For a heartbeat, they stood in stillness.
The dwarf's torchlight painted jagged shadows across the crumbling stone, but where the dark had once whispered of danger, now it simply waited — listening. The figure before them, tall for his kind, held no weapon drawn, only fire in one hand and a grin that tugged at his beard like it had lived there a long while.
"Well," the dwarf said, stepping into full view. "You're taller than ghosts, at least."
His boots struck the ground with deliberate weight — not stomping, but reminding the mountain he still walked it. A thick leather belt ringed his waist, lined with pouches and metal tools. The pickaxe on his back gleamed faintly with inlaid runes. His beard, braided and bound in silver, glinted with frost.
Kaia didn't relax, but she lowered her stance.
Rei spoke first, slow. "We fell. Through a fault in the northern ridge — somewhere above a ruin marked by snow-lichen and… a dead tree that bled."
The dwarf squinted, then barked a laugh. "Stone-Knot Ridge, eh? Treacherous shelf. You're lucky it didn't chew your bones."
He extended a thick, calloused hand — not a threat, but an invitation.
"Durik, son of Rurik. Second Hammer of Druvadir, and heir by stone-right after my older brother. Who is always at war."
Rei blinked, then clasped his hand. The grip was strong, warm — like shaking the arm of a mountain that had learned to grin.
"Rei," he said. "This is Kaia."
Durik turned to her, eyes narrowing slightly. He sniffed the air once, then gave a short nod, impressed.
"Beastkin," he said. "White Tiger. Rare blood. Old blood."
Kaia raised an eyebrow. "You can smell that?"
"Stone teaches us to listen," Durik said with a grin. "Not just with ears. You carry frost in your bones and a growl in your gait. You're no alley stray."
She met his gaze, calm and unreadable.
"Sharp eyes, colder step," he added, chuckling. "Good. You'll need both. These halls don't care for names — only strength."
The tension that had stretched thin since their fall seemed to ease. Durik turned, torch held high, and beckoned them down the corridor.
"Come on, then. You're half-starved and looking like cave rats. Let's get some stew in your bellies before you both freeze into wall carvings."
They followed — cautiously at first, then with growing urgency as the scent of smoke and something roasted reached them. The corridors twisted, each turn revealing more ruined craftsmanship — broken sigils, crumbled statues, glyphs half-gouged out by time or tremor. Some halls bore carvings of dwarves at forges — others showed machines long lost, ringed in runes Rei could almost read, though he dared not try.
"This place…" Kaia murmured.
Durik glanced back. "Khal Durûm. Means 'The Hollowed Halls' in the old tongue. One of the elder veins — predates the Forge-Seat, if the etchings are true. I came here lookin' for what might still hum."
Rei frowned. "You mean relics?"
"No." Durik's eyes shone in the dark. "Runes. Mechanisms. The kind that wake the Forge from its long sleep. The kind of work our ancestors whispered to the stone — and the stone whispered back."
They passed beneath a broken arch, and suddenly the air shifted. Warmer. Smelling of soot, smoked herbs, and cooked root. A chamber opened before them — wide, low-ceilinged, half-collapsed. The walls were lined with salvaged stone and crates marked in runic chalk. A small fire crackled near the far side, set in a makeshift pit, ringed by curved slabs of old gear.
Durik dropped his torch in a holder, grabbed a battered pot from a hook, and stirred its contents. "Root stew. Don't ask what kind of roots. The kind that grow near forgotten bones."
He ladled it into chipped wooden bowls, slid one to each of them, then squatted by the fire, sipping his own.
Kaia tasted it first — then ate faster.
Rei followed, not caring that it burned going down. It was food. It was real.
Durik watched them eat with a slight smile — but it wasn't mockery.
"You're lucky," he said. "Most who fall this deep don't get a fire or a bowl."
Rei lowered his bowl. "You've been down here long?"
"Long enough to map half of Khal Durûm's bones." He patted a stack of stone-scribed tablets behind him. "These veins were part of the First Forge Ring. They say the flame here once sang like a chorus — not with coal, but rune-fire. I'm here to find what still lives."
Kaia raised a brow. "For your people?"
Durik gave a half-smile. "For the Forge. And if the others wake up and call it honor, well — so be it. The council above likes their chairs. I like my boots covered in soot."
Rei exchanged a glance with her. "We're not here for forges."
"No?" Durik tilted his head. "Then what in stone's mercy brought you through snow, ruin, and half-collapsed death holes?"
Rei hesitated. "A journey… chasing questions, hoping they lead to answers."
Durik snorted, smirking beneath his beard. "Aren't we all? Down here, even the stone answers with riddles."
He leaned back against the carved wall, eyes half-lidded.
"Truth lies deeper than gold — and twice as cursed."
He stood, joints cracking, and tossed more kindling into the fire. "You're welcome to rest. These tunnels don't like strangers, but they tolerate guests."
Kaia tilted her head. "You're not worried we'll rob you?"
Durik's eyes gleamed. "If you can lift half of what I carry, I'll let you keep it."
He moved to an alcove, sorting through scrolls, tablets, and half-chipped devices that still shimmered with dormant script.
Kaia leaned toward Rei. "He's not what I expected."
Rei nodded. "No. He's more… grounded."
"But not blind."
"No," Rei said softly, gazing into the fire. "He listens to the stone."