The air in the tunnel was thick with damp stone and the faint metallic tang of oil lamps. The narrow path ahead wound downward in sharp turns, shadows pooling in every crevice.
Eliakim slowed his steps until Gideon and Ezra were walking beside him. His voice was quiet enough to be lost under the echo of boots.
"Give me your weapons," he murmured.
Gideon's brow furrowed. "What?"
"Your weapons. And the Rings of Galveryn."
Ezra glanced at him sidelong, but the trust between them was long-forged. Without a word, Gideon slipped his twin axes from their straps, the steel catching the dim lamplight. Ezra passed over his slender wand, its polished wood humming faintly with stored magic. Both surrendered their rings — small, innocuous bands that could be lethal in the right hands.
Eliakim slid the items into the Bracelet of Kharuun. The moment each object touched its surface, it vanished into the artifact's invisible storage — unseen and unreachable to the naked eye.
Finally, Eliakim twisted his own Ring of Galveryn from his finger and tucked it away with the rest.
"Caleb," Eliakim said, holding out his hand.
The archer gave a short, humorless laugh. "Not a chance. This bow's been in my family for three generations. If we lose it, I'd rather it be my fault."
Eliakim didn't press, simply letting his arm fall back to his side. "Your choice."
They moved on.
The tunnel widened, and the first hints of deep, rhythmic sound rolled toward them — a steady thunk, thunk, thunk.
When they emerged, the sight stopped even Gideon mid-step.
A cavern stretched out before them, vast enough to hold a city. Thousands of Dark Elf soldiers stood in perfect formation, armor black as obsidian edged with silver filigree. Every synchronized stomp of their boots rattled the very stone. Banners of deep crimson glowed faintly with arcane glyphs. Siege engines loomed along the far walls, their twisted shapes bristling with jagged bolts.
Vaeryn Solthir, still masked in bone, stepped to the edge of a raised platform. A Dark Elf lieutenant approached him, speaking in low, rapid tones in the Elven tongue.
Eliakim kept his face carefully neutral, pretending not to follow a word. In truth, every syllable was clear — but he'd learned long ago the value of letting enemies underestimate him.
Caleb listened, his expression darkening.
When the lieutenant left, Caleb leaned in toward the others. "They're mobilizing. Not just against the queen… but the castle as well. Vaeryn's making sure both fall at the same time."
Ezra's eyes narrowed. "That's insane. No one wins in a two-front war."
Caleb gave a humorless smile. "Vaeryn thinks he will."
Vaeryn turned to them then, his voice rising to carry across the chamber. "The queen and her court are blind. The castle rots behind its walls. Neither will see the storm until it's too late."
Gideon stepped forward. "What storm?"
The captain tilted his head, his tone measured. "One that needs… particular tools. Outsiders. People neither side expects."
Ezra folded his arms. "And let me guess — that's us."
"In exchange for your cooperation," Vaeryn said smoothly, "you will have freedom, weapons, and coin enough to vanish wherever you please. Or… you can return to the queen's cells and wait for the castle to finish what she began."
Caleb translated for Eliakim, though the detective didn't so much as blink. He kept up the illusion of a man left out of the loop, his eyes on the cavern floor, mind already moving faster than the conversation.
Ezra's lip curled. "That's not much of a choice."
"It's more than most get," Vaeryn replied, the barest edge of a smile in his voice.
A horn sounded in the depths — long and low. The legions shifted in flawless unison, their movements so disciplined it was as if one mind commanded them.
Vaeryn stepped back toward the shadows. "Think on it. I'll return for your answer."
As their escort herded them toward a side passage, Eliakim's gaze lingered on the war camp. Three forces — queen, castle, dark elves — all poised to destroy each other. In that chaos lay their only real chance.
He just had to make sure he was the one holding the matches when the fire started.