The ground had only just settled when Ethan turned to leave—only to see the Mole King barreling toward him in a flurry of limbs and dust.
Clutched tightly in his arms was a roll of ancient, dirt-caked parchment. His beard quivered with excitement.
"Master!" he called out, nearly dropping to one knee as he unfurled the scroll with reverence. "This is our tribe's most sacred inheritance—passed down through generations. Our ancestors, while digging through the deep veins, uncovered entrances to forgotten replica worlds."
Ethan paused, brows lifting slightly.
"Replica worlds?"
"Yes!" The Mole King jabbed a clawed finger at the map, where dozens—no, hundreds—of tiny symbols glimmered faintly gold under the lamplight.
"Each mark is a separate world. Some hold ancient energy currents, others are home to strange, powerful creatures… Any one of them could strengthen your army."
Ethan leaned in, eyes scanning the parchment.
