The throne of Druvadir was not carved.It was grown — from pressure, fire, and time. A spire of black-veined basalt, cracked at the edges, older than the first Rune.
Upon it sat King Rurik, not armored, but robed in embersilk, hands resting on the arms of his seat like a smith poised before the anvil. His crown, a circlet of jagged ore and forge-chain, glinted red in the firelight.
Before him, the council stirred uneasily.
The Wildguard stood in silence.
Twelve cloaked in green and iron. One, taller — her antlered helm casting long shadows. Her breath was slow, even. But her presence, like a taut bowstring.
Captain Ilyari bowed, not low. Just enough.
"My King," she said. "We come by the will of the Matriarch of Thornevale. Not in defiance."
King Rurik did not speak at once.His gaze fell on the sigil at her belt — the crescent thorn, inked in silver.
"You walk into my mountain," he said, voice even. "Unbidden. With no gift. With words that hang like veiled threats."
"We offer no threat," Ilyari replied. "We offer reminder."
The Runepriests behind Rurik stirred, some muttering. One stepped forward, staff clutched tight. "You claim concern for balance," he growled. "But you come cloaked and armed."
"So do you," she answered, eyes flicking to the dwarf's runed spear.
Rurik raised a hand.
Silence returned.
"Say what you came to say," the King said. "And do so quickly."
Ilyari stepped forward, removing her helm.
Her face was carved from wind and time — high cheekbones, dusky skin, and eyes pale with forest-light.
"The Forge breathes again. We felt it from the Heartgrove. The Wyrm stirs."
"And what of it?" Rurik asked.
"You know what stirs it. As do we."
There was no pause between her words and the next:
"The Riftborn walks your halls."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
Rurik's knuckles tightened slightly.
"The Riftborn is a guest," he said. "And under dwarven protection."
"A guest, or a weapon?" Ilyari asked softly.
Now the silence had teeth.
The Runepriests bristled.
Rurik leaned forward. "Careful, elf."
But Ilyari didn't flinch. Her voice grew quieter. Heavier.
"If you attempt to wield him, you will lose him. And worse — you will wake the one sealed beneath the Forge."
The chamber chilled.
She stepped back.
"We come not to steal. Not to bind. We come to warn."
"And if I choose not to heed it?" the King asked.
Ilyari's answer was not a threat.
Only this:
"Then the forest will remember."
She bowed again.
"Let the Riftborn decide."
Rurik said nothing.
But in his hand, beneath the folds of his cloak, the Gem pulsed once.
Beneath – The Deep Chamber
Far below, in the veins of the mountain, Rei stirred.
The trio had moved to a resting chamber hollowed from obsidian. The forgefires still glowed faintly in the walls, but the air was heavier now — as if the mountain had started to breathe differently.
Kaia sat sharpening her blade, ears twitching.
Durik leaned over a stone basin, rinsing ash from his palms.
Rei?
He stood by himself. Silent.
Not asleep. Not awake.
His eyes were open — but seeing something far.
Kaia was the first to sense it.
The shift.
"Rei," she called softly.
No answer.
Then, all at once, Rei's head snapped up.He turned toward the mountain wall — not where any sound had come from, but where something within him pulled.
"Roots," he whispered.
Durik frowned. "What?"
"Roots… have come."
They felt it then.
The air thickened.The forge flame dimmed.And from far, far above — not sound, but presence — a hum that was not stone. Not flame. But forest.
Kaia's blade stilled.
Durik's expression darkened. "The elves."
Rei nodded.
"They're close. Watching."
Kaia stepped to his side. "What do they want?"
Rei closed his eyes. "To speak. Not with you. With me."
Durik muttered, "Of course."
Rei sat down, cross-legged on the stone floor. The warmth of the mountain still radiated up through it.
But he felt cold.
Inside.
"Will they hurt us?" Kaia asked.
"No," Rei said. "They're not afraid of us."
He looked up at her, eyes unreadable.
"They're afraid of what follows me."
Throneforge – Later
The Wildguard had not been dismissed.
Nor had they been imprisoned.
They were housed. Politely. In the guest chambers carved centuries ago for war-truces never signed.
But they waited.
Not for the King.
For the Riftborn.
Captain Ilyari sat in silence, meditating with her fingers pressed to the rune-scar on her wrist.
She had seen the forge's flicker.
But she feared what the Gem had shown the King more.
She did not come to war.
She came to stand beside the one who might one day choose how the world ends.
And tonight, the stars over Druvadir would burn just a little redder.