The underground kingdom was quiet in the wake of the attack. Rubble still lay scattered along the cavern halls, where Sylvara's people swept away ash and stone with weary hands. The wounded were tended to, the dead laid upon pyres of blackwood that burned with green fire.
But Sylvara did not linger among her mourning subjects. She had made a vow before the throne of stone: she would find a weapon strong enough to drive back the ruthless king's army.
Now she stood at the eastern gate, her scaled cloak brushing against the cavern floor, her crown of bone and silver catching the dim torchlight. Before her, five of her most loyal knights waited, armored and solemn.
"Queen Sylvara," said the tallest of them, Ser Caldus, a warrior with a scarred jaw and eyes like molten gold. "The path will not be easy. The dwarves do not welcome strangers, even less those who carry the blood of serpents."
Sylvara's emerald eyes fixed on him. "They will welcome necessity. Steel bends to fire, and so will their pride bend to the need for survival."
A murmur of approval rippled through the knights. None dared question their queen's conviction.
---
The journey began with silence. The underground road to the dwarves' realm stretched deep beneath the Dark Forest, where even roots dared not wander. Their path wound through narrow caverns, across stone bridges suspended over bottomless chasms, and into tunnels where the air smelled of iron and fire.
As they walked, Ser Kalen—youngest of the knights, his helm polished brighter than the others—broke the silence.
"My queen," he said cautiously, "what weapon do you hope to find? The dwarves have crafted many marvels—blades that never dull, armor that drinks fire, even cannons that shake the earth."
Sylvara's voice was calm, steady, but heavy with intent. "Not just a weapon. A symbol. Something that tells our people they are not prey to be hunted but fangs that will strike back."
Ser Ilyra, the only woman among the knights, shifted her spear across her back. "Then we must pray the dwarves do not see us as enemies. Old grudges die slow in the deep places."
"They will see reason," Sylvara replied, though her tone carried no illusion. "Or they will see what happens when reason fails."
---
By the second night, they reached a cavern lit by rivers of glowing fungus. The knights made camp, their shadows tall against the walls. Sylvara sat apart, her serpent familiar coiled at her side, its silver scales reflecting the bioluminescence.
Caldus approached, lowering himself onto a stone near her. "Forgive me, my queen, but I must ask… why trust the dwarves? They fought beside the ruthless king once, long ago. What if their forges still burn for him?"
Sylvara's gaze lingered on the glowing river. "Because every forge burns for something, Ser Caldus. Gold. Power. Survival. We will give them reason to burn for us instead."
Her serpent hissed softly, as if echoing her certainty.
---
The third day tested them. A cavern collapsed along the path, sending stone and dust tumbling into the abyss. They climbed across narrow ledges, blades drawn for the beasts that stirred in the dark below. Sylvara led them without hesitation, her voice cutting sharp commands through the echoing void.
"Step carefully. Keep your eyes upward, not downward."
When one knight slipped, she caught him with her own hand, strength like iron beneath her graceful frame. She pulled him back, meeting his trembling gaze with calm authority.
"Fear the fall, and it will take you," she told him. "Fear nothing, and even the abyss will step aside."
---
On the fifth day, the scent of forge-fire reached them. Smoke rose from cracks in the cavern walls, carrying with it the faint ring of hammer on anvil.
"The dwarves," Ser Kalen whispered, eyes wide.
Sylvara raised a hand, silencing him. "Remember why we have come. We do not beg. We do not threaten. We offer alliance."
As they pressed forward, the tunnel widened, revealing a fortress carved into the very bones of the earth. Towers of stone and iron rose high, glowing with the fire of countless forges. Dwarves in blackened armor patrolled the battlements, their eyes hard as obsidian.
At the gates, a dwarf captain stepped forward, beard braided with rings of steel, axe gleaming with fresh polish. His voice thundered in the cavern.
"Who dares bring serpent banners to the gates of Durak-Zhul?"
Sylvara stepped forward, her cloak flowing, her serpent hissing softly at her side. She met the captain's glare with unflinching poise.
"I am Sylvara, Queen of the Serpent-Blood, ruler beneath the Dark Forest. I come not as enemy nor as beggar, but as one who knows war is coming for us all. And if Durak-Zhul does not wish to burn, it will hear what I offer."
The captain studied her in silence, then glanced at the knights behind her, weapons at the ready but lowered in respect.
At last, he raised his hand. The massive iron gates groaned open.
"Then speak, Serpent Queen. But know this—dwarves do not forge oaths lightly."
Sylvara's lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile. "Nor do serpents."
And with that, she and her knights stepped into the heart of the dwarves' domain, where the fate of her kingdom would soon be forged