Maybe an eye untrained for art would not notice it, but, naturally, that is not a problem for me. Granted, it did take me about a decade of being locked away underground to truly come to this realization although now that I see it, it is obvious. Irinika also agrees with me.

  The dwarven Holds and the dwarven Highways are interconnected only insofar as that the Holds are excavated into the Highways. The signs are subtle, the dwarves themselves are skilled artisans but it is obvious once one sits down and begins analysing the architecture. Firstly, the Holds are built in a rather sensible manner. They have supports, they have columns, bridges, hidden entrances and so on. They are effectively underground cities, down to having housing for the rich and poor and being separated into districts. The touches of dwarf-kind that are there are also obvious, the paranoia and defences, the fall-back lines that are seemingly endless. One may dismiss the fact they use metal for doors as the fact that wood does not grow underground, yet what reason is there for these doors to be at least an inch thick and made of the same alloy that they use for armour?

  The Highways, on the other hand, are merely Highways. They are massive tunnels that are largely uniform in height. It is rare for any of them to stray from the rough two hundred and sixty three metres in height. The number, seemingly random, also does not crop up in Dwarven mythology, traditions or wives tails. Even the dwarves’ own measurements, at five hundred and seventeen of their ‘Daraks’ does not come up. They do not have hidden tunnels, any caches, storerooms, lighting systems and highway-side inns excavated into them is the work of the dwarves themselves. The carvings in the sides is also dwarven, made to fit in with the closest Hold’s own arts and patternry. There are no pillars, no supports, no grand gates of separation, nothing.

  A race that is so paranoid it fortifies their homes leaves their main logistics routes terribly barren. In Epa, it is impossible to walk for more than a dozen miles in any direction without coming across a fortress to safeguard the local populace from banditry, or the ruins of one. The dwarves themselves make it a point of objection to try and colonize the Highways or treat them as living space. Even my proposition of using the Highways as farms for mushrooms has been rejected by the majority of Holdmasters, they only agree to turn the Highways that are entirely explored and relatively short, such as those that connect the Core-Holds of the Underkingdoms, into mycelium plantations.

  A layman may speak to their innate fervour in their traditions and customs. Here, I would like to remind all that I am Malam, Goddess of Hatred. I doubt there is another being on this entire planet that is so well versed in this art than me. The Empire stood with a foundation so fanatical it faced three worlds and no chance of victory. I very much know the power of tradition and custom and I know exactly when to push and when to break.

  There are individual fanatics up above who would starve themselves to death rather than break their own morality, but there is no such thing as an entire society doing so.

  More investigation is needed.

  - Excerpt from the private “My time in the Underground”, written by Goddess Malam, of Hatred.

  Kassandora skulked along the crenulations of Levhen’s Western Gate. She remembered being here a thousand years past, back when Levhen was operational. She had been talking with Fer here, the Great War had just been declared, Imperial Legions had been laying siege to White Pantheon castles, it had been before Tartarus or Paraideisius had come here. Kassandora blinked the wetness in her eyes away. She was certain she wasn’t crying, no one had told her she had been crying. She doubted anyone would. Still, though, she remembered hugging Fer right here. Had it been a real hug? From Fer, Kassandora was sure it was. But were hers?

  The thoughts were compartmentalized and sent off into whatever dark, shadowy reaches of Kassandora’s she didn’t want to touch. Now wasn’t the time. She turned to the Highway proper. A massive tunnel, now strewn about with different barrels of various poisonous metals. It wasn’t everything that Levhen had, but it was most they could get out with the help of dwarves, their skeletal ancestors, mages and modern engineers. Barrels of cinnabar and mercury ready to spill, metals that had been shaved down into dusts. Even ground uranium to make sure they would be bleeding after the Hold fell. Tartarus had a playbook, they flood up to the gate with their approaching ashfront, sends troops close and then collapse whatever magic they were using. That ashfront should be enough to superheat the materials into a poisonous smog and… This wasn’t the first time. Kassandora had stood here, a long time ago, with her sister.

  The Goddess of War turned around and searched across the wall. Maybe the dwarves had filled it in. Fer had jokingly made the markings eye-level to Kassandora, hoping that they would not notice it due to how short they were. Kassandora knew she should get back to planning at this point, running through different scenarios but… All of them had been ran through already. She found something on the wall and gasped.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  <3, Fer.

  A little heart had been scratched onto the stone. It was in Fer’s classical, boxy hand-writing. Almost the same as she would use for paper. Kassandora stood there, smiling to herself. Back then, they had thought the war would be over in a few years’ time. No one had expected Tartarus or Paraideisius to get involved, most of humanity had not even believed those worlds existed. Allasaria did in fact pull a number on them. And then, Kassandora had to blink the wetness in her eyes away, whatever Kavaa did to her was terrible. Next to Fer’s message was one in far prettier calligraphy.

  Love you Fer! <3 Malam.

  To think she was surrounded by people like this and didn’t even notice it.

  Kassandora stood, staring at the two messages and blinked once more. Kavaa was a terrible little creature, whatever she had done or said had opened floodgates Kassandora didn’t even know she had. And now, no matter what she did, those floodgates refused to keep the waters back no matter how much she tried to close them. Why did Malam even leave that note? For who? Another sister had come, stood in this exact spot and wrote it in and for what? She had never even mentioned it to them. She just…

  Kassandora crouched down and wrapped her hands around her knees as she buried her face in her knees. The cold black fabric of her trousers felt as if it was terribly hard. She would have to change it soon for her armour anyway. It didn’t matter…

  Kassandora knelt and silently cried to herself. Why had she even gone on this routine inspection? A soldier could have been asked to do it. Kavaa could have been asked to do it. Frankly, it didn’t even need to be done. She was just killing time at this point until battle came and the Goddess of War could show herself. Hopefully she would stay this time although Kassandora doubted it. Since that meeting, every single time that rancid beast reared its head, Kassandora found suddenly found herself helpless. She grabbed at horns she knew were there, and yet her hands simply slipped through them.

  Work. Defence. Tartarus was coming, they had a siege to prepare for. They had a siege they had prepared for. Everyone knew everything at this point. Anything more would just overcomplicate the plan. If Kassandora suddenly started trying to implement last-second ideas, she would just harm the overall strategy. A good plan executed perfectly was better than a perfect plan executed well after all and…

  What did it matter?

  It was done.

  There was nothing more to do but wait.

  She remembered when her father had looked down upon her as they stood on castle walls. Ahead had been a horizon and green fields, a blue sky. He had smelled faintly of flowers. She had been sipping whiskey. Below, soldiers and knights in armour were pulling up a palisade to funnel cavalry charges into kill zones: The wait is the worst part.

  She knew that before, but that had been a moment when she knew she was standing with an equal. Nothing more needed to be said. Arascus saw her and she saw Arascus. The wait was truly the worst part. Even Divines, ageless and super-powered as they were, even Kassandora, the ever-radiant genius of warfare, could not defeat the passage of time.

  The wait was truly the worst part.

  She wanted to leave. She didn’t want to be here. She grabbed at her knees tighter and pulled her coat around herself. She should have asked Fer for another scarf so that Kavaa would stop feeling bad about almost destroying the one that should have been a pristine present. She should have gone to Anassa and sat down and drank her wine. She should have apologized to Baalka for almost killing her. She should have gone to Neneria and sat and asked about her hobbies. She should have smacked Malam and not let them both be terrible together. She should have gone and smoked with Irinika. She wanted to hug Fer.

  The tears came on further.

  But the one that hurt the most was her most recent failure. She should have sent Kavaa away. The entire strategy relied on a dice-roll. Kassandora had been happy to see her… What was Kavaa anyway? More than a friend definitely. She couldn’t even bring herself to laugh at the fact she struggled for a word that fit the situation. What a farce. What a mastermind. What a genius. Truly the smartest Divine that all Divinity should bow down before.

  Kassandora wiped her eyes into her knees. She wanted Kavaa to suddenly appear. To step through that huge doorway of dwarf-bronze onto the dark balcony. To hold her and to say those words she said again. Those words at the end. The… ‘I…’ Kassandora tried to hold her wail in. Why would she even say that!? Didn’t she know?

  Kavaa was the Goddess of Health, she knew what death was like. She saw it everyday. Kassandora was the same, every lesson she gave was another thread for the noose she tied around her men’s necks. Every single trick she taught them was another nail to bind them. How could Kassandora even exist? How could she smile to them? How could she give them speeches of victory when time took them all eventually! Kavaa knew! Kavaa knew what it was like! She had her own Orders and she had been in enough disasters to know what happening when it Kavaa made time for Kavaa and not the Goddess of Health! They were the same! They understood each other!

  And yet, Kavaa had still said those words. ‘I…’ Kassandora once again wiped her tears onto her knees. The front of her trousers had to be wet by now. She cried, she thought of Kavaa and… And then, just like that, it all went away.

  Kassandora’s nose smelled Tartarian sulphur. She stood up on autopilot and saw the dwarven Highway in the distance. That was the problem, it should be swallowed by darkness. Now, the end of the tunnel, its faint curve to one side was visible, lit up by the orange glow of fire. The sound came a moment later, the marching anthem sung in that snappy demonic tone.

  So it began.

  Kassandora wiped her tears. Now wasn’t the time. It could come later. Later, when they survived. Kassandora was here, the glorious Goddess of War. All her strategies on a coin-toss to protect a sleeping army she didn’t even know would awake in time.

  It would happen though. It would happen because Kassandora was here and Kassandora never lost.

  The Goddess of War returned into Levhen.