In the depths of the Mo Eclipse Mountains, where morning mist still clung to the caves, the air carried the scent of damp earth and pine needles. Fa and her companions stood in silence around a freshly dug grave. Within it lay Blasthammer Durin, dwarf vice-general, his war hammer resting across his chest, the Heartfire emblem on its head no longer glowing. Last night's battle lingered like a nightmare; Durin had bought their escape with his life, and his final words still rang in every heart.
TISK dropped to his knees. Metal magic seeped from his fingers into the soil, fusing the surrounding stones into a solid ring of protection. In Dwarvish he whispered, voice breaking, "By the name of the Forge, may your soul return to the mountains and resonate with the metal forever." Tears cut channels through the soot on his cheeks and fell onto the small furnace pendant Durin had pressed into their hands as he died.
Arya stepped forward, untied her silver hair ribbon, and bound it around the hammer's haft. The ribbon shimmered faintly, resonating with the forest — the last gift an elf can give a warrior. Softly she said, "We will finish your battle song for you." Her eyes were gentle, yet grief lay bright and sharp beneath.
Fa raised her hand. Earth magic flowed from her fingertips; the soil covered the grave like obedient water. She closed her right eye; the star-pupil in her left glowed faintly as if searching for something, then dimmed. She sighed. "Thank you, General Durin. Your sacrifice will not be in vain."
Salsa's soul-form hovered nearby, pale blue light washing over the grave. "His spirit has already merged with the crystal veins of the mountain," she said quietly. "That is the final home of a dwarf." Then she slipped back into her mechanical cat body and stood guard in silence.
Rex stood at the rear. His mechanical arm emitted a low hum. Though he could not feel human grief, he paid respect in his own way — a thin beam of blue light projected from his core, forming the dwarven rune for "Eternal Forging" glowing above the tomb.
The burial complete, Fa turned to the others, voice low but steady. "We move now. We must reach Liemelt City and find Durus at the Iron Heart Inn. He was Durin's oldest friend. He'll get us out and carry word to the Steelmelt Alliance."
TISK gripped his hammer. "I'll make Gruum and his dogs pay. Uncle Durin's blood demands it."
The Shadow of the Wanted Poster
They gathered their gear and left the forest. As they reached the main road to Liemelt City, a deep horn sounded in the distance, followed by the thunder of hooves. Fa signalled; they melted into the underbrush. Through the leaves they saw their own faces projected on a roadside panel: WANTED — Murderers of Vice-General Blasthammer Durin. Reward: 5,000 gold coins.
Arya's brow furrowed. "Gruum moves fast. He pinned Durin's death on us."
Rex's optic flashed red. "Thermal imaging confirms tripled gate guards. Audio analysis indicates full lockdown. Patrol frequency: every ten minutes."
TISK ground his teeth. "Lying bastards! Uncle Durin died protecting us…"
Salsa's soul-form brushed the back of his trembling neck with cool blue light. "Cool your head, blacksmith boy. We need brains right now, not hammers."
Fa's star-pupil flared gold for an instant. "We can't walk through the front gate. We go under. Rex already breached the city defence grid. North sewer entrance."
Infiltration of Liemelt City
They took the hidden path Rex indicated. The air grew thick with metal and sulphur. The sewers of Liemelt were like iron arteries — scalding slag water rushed through chrome pipes. TISK pressed his ear to a wet grating, listening to orc patrols overhead. "They even put heat-sensor nets down here…" He touched the bars; gold magic flowed, and the iron bent like toffee.
"Remember what Uncle Durin taught me — 'Metal Breathing'," he muttered. "Every piece of iron has its own pulse. Follow the rhythm…"
Before he finished, Rex's nano-drone flashed red across his face. "System reset in thirty seconds. Move!"
They slipped through the warped bars. Hours later they emerged in a back alley of the market district. The city burned bright with forge-light; boots and shouts echoed everywhere.
Rex distributed small holographic projectors. "Disguises. One hour duration."
They split into two groups: Fa and Arya, TISK, Salsa (in cat form), and Rex. Rendezvous at the Iron Heart Inn.
Fa and Arya passed a checkpoint only because Arya and Fa conjured a sudden dust storm with wind and earth magic. TISK distracted a dwarf patrol with loud, drunken banter long enough for Rex and Salsa to slip past.
Allies of the Iron Heart
Night deepened. They reached the Iron Heart Inn — old, sturdy, its iron sign swaying in the wind. The common room was empty, wanted posters crooked on the walls. The moment Fa stepped on the wooden stairs, hidden crossbows fired from the walls. Arya's wooden shield bloomed green; bolts snapped against it like dry twigs.
"Durus! It's us!" Fa shouted, holding up the furnace pendant toward a dwarf sigil in the corner.
Heavy steps descended. Durus appeared, battle-axe in hand, rust-coloured beard bristling. "You've got the nerve to come back after killing Durin?"
TISK surged forward; the axe swept him back. "We didn't kill him! He—" He pulled out the Heartfire emblem. Its furnace pattern matched the exact match on Durus's own bracer.
Fa stepped between them. "Listen. Durin died exposing Gruum's treason."
Durus's axe clanged to the floor. He snatched the pendant, studied the unique rune only Durin could forge, and his eyes filled with tears. "Tell me everything."
Fa spoke quickly — the smuggling, the slave pits, the pact with the soul-binder Cthulhu and the blood elf Syst, Durin's last stand. When she finished, Durus's beard trembled with rage.
"That bastard… Durin and I built this inn together." He took a shaking breath. "Come with me."
He led them behind the counter, triggered a hidden mechanism. A section of wall slid aside, revealing a small room smelling of ale and old iron. Photos lined the walls — young Durin and Durus grinning in front of the newly forged inn sign. One picture had tiny writing: To old Du: If anything happens to me, the Iron Furnace passage code is the year you had your first kiss.
"You stay here tonight," Durus said. "Tomorrow I'll get you out on a waste-hauler. But the gates are sealed tight. I'll need one more favour from an old friend."
Escape Before Dawn
They slept in shifts. At first light Durus knocked. "Cart's ready. Barton's driving. Waste shipment cover."
They crawled into the false bottom of the wagon. TISK layered radioactive slag over them with metal magic to fool sensors. The cart rolled to the gate. An orc guard banged on the side.
"What cargo?"
"Slag for the outer furnaces."
The guard peered in, saw only blackened waste, waved them through.
Half an hour later Barton stopped in a hollow and let them out. "Southeast to the Steelmelt Alliance. Good luck."
Fa clasped his hand. "Tell Durus we'll be back. We'll end this."
Crisis on the Road to the Steelmelt Alliance
They travelled hidden paths, wanted posters glowing on every notice board. After ten kilometres they crested a hill and saw a vast dwarf army encamped — three thousand soldiers, triple-forge banners flying, rune-forged tents, mechanical watchtowers with rotating crystal scanners.
"That's one of the Seven Generals of the Steelmelt Alliance," TISK whispered. "Triple-forge mark — Darkaxe Rok."
Arya's ears twitched; wind carried distant words to her. "They're talking patrol routes… and the name 'Gruum'."
Fa closed her right eye; the star-pupil shone silver. "We're not going around. This may be our only chance. If we convince General Rok, the entire Alliance will stand with us."
Rex's optic displayed probabilities. "Enemy strength: three thousand. Infiltration success rate under thirty percent."
"I go alone," Fa said. "You wait for my signal."
Arya squeezed her hand. "If anything feels wrong, we come in shooting."
Fa smiled, pulled Rex's stealth cloak around her, and vanished into the night.
Infiltration of the Dwarf Camp
Under moonlight Fa ghosted between patrols, earth magic erasing her footprints, cloak bending light. She waited until the command tent emptied, then stepped inside.
Darkaxe Rok sat alone studying maps. His armour glittered with secret silver runes… and several black crystals that pulsed with wrong light.
Fa removed the cloak. "General Darkaxe Rok, I bring urgent intelligence."
The dwarf's hand was on his axe instantly. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"
"My name is Fa. My companions and I are falsely accused of murdering Blasthammer Durin. I carry proof." She held up the Heartfire emblem.
Rok took it, recognised the rune, and for a moment grief flickered across his face. Then something colder replaced it — ambition, greed. A thin smile curved his lips.
"Proof means nothing. Maybe you killed him and took it."
Fa's heart sank. "General, please! Gruum is trafficking crystal cores, enslaving miners, conspiring with Cthulhu of the soul-binders and the blood elf Syst. Durin died exposing them!"
Rok rose slowly. Black smoke leaked from his axe. "You know too much, little girl. Some fires are not yours to meddle with." He roared, "Guards! Take her!"
Capture and the First Glimpse of Conspiracy
Fa raised an earth wall; Rok's axe shattered it with a single blow of combined forge and dark magic. Before her dagger cleared its sheath, guards pinned her arms. Magic-suppressing manacles snapped around her wrists.
"General, I can show you the truth!"
Rok's eyes flickered — a moment of doubt — then hardened. "The Steelmelt Alliance does not need outsiders to tell us truth." He turned to an aide. "Inform General Gruum we have the woman called Fa."
Through a communication crystal came Gruum's voice, cold as deep caves: "Bring her to the border prison five kilometres inside Fierceclaw territory. I will arrive in seven days. Keep her alive. I have questions."
Fa's blood turned to ice. Even the Steelmelt Alliance had been infiltrated.
The Companions' Pursuit
Outside the camp, Arya and the others waited. An hour passed. No signal.
Rex's drone caught an iron cage wagon leaving the camp — a bound, blindfolded figure inside.
"It's Fa," Arya whispered, bowstring humming with wind.
TISK's knuckles went white around his hammer. "Why would General Rok—"
Salsa's soul-form darkened. "I felt it. Thin threads of dark magic on Rok. He's compromised."
Rex projected a map. "They head west — toward Fierceclaw border. Estimated arrival at prison: tomorrow noon."
"Then we follow," Arya said. "We take her back before she ever sees the inside of that place."
The Harsh Pursuit
For three days and nights they tracked the army through storm and mountain, never resting. TISK read iron hoofprints in the mud. Arya sent wind spirits to scout from above. Salsa's shadow wolves scouted ahead. Rex's drones mapped every patrol.
On the evening of the third day they saw the prison — Shadowclaw Pass Prison, ringed by iron walls and shimmering dark barriers.
At dawn the cage wagon stopped. Rok himself handed Fa to orc guards.
From a ridge one kilometre away, the team watched.
Rex whispered, "Tonight I send full nano-swarm reconnaissance. Tomorrow night we strike."
Arya nocked an arrow that sang with wind. "Salsa breaks the barrier. TISK and Rex create diversion. I go in for Fa."
TISK's hammer glowed with furnace heat. "For Fa. For Uncle Durin. We do not fail."
Night fell. The team moved like ghosts toward the prison.
A desperate rescue was about to begin, and Fa's life hanging by a single thread.