Dur-Khazun, Eastern Mountains — Two Days After the Council
The winds howled as Loid stood at the forest's edge.
Behind him, the spires of Vel'Thalas reached toward the clouds like living towers. Before him, the long road ahead wound through ancient paths, forgotten ruins, and stone bridges carved by rivers older than kingdoms.
A journey toward the forge-born city of the dwarves.
Their destination: Dur-Khazun, the stronghold of steel and stone — the only known source of mithrenite ore and fire-touched forging flames. If Thal'Zaroth wanted an army that could challenge empires, they needed dwarven metal.
Loid stood calm beneath the canopy's fading reach. Cloaked in dark green stitched with threads of enchanted bark, he carried no crown, no banner — only presence. Mia, as always, stood at his back, her golden eyes watching the world like a sentinel. She wore a hood today, though none could truly mistake her for anything less than what she was — a dragon cloaked in patience.
Behind them marched a diplomatic guard of four lizardmen, two goblin scribes, and Asha, the silent huntmistress. All chosen for presence, not power.
This wasn't a war march — not yet.
Dur-Khazun – Fortress of the Forgeborn
Two days of travel brought them to the mountains.
The forest fell away, giving rise to cliffs and shale, slopes of blackened stone etched with glowing dwarven runes. The sky darkened above the entrance of Dur-Khazun, a colossal stone gate built into the mountain's ribs, flanked by statues of hammer-wielding ancestors carved from obsidian.
Molten rivers ran beneath steel bridges. Ember-fused steam hissed from pipes that wound through the walls like metal vines. Anvils echoed in the distance — the sound of civilization shaped through fire and labor.
"Impressive," Mia said, breaking the silence as they crossed the final ridge. "They still burn the mountain's heart."
"They've never stopped," Loid replied. "Even when the world turned its back on them."
He stepped forward.
The guards met them — dwarves in bronze-scaled armor, their beards braided with iron rings, axes crossed over their chests.
"Halt!" barked one. "State your intent, strangers."
Loid raised a hand. "I am Loid of Thal'Zaroth. I seek audience with your Forge-King."
The dwarf narrowed his eyes. "You come from Arkael'Tor? And you expect to walk in like an envoy?"
Mia's voice slipped in — soft, but sharp. "You'd be wise to check that tone."
The dwarf blinked — then stepped aside with a grunt.
"…You may enter. But keep your claws sheathed, beast-queen."
Throne of Sparks – Hall of the Forge-King
Dur-Khazun's throne room was less a palace and more a furnace temple. Fire gutters lined the floor. Smiths hammered even as court was held. Weapons glowed in racks behind the dais. Thick stone columns rose to the cavern ceiling, and banners of red and silver bore the crest of a roaring anvil.
At the end of the chamber sat Forge-King Brovrun Flamebraid, crowned in black steel and seated upon a throne of melted swords. His beard was braided into a single knot over his chest, and a scar split one eye, replaced with a polished firegem.
He leaned forward as Loid entered.
"So," he said, voice gravelly and full of smoke. "The Forest King walks into my forge."
Loid bowed respectfully. "I come seeking alliance."
Brovrun laughed, deep and honest. "Or steel, more like."
"Both, ideally," Loid replied calmly.
The King waved them closer. "Speak then. But know this: I don't kneel to ghosts and titles. You want my forges? Prove you're worth the iron."
⸻
They spoke for over an hour.
Loid laid his proposal: trade routes through the eastern river, mithrenite in exchange for monster-fur pelts, forest-grown rare herbs, and full military protection from southern threats.
But Brovrun's eyes never warmed. He nodded, but often frowned. Questioned every word. Mocked Mia's scribes. Laughed at the idea of a united monster kingdom.
When he scoffed at Thal'Zaroth's stability, Mia took a step forward.
⸻
"Enough," she said, voice icy. "You mock your only opportunity to rise beyond your mountain."
The room went cold.
Loid raised a hand, but Mia ignored him. Her aura cracked.
Her cloak fluttered.
The torches dimmed.
Scales shimmered along her cheekbones. Sparks danced from her feet as the stone beneath her boots began to soften.
The guards reached for weapons.
Loid turned. "Mia—"
But before she could shift, Brovrun's hand raised.
Not in panic. Not in fear.
In command.
He stood.
"You passed," he said.
The room froze again, but for another reason entirely.
⸻
Brovrun grinned — not with mockery, but with approval.
"I've insulted you. Mocked your realm. Questioned your rule. And yet…" he stepped down from the dais, "you did not strike. You held your leash on a dragon."
Loid remained still.
Brovrun stopped before him and extended a hand.
"I had to see what you were. If you were just another beast-king with a fancy title and a temper. But no — you command loyalty, not fear. And that means something."
Loid clasped his hand, firm. "Does this mean the forge is open?"
"It means," Brovrun said, "we start with one order. If you don't waste it, we'll speak of armies."
⸻
That night, as the forge-temple roared behind them, Loid and Mia were led to quarters carved into lava-warmed stone. The first batch of armor would be ready within a week — custom to lizardman scouts.
Mia finally exhaled.
"You knew it was a test," she said.
"I suspected," Loid replied. "But I was ready if it wasn't."
She smiled, golden eyes gleaming. "You really are starting to rule like a dragon."
⸻
Meanwhile — Imperial Capital of Vaelstrom
Storms brewed over blackened towers. The Imperial Citadel loomed atop the cliffs, a fortress of obsidian and iron, where lightning struck more often than rain.
Inside the war chamber of the Empire, a council gathered around a crystal map.
At its head sat Emperor Kaedor Vaelstrom, robed in crimson and silver. His Core — a visible glyph glowing above his sternum — pulsed with icy blue.
Core Element: Ice
Core Rank: Gold
"I want truth," he said coldly. "Not superstition. What's happening in Arkael'Tor?"
A general stepped forward.
"Something has changed," he said. "Scouts say the forest glows at night. Old ruins have awakened. Trade routes have dried up. The beastkin are no longer fleeing — they're gathering."
Kaedor's brows furrowed.
He turned to a man standing in shadow — armor trimmed with emerald and dusk-steel.
"Commander Draeven," he said.
The man stepped forward and knelt.
Commander Varek Draeven — Vaelstrom's elite hunter, commander of the Black Talon scouts.
• Core Element: Wind
• Core Rank: Mythril
"We will enter the forest," Draeven said. "Five squads. In and out. We'll map whatever they've built and slit its throat before it grows teeth."
"Good," the Emperor said.
"And if the rumors are true?" Draeven asked. "If there is a king in the woods?"
Kaedor's eyes flared.
"Then bring me his head."