite." James groaned softly, and pain flared in his side again.

"Of course," he muttered. Irla's gaze softened for a heartbeat.

"I was too busy trying to keep you alive," she said quietly.

"With Marla back in the village, and me… occupied, you can imagine diplomacy was not our strongest skill in that moment. Thankfully Amabel was there to break the tension." Amabel snorted.

"I didn't break the tension," she said dryly. Irla shot her a look.

"My water broke the tension," Amabel corrected with weary satisfaction.

"You should have seen the dwarf leader's face. He went from 'I will toss you out' to 'please don't have a baby in my tunnel' in half a breath." James stared at her, then at the bundle, then back at Irla. The absurdity returned with force.

"So," James said slowly, "they let us in… because you..." Amabel lifted the bundle slightly as if presenting proof.

"Yes," she murmured.

"You're welcome." Irla shook her head, but there was fondness in it.

"They gave us this chamber," she said.

"They were not… welcoming, but they weren't cruel either. They didn't let the rest of the villagers deeper inside the mountain. They let Havlik stand outside the door, and that was the extent of their generosity." James's jaw tightened.

"They didn't let my people in," he repeated, feeling heat rise in him.

"They didn't want you in either," Irla said bluntly.

"They only listened when we told them you were the lord of Heartroot and you were dying on their doorstep." James flinched at the title. Lord. The word still felt too large, too heavy, too close to the kind of responsibility that crushed men. And yet… He could feel the Heartroot tree in the back of his mind, golden and steady. He could feel the Wellspring's cool pulse in the earth. They were distant, but the connection was there like a hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Protective presences.

As if the village itself had decided he didn't get to leave yet. He inhaled carefully and reached inward, testing his core. Mana answered. Not full or abundant, but there. Rough around the edges, like a river after a storm, but flowing. Half full already. He should not have been half full. Not after what he'd done. The Heartroot and the Wellspring touched his awareness like two different kinds of warmth: one like sunlight through leaves, one like cool water on a fevered brow. We are here, they seemed to say.

You are ours. James's throat went tight, but he forced himself to stay grounded. He blinked, and the faint glow of his interface flickered at the edge of his vision like a shy thing. He didn't want to look yet. He did anyway. Notifications hovered there, stacked and quiet, as if waiting politely for him to stop bleeding. He forced his focus. Level Up! Level Up! His eyes widened. He'd gained two levels. The number beside his name ticked upward in his mind like a clock turning. Thirty-seven.

He swallowed, then immediately allocated the points with the practical desperation of a man who had learned the hard way that being alive mattered more than being clever. Five points into Vitality. Five into Strength. He felt the shift not as immediate power, but as a subtle firming, like a foundation being reinforced while the house still shook. More notifications shimmered into view. Heartroot Army Formed A new force has taken its first breath beneath your banner.

To access army progression: Upgrade the Ironbark Yard. James's stomach twisted with a mix of pride and dread. They had an army. They were still building bathhouses and compost pits and arguing over who got the last skyquill egg, and now they had an army. More text unfurled, delicate as thread. Settlement Identity Stabilized Your people have survived a threat that would have unmade a lesser hearth. Trait Gained: [Stalwart] All villagers gain +20% Resistance to Fear Effects. James exhaled slowly.

He remembered the way some of them had once flinched at shadows. The way the forest had felt like a predator. The way fear had been a constant companion. Now the village had teeth. Another notification followed, crisp and matter-of-fact. To unlock additional settlement traits: Construct a Town Hall. And beneath it, like a seed dropped into his hands: Blueprint Unlocked: Civic Keep James stared at the words, the weight of them settling into his bones. A keep. A town hall.

Something more than a tribe or a camp, more than a clearing gathered around a hearth fire. A place with walls and legacy and… permanence.

"So much to do," James murmured, voice rough.

"So little time…" Finally, James looked at his character sheet. Character Sheet – James Wright Race: Human (Outworlder) Class: Mana Architect (Lv. 37) Profession: Lord of Heartroot Village Titles: Summoned Savior, Strainwoven Familiar: Lumen (Bound) Attributes: Strength – 23 Dexterity – 22 Perception – 12 Willpower – 41 Intelligence – 40 Vitality – 40 Charisma – 50 General Skills: Mana Construct (Lv 12) Form simple shapes and objects from pure mana. Quality depends on control.

Mana Resonance (Lv 18) Sense mana-rich areas, spiritual cores, and structural weaknesses. Timbercraft (Lv. 8) Your hands remember what your mind learns. Aether Armament (Lv 21) You can condense your mana into simple weapons and light, temporary armor. Quality scales with Willpower, Intelligence, and Mana Construct level. Increased mana efficiency when forming repeated shapes. Arcane Runecraft (Lv. 7) Create, modify, and stabilize arcane runes that enhance structures, tools, and mana constructs.

Requires time, materials, and careful planning. Class Skills: Blueprint Weaving (Unique): Draft mana blueprints for buildings. Architect's Rhythm: Construction time reduced by 10%. Mana Threadweave (Passive): You can subtly reinforce blueprints with extra mana strands. • Structures gain +5% durability • Ropes and lashings wear down slower • Slightly increased chance that buildings awaken passive effects Architect's Imprint (Active): Upon structure completion, choose 1 of 3 potential traits for the building.

Architect's Trance – Unique: you and anyone helping enter a deep construction trance: Movements become efficient. Mistakes vanish. Time perception distorts. Experience gain massively increased. The building itself may imprint power: Blessings Special effects. Legacy traits. Each unique building manifests a powerful magical effect. Triggered when you work on a unique blueprint.

Profession Skills: Hearth's Blessing You may bless a chosen villager, revealing their affinities and their path in life May be invoked twice per day Hero's Benediction You may bless a chosen villager, elevating them toward the path of a Hero.

Doubles attribute points while the blessing is active Awakens dormant potential and hidden affinities Grants +10% resistance to fear and domination effects Greatly increases likelihood of evolving into rare or heroic classes Can only be used when life-and-death necessity is met Costs 50% of your full mana pool upon activation May be invoked twice per seven-day cycle Beacon of Refuge – Passive As Chieftain of a recognized settlement, your presence and your village resonate through the mana threads of the land.

Those in need of shelter, safety, or a place to belong will feel a subtle pull toward your home. Refuge-seekers within a wide radius are drawn to your village over time. Fatebound Essence (Passive) As a figure woven into mana and place, subtle fortune bends around you. Allies within your influence find better timing, steadier footing, and sharper moments. Enemies suffer small misfortunes: slips, stumbles, mistimed strikes. This effect is constant. It cannot be forced. It can only be carried.

Irla watched him closely, head tilting.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, cautious.

"You're doing that thing again. That faraway stare. Are you looking at your notifications?" James hesitated, then glanced at her.

"I'll explain," he said quietly.

"Just… not right now." Irla's eyebrows rose. Irla looked like she wanted to ask a hundred questions and also like she wanted to shake him until answers fell out. Before she could do either, a knock echoed against the stone door of the chamber. Heavy and deliberate. James's muscles tensed automatically. Then the door creaked open a crack, and Havlik's face appeared in the gap. The young man looked like he'd been dragged through the forest backward.

There was dried blood in his hair, bruising along his jaw, and a kind of exhausted relief on his face that made James's chest tighten.

"My lord," Havlik whispered, and the title coming from him sounded less like politics and more like prayer.

"You're awake."

"I am," James said, voice gentler than he expected.

"And from what I heard, you played a big role in that. Thank you, Havlik." Havlik's ears turned slightly pink. He dipped his head awkwardly.

"I… I just did what..." He stopped, swallowed, and tried again.

"The dwarves keep demanding to know if you're awake. They want to talk to you." Irla's expression sharpened instantly.

"No," she said, flat and fierce. James placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension there.

"Irla," he said softly, "I'm okay."

"You are not okay," she snapped, then immediately looked guilty because she wasn't used to snapping at him like that.

"James, you nearly died. Your core..."

"I know," he said, and his voice was steady.

"Truly. I still feel… raw, for lack of a better word. But the tree and the wellspring are lending me their strength." Irla frowned, gaze searching his.

"The tree," she repeated, as if trying to decide whether she should be worried or impressed. James nodded again.

"I'll explain later," he promised.

"Right now… if the dwarves want to talk, we should talk. We need them. We need this place. We need to know what's going on." Irla's jaw clenched. She looked like she wanted to argue, then looked at Amabel and the baby, then back at James, and something in her softened.

"Fine," she said tightly.

"But if you sway and fall over, I will drag you back in here and let the dwarves shout at a rock instead." James managed a small smile.

"Fair," he murmured. He swung his legs off the stone slab and stood. His body protested immediately. Weakness surged through him, and for a heartbeat he thought Irla might be right and he might simply collapse. Then the Heartroot's warmth brushed his awareness again, steadying him, and the Wellspring's cool pulse soothed the raw ache in his core like water over a burn. He could do this. He followed Havlik out, Irla nodded her goodbye with a worried expression.

The corridor beyond the chamber opened into something vast. James stopped, breath catching despite himself. The mountain had been hollowed out into a space that felt less like a cave and more like a city carved from stone. The ceiling arched high above, supported by pillars that were not placed so much as grown from the rock, their surfaces carved with angular dwarven motifs that caught the torchlight and threw it back in sharp patterns.

Tiered platforms rose in steps along the walls, like amphitheater seating built for a people who liked watching arguments as much as they liked watching anvils. And everywhere, everywhere, was stoneheart. It ran through the rock in faintly glittering veins, more than the small pieces Bren had shown them. More than rough fragments pulled from the ground. Here it stretched in long lines, like the mountain held its own veins of light, frozen in place.

Stone and crystal fused together, a dim glow shifting beneath the surface. The air felt different around it, heavier, carrying the weight of something old. James's mind raced. This. This is what we need. He remembered Merrit's practical voice, telling him the deposit near the river was getting short. He remembered how quickly their needs were growing. How fast buildings ate resources when a village stopped being a camp and started being a home.

He stared at the stoneheart, and the hunger that rose in him felt almost frightening in how necessary it was. Havlik shivered beside him.

"There is something wrong with them," he whispered, voice barely audible over the low murmur filling the chamber. James's gaze shifted from the stone to the dwarves. There were dozens. Nearly fifty, scattered across the tiers and the floor, moving restlessly, talking in low, sharp voices. They wore utilitarian clothes, leather and cloth, with bits of metal at belts and wrists. Many carried tools rather than weapons, though James noticed enough axes and hammers to remind him dwarves didn't need swords to kill you.

They looked wrong. Drogrun and his crew had been sturdy, broad, solid like river stones. These dwarves were thinner. Not the thinness of hunger, exactly. They were not skeletal, but their cheeks were hollowed slightly, their eyes too bright and their skin carrying a faint dullness that made James think of ash. It was like they were missing something vital, something that wasn't food. They looked… sick. Lumen hovered closer to James's shoulder, light flickering uneasily.

"James," Lumen murmured, his voice strained, as though the single word cost him something.

"These aren't common dwarves. They are..." His words cut off as a voice rang out from the highest tier. The sound was sharp and commanding, carrying easily through the chamber without needing to shout. James lifted his head. Two figures stood at the top tier, framed by torchlight and stoneheart gleam. A man and a woman. The man's posture was rigid with authority, shoulders squared as if he'd spent his whole life carrying responsibility like armor.

The woman beside him stood slightly behind and to the side, eyes narrow and assessing, hands folded as if ready to move at a moment's notice. The man's gaze locked onto James like a hammer finding a nail. The chamber quieted, dwarven voices fading into tense silence. James felt Havlik shift behind him, instinctively putting his body between James and the crowd. James drew a careful breath, forcing calm into his bones. Diplomacy, he thought grimly. This was just another kind of blueprint.

Another structure he had to build before the world collapsed. The man's voice came again, heavy with accusation and something like fear buried under anger.

"So you are the reason our kingdom has been exposed."