Returning to the cold, silent metal cell felt different after the tense atmosphere of the Chamber of Inquiry. Before, it had been simply a prison, an unknown waiting period. Now, it felt like a holding pattern, a pause in a game whose rules Lunrik didn't fully understand, played on a dwarven board where he was merely a captured piece. The "conditional arrangement" offered by High Loremaster Thrain wasn't freedom, but it was a reprieve, a chance. Cooperation in exchange for sanctuary and potential action against mutual enemies. It was a dwarven bargain, likely full of caveats and clauses hidden beneath the surface, but it was infinitely better than the alternative.
He sank back onto the metal slab, the adrenaline from the interrogation fading, leaving him feeling drained but mentally sharp. Alaric's ghost, which had remained relatively quiet during the questioning, perhaps recognizing the need for careful diplomacy over ruthless calculation, now offered a rapid assessment: Acceptable short-term outcome. Leverage established: knowledge of external threats. Dwarven priorities identified: border security, technological assessment, Magdra containment. Key personnel: Thrain (political strategist), Borin (military/security), Gyra (technology/research). Risks: Full truth exposure, dwarven manipulation, unknown duration of confinement, separation from Kaelith.
Separation from Kaelith. That remained the sharpest point of anxiety. He trusted her resilience, her ability to handle herself even in dwarven confinement, but facing this alone felt deeply wrong. He needed her grounding presence, her practical skills, her unwavering loyalty. Would the dwarves allow them contact? Unlikely, at least initially. They would want to keep them separate, compare their stories, prevent collusion.
Eryndor was another concern. Thrain had made it clear they intended to "secure" the Frostmane's knowledge of passes. Would that involve coercion? Dwarven methods were likely efficient, perhaps ruthless. Lunrik felt a reluctant protectiveness towards the terrified heir, not just as a potential source of information, but as someone caught, like himself, in the merciless gears of the curse and the ambitions of others.
Time crawled again in the featureless cell. Lunrik tried to rest, conserving energy, but his mind wouldn't quiet. He replayed the interrogation, analyzing Thrain's subtle shifts in tone, Borin's gruff interjections, Gyra's piercing questions. He focused on the fragments of truth he had offered, ensuring consistency, preparing for follow-up inquiries. He practiced projecting the image of a hunted, curse-marked omega, burdened by ancestral memories but ultimately just trying to survive, deliberately downplaying the strategic mind and lethal instincts inherited from Alaric.
He also thought about the Cog City glimpsed from the lift. The sheer scale of it, the intricate complexity, the power humming beneath the surface. Aethelburg. A civilization thriving in isolation for centuries, built on principles utterly alien to the surface world. What were their internal politics like? Thrain spoke for the Guild Council, Borin for the Gate Wardens, Gyra for the Artificers – clearly a society structured around powerful guilds and ancient traditions, ruled over by a Mountain King whose name hadn't even been mentioned yet. Understanding these currents would be crucial if he hoped to navigate this arrangement successfully.
How long he waited, he didn't know. The dim light panel remained constant. Eventually, however, the cell door hissed open again. It wasn't the wardens this time. Standing in the doorway was Master Artificer Gyra, her sharp eyes gleaming with focused intensity. She wore practical, oil-stained leather overalls over her guild attire now, and carried a complex-looking scanning device in one hand and a sturdy metal case in the other.
"Surface-Gamma-Three," she stated crisply, dispensing with formalities. "Your presence is required. Preliminary analysis of the recovered energy weapon necessitates… comparative data." She gestured for him to exit the cell.
Comparative data? Lunrik frowned but rose obediently. Was she going to scan him? Test his reaction to the weapon's energy signature? "Where are we going, Master Artificer?"
"My workshop. Level sixty-eight, Kinetics Guild sector," she replied, already turning and walking down the corridor at a brisk pace, clearly expecting him to keep up. No guards escorted them this time, implying Gyra's authority was sufficient, or perhaps that Lunrik was considered less of a flight risk now that a conditional agreement was in place. Or maybe they were simply being watched by unseen sensors.
They took the lift again, descending this time. Level sixty-eight was drastically different from both the detention block and the administrative level. This was the industrial heart of the Kinetics Guild. The air hummed with power, vibrated with the rhythmic thrum of massive engines somewhere nearby. Vast workshops opened off the main corridor, filled with dwarves operating complex machinery, sparks flying from grinders, steam hissing from pipes, the clang of hammers echoing constantly. The smell of hot metal, ozone, and strange chemical catalysts filled the air. It was overwhelming, a symphony of controlled industrial power.
Gyra led him through the controlled chaos, ignoring the curious or hostile stares directed at Lunrik, navigating the complex network of corridors and workshops with practiced ease. She finally stopped before a heavy, reinforced door marked with the interlocking gear symbol of her guild and complex runic security wards. She pressed her palm against a glowing panel, uttered a sequence of guttural Dwarven commands, and the door slid open.
Her personal workshop was surprisingly orderly amidst the surrounding industrial clamor. It was filled with workbenches covered in tools Lunrik didn't recognize, intricate mechanical components, glowing crystals embedded in control panels, and diagrams etched onto metal plates depicting complex energy flows and gear configurations. In the center of the room, resting on a reinforced analysis platform bathed in focused light beams, was the damaged energy rifle retrieved from the hunter leader. It looked even more alien and out of place here, surrounded by dwarven technology.
"Approach the platform," Gyra instructed, gesturing towards the rifle. "Do not touch the weapon directly. I need to monitor your proximity resonance and any bio-signatures interacting with the weapon's residual energy field."
Lunrik hesitated, wary. "What kind of resonance?"
"The weapon," Gyra explained impatiently, already adjusting dials on her handheld scanner, "operates on principles that seem to interact with localized bio-electric fields, possibly even specific genetic or, dare I say, magical signatures. Your Banehallow lineage carries a unique energy profile, heavily distorted but potent. The weapon malfunctioned when you attempted activation. I hypothesize an incompatibility, a feedback loop, or perhaps a deliberate bio-lock keyed to its original users. Your proximity may elicit a measurable response, even in its damaged state."
She was essentially proposing to use him as a living diagnostic tool. Alaric's ghost recoiled at the indignity, the risk. But Lunrik saw the potential benefit. If he could help her understand the weapon, even slightly, it increased his value, strengthened his side of the conditional bargain. And perhaps, understanding the weapon could offer clues about the hunters themselves.
He nodded slowly. "Alright, Master Artificer."
He stepped cautiously towards the platform, stopping a few feet away from the alien rifle. Gyra aimed her scanner, first at the rifle, then at him, then back again, muttering technical observations under her breath in Dwarven, punctuated by clicks and beeps from the device.
"Interesting," she murmured. "Residual energy signature in the weapon is degrading, but detectable. Your proximity causes… yes, a slight amplification. A resonance flutter. Not hostile, but… incompatible. Like two tuning forks struck at dissonant frequencies." She frowned, adjusting her scanner. "Now, focus, werewolf. Try to… reach out with your energy. Not aggressively. Just… resonate. As if trying to attune to it."
Lunrik had no idea what that meant. Attune? He wasn't a mage. He focused on the rifle, on the faint thrumming sensation he felt near it, perhaps amplified by his Stigma. He tried to… connect? Project his own energy? He wasn't sure what he was doing, just concentrating intently.
Suddenly, the rifle on the platform hummed faintly. The small glyphs near the grip flickered with a brief, weak blue light. Gyra's scanner chirped loudly.
"Feedback spike!" Gyra exclaimed, her eyes wide with scientific excitement. "Incompatibility confirmed! Your energy signature actively rejects the weapon's matrix! It's not just depleted; it's fundamentally opposed to your Banehallow frequency!" She scribbled furiously on a data slate. "Fascinating! This suggests the creators are either deliberately keyed against your lineage, or their own bio-signature operates on a diametrically opposed principle. Solaris tech? Possible, their elemental frequencies are notoriously volatile. Or something else entirely?"
She looked up at Lunrik, her earlier suspicion replaced by intense, almost predatory, scientific curiosity. "This changes things. Your 'curse' is not just a surface affliction; it has a measurable, reactive energy signature that interacts with advanced technology. High Loremaster Thrain must be informed immediately." She tapped rapidly on a comm panel. "And you, werewolf, have just become considerably more valuable to the Kinetics Guild's research."
Lunrik felt a profound sense of unease. He had cooperated, provided the data Gyra sought. But in doing so, he had inadvertently revealed the depth and reactive nature of the Banehallow curse in a way simple questioning never could have. He was no longer just a prisoner or an informant; he was a specimen, a living key to understanding both the curse and the technology of their unknown enemies. The weight of the mountain felt heavier still, not just rock and dwarven judgment, but the crushing weight of unwanted scientific scrutiny. His path through Grimfang Deep had just become significantly more complicated, and potentially far more dangerous.