The peaks loomed larger now, their jagged summits scraping against a sky the colour of bruised plums. The path grew steeper, more deliberately carved into the mountainside, hinting at ancient industry. They passed weathered rune-stones half-buried in scree, their markings almost obliterated by centuries of wind and ice, and the occasional crumbling remains of Duergar lookout posts perched on precarious crags. Geothermal heat began to bleed from fissures in the rock, carrying the sharp tang of sulfur that momentarily overlay the persistent scent of Blight. A sense of nearing civilization warred with the stern, unwelcoming aspect of the landscape itself.

  Borin’s pace quickened almost imperceptibly, a subtle straightening of his shoulders betraying his approach to familiar territory. He led them onward, his gaze fixed ahead. Behind him, Edmund kept glancing back at Isolde, his brow furrowed with concern. Lyraen, the Aelfen-Kin Warden who had joined them after the ravine ambush, followed several paces behind the main group, their movements fluid and economical, pale grey eyes missing nothing, taking in the geology, the stunted flora, the strained dynamics of their new companions with equal, detached curiosity.

  Isolde stumbled slightly on a section where the path was slick with frozen runoff. Edmund immediately half-turned, hand outstretched. "Easy there, Ms. Isa. Let me—"

  "I am fine, Edmund," she snapped, catching her balance with her staff before his hand could reach her. The irritation was sharp, undisguised this time. She pushed a stray strand of hair from her face, her knuckles white inside her glove. "Stop hovering."

  He drew back, stung but saying nothing, his worry settling into a familiar, frustrated knot. Since Oakhaven, since her collapse, his instinct to shield her had intensified, but she seemed determined to push him away, chafing under any perceived attempt to treat her as an invalid.

  Borin glanced back, not at Isolde, but with visible annoyance at Lyraen’s measured, unhurried stride. "Stone take it," he grumbled, loud enough for the wind to almost carry away. "Is that pointy-ears walking or taking root? Moss grows faster."

  From behind them, Lyraen’s calm voice replied, utterly devoid of offense or irony. "Moss growth rate varies significantly depending on species, substrate, moisture levels, and light exposure. Comparing its linear progression directly to Aelfen-Kin locomotion, which prioritizes energy conservation and environmental awareness over simple velocity, is an inaccurate analogy."

  Borin stopped dead, turning to stare incredulously at the Warden. Edmund suppressed a sigh. This is going to be a long journey, he thought.

  They rounded a final, windswept bluff, and there it was – or rather, there it wasn't. The entrance to Kaelen's Deep wasn't obvious. Borin led them towards what looked like a solid cliff face, unremarkable save for the faint geothermal haze clinging to the rocks. Only as they drew closer did Edmund discern the subtle seams, the almost invisible lines suggesting massive stone gates cunningly blended into the mountain itself. Flanking the hidden entrance were fortified guard posts carved directly from the rock, narrow arrow slits dark and watchful. Stern-faced Duergar guards, clad in heavy, overlapping plates of dark metal armor and bearing heavy crossbows, materialized from the shadows as they approached.

  "Halt! Identify yourselves!" the challenge rang out, the voice rough as grinding stone.

  Borin stepped forward, planting his pickaxe firmly on the ground. He raised his head, projecting his voice in the formal cadence of Duergar speech. "Borin Stonehand, son of Borin Stonebeard, returns! I bring… companions." He gestured vaguely towards the others. "Seeking refuge and council."

  The guards exchanged wary glances, their crossbows remaining level, aimed squarely at the outsiders. One guard’s gaze lingered suspiciously on Lyraen’s pointed ears, visible beneath their hood. "Stonehand? Thought you were lost with the Oakhaven filth." His eyes narrowed further as he took in Isolde, perhaps sensing the contained magic, the subtle wrongness of the taint she fought to conceal. "You bring surface folk? A pointy-ears? And one who smells of… unstable magic?"

  Edmund stepped forward slightly, hands open and away from his sword, trying to project reassurance. "Greetings! We mean no harm. We aided Borin after… after Oakhaven. We seek only-"

  "Silence, surface man!" the guard captain snapped, cutting him off. Edmund’s earnestness seemed only to deepen their suspicion.

  Suddenly, Lyraen pointed towards the top of the massive stone gate. "The interlocking mechanism on the gate's upper hinge utilizes a fascinating counter-lever principle," they observed, their voice calm and analytical, completely ignoring the armed standoff. "Likely derived from third-era deep-mining hydraulics. The stress distribution across the metamorphic schist suggests—"

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  Isolde’s eyes lit up, briefly forgetting the crossbows aimed at them. "Oh, is that a double-fulcrum system? Master Elmsworth theorized that such designs could minimize shear stress on—"

  "Not now, you two!" Borin roared, spinning around to glare at them both, his beard practically bristling with exasperation. "Trying to get us killed before we even get inside?"

  After a tense silence, punctuated only by the whistling wind, the massive stone gate groaned inwards, revealing a large, echoing entrance hall carved from the living rock. Torches set in brackets cast flickering shadows on walls adorned with faded, geometric Duergar carvings. More guards waited inside, their expressions grim, their weapons ready. A knot of other Duergar – miners caked in dust, artisans wiping grease from their hands, even a few stern-faced women – had gathered, murmuring and staring openly at the outsiders.

  The captain of the gate guard led them forward, halting them before three imposing figures seated on simple stone thrones at the far end of the hall. These were clearly the elders, their beards longer, intricately braided with silver or copper wire, their faces deeply lined maps of centuries spent underground.

  "Elder Thrain," the captain reported formally. "Borin Stonehand returns. With… these."

  The central elder, Thrain, regarded Borin with eyes like chips of obsidian. "Borin Stonehand. You return from the surface," his voice was a low rumble, like distant rockfall. "From Oakhaven. Where Duergar runes were twisted by surface fools and our kin were lost in fire and madness." His gaze swept dismissively over Edmund, lingered with cold distaste on Lyraen, and finally settled on Isolde, his eyes narrowing. "And you bring more surface folk? An Aelfen-Kin Warden? And one who reeks of unsteady magic? Explain this folly."

  Borin stood stiffly, his pride warring with the need for diplomacy. "They fought beside me against the Shepherd’s abominations, Elder! The Shepherd twisted our craft, not these folk! They seek knowledge Kaelen's Deep might hold."

  "Knowledge?" Thrain’s voice dripped with skepticism. "Or trouble? The Blight clings to outsiders like dust to damp stone. And the lass…" He focused again on Isolde. "She feels… wrong. Unbalanced. Like a cracked geothermal pipe ready to burst."

  Edmund instinctively stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of Isolde. "She means no harm, Elder! She was injured fighting those who misused your runes. She seeks aid, understanding—"

  Isolde placed a firm hand on Edmund’s arm, pushing him gently but firmly aside. She met Thrain’s hard gaze directly, ignoring the murmurs from the onlookers. "I am Isolde, Elder Thrain," her voice, though quiet, carried clearly in the hall. "I seek understanding of Duergar rune-craft, specifically concerning the binding and stabilization of volatile energies. The Blight has… marked me." She didn't offer details, didn't plead. "Knowledge freely shared benefits all who stand against the darkness."

  Thrain stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He exchanged low words in guttural Duergar with the elders beside him. Finally, he gave a curt nod.

  "Very well. You risked much, it seems, Borin. And you," he addressed Isolde, "speak plainly, if foolishly. Kaelen's Deep does not turn away those in genuine need, even surface folk." His tone suggested this generosity was severely strained. "You may have shelter. But you will be watched. Confine yourselves to the guest quarters. Do not wander. Do not meddle." He waved a dismissive hand. "Gurnik, escort them."

  One of the guards stepped forward, gesturing curtly for them to follow. They were led away from the main hall, down torch-lit tunnels echoing with the distant clang of hammers and the rumble of unseen machinery. The air grew warmer, heavier, thick with the smell of metal, coal smoke, and damp earth. The Duergar they passed stopped their work to stare, their expressions ranging from hostile suspicion to weary curiosity.

  Their assigned quarters were functional, stone-carved rooms, cleaner than expected but utterly austere – stone bunks with thin pallets, a simple table, a bucket. The guard pointedly indicated the heavy wooden door. "Stay here. Food will be brought. Do not leave without escort." He turned and left, the heavy thud of the door closing echoing in the sudden silence.

  Edmund immediately checked the door – solid, no obvious way to bar it from the inside – then the small, high window slit that likely opened onto another tunnel. Lyraen found a corner, standing motionless, seemingly content to observe the rough-hewn stone walls. Borin kicked one of the stone bunks with a grunt of disgust.

  "Guest quarters? More like prisoner cells! Stone-blind greybeards, more worried about tradition than that thing we faced below Oakhaven!"

  "Are you alright, Ms. Isa?" Edmund asked, turning to Isolde, his earlier worry returning. "That was… intense."

  Isolde sank onto one of the pallets, rubbing her temples. "I'm tired, Edmund, not fragile." She managed a faint smile, the familiar friction softening slightly now they were alone. "Hovering doesn't help. But… thank you." She looked around the bare room. "At least we're inside. Now we need to figure out how to get access to their rune library… and find out what's happening in these mines."

  "Social dynamics prioritize established hierarchy and adherence to protocol," Lyraen observed quietly from their corner, their voice startlingly clear in the small space. "Outsider integration requires demonstrating value aligned with communal security or resource acquisition, mitigating perceived risk."

  Edmund and Isolde exchanged a brief look. Borin just scoffed again. The alliance was holding, but navigating the depths of Duergar suspicion, under the shadow of the Evolved Blight and Isolde's precarious condition, was clearly going to be a trial in itself.