They were ready.
Packs secured. Weapons checked. Water skins tied tight. Mining tools clinking softly as Victor adjusted his grip, testing their weight one last time. The bread Rasir had provided was packed carefully, along with dried meat and the strange, fibrous plant roots Kel had insisted they take, bitter to chew, but excellent at holding moisture in the body.
Thirty kilometers. Nearly nineteen miles.
By foot.
In the desert.
"Anyone want to admit they underestimated how far that sounds?" Raul muttered, squinting at the horizon.
Victor rolled his shoulders. "I've carried heavier things farther."
"That wasn't the question."
Arin smirked faintly. "You're free to turn back."
Raul snorted. "And miss out on sweating myself half to death with you idiots? Not a chance."
And so they set off.
The journey south was… quiet.
Too quiet, almost.
The desert here felt untouched. No tracks. No bones. No signs of monsters or travelers. Just rolling dunes broken occasionally by jagged stone formations that jutted from the sand like broken teeth. The sun beat down relentlessly, but they moved with discipline, walking for an hour, resting for ten minutes. Small sips of water.
They chewed the plant roots Kel had given them, grimacing at the taste.
"This is what piss tastes like," Victor said flatly.
"You've tasted piss before? Not judging," Raul pointed out.
"…Yeah, yeah. Real funny." Victor muttered, rolling his eyes.
As the hours passed, the land subtly changed.
The sand darkened. Flecks of black stone appeared beneath their boots. The air felt heavier, almost humming faintly, like something beneath the ground was awake.
Then, at last, they saw it.
The mine entrance yawned open in the side of a massive stone outcrop, half-buried by drifting sand. And behind it—
A mountain range.
Not hills. Not cliffs.
Mountains.
Jagged, towering, stretching endlessly left and right, their peaks cutting into the sky like blades. The entire desert seemed trapped against them, encased by stone. No visible passes. No roads. Just an impossible wall.
Raul stared. "You could march an army here and still not find a way through."
Victor frowned. "That's not natural."
Arin nodded slowly. "Neither is this desert."
He studied the mountains, eyes narrowed. This wasn't Earth. Magic existed here. Strong magic. Enough to warp land itself. Enough to shape regions.
A desert sealed in by stone.
A single exit, the Scorched Pass.
Whatever created this place… meant for it to stay isolated.
They didn't linger.
The mine entrance was surprisingly well-maintained. Wooden supports reinforced the tunnel mouth. Chisel marks were clean and deliberate, not desperate. Whoever had dug this knew what they were doing.
Inside, the temperature dropped immediately.
The air was dry but cool, carrying the faint metallic scent of ore. Their footsteps echoed as they walked deeper, torches lighting the path. After ten minutes, the tunnel widened into a rough cavern, and there it was.
Black iron.
Veins of it ran through the rock like dark lightning, jagged and dense. Large chunks protruded from the walls and floor, untouched, waiting.
Victor's eyes lit up like a child's.
"Oh, this is beautiful," he breathed, running a hand over the ore. "Dense grain. High carbon content. You can feel it."
Raul blinked. "You can feel metal quality now?"
"Of course."
They got to work.
None of them were miners by trade, but effort made up for experience. Picks struck stone. Metal rang. Dust filled the air. Victor directed them carefully, where to strike, what to avoid, and how to break the ore without ruining its structure.
Time blurred.
Six hours passed in a haze of sweat, aching arms, and steady labor.
By the time they stopped, five large bags lay filled with black iron chunks, each weighing more than a grown man's torso.
Raul collapsed onto the stone floor. "I'm officially filing a complaint against rocks."
Victor wiped sweat from his brow. "Five bags aren't bad for amateurs."
"It's night," Arin said, glancing back toward the tunnel entrance. "We stay here."
They made camp deeper inside the cavern, shielded from the desert's freezing night winds. A small fire crackled to life, casting warm light across stone walls that gleamed faintly with embedded ore.
They ate in silence.
Victor broke it eventually. "We'll need at least five more bags to forge properly. Seven would be ideal."
Raul groaned. "You're enjoying this."
"I am."
Arin smiled faintly. "We push tomorrow. Dawn to dusk."
The night passed quietly.
No monsters. No tremors. Just the crackle of fire and exhaustion pulling them into sleep.
Dawn came early underground.
They worked harder on the second day.
Hands blistered. Muscles screamed. Sweat soaked their clothes despite the cool air. Still, they didn't stop. By afternoon, ten more bags were filled, stacked neatly against the cavern wall.
Fifteen total.
Enough.
"We head back tomorrow," Arin decided.
Victor nodded. "I can work miracles with this."
Raul stretched, bones popping. "I just want a bed."
They lit the fire again as the sun dipped low, shadows stretching long across the cavern floor.
That's when Raul stiffened.
His hand dropped to his weapon.
"…Movement," he said quietly. "From deeper in."
The fire crackled louder in the sudden silence.
Victor stood slowly. "I thought Rasir said monsters sometimes came here."
Arin's eyes sharpened. "Stay alert."
The sound came again.
Stone scraping against stone.
Heavy. Deliberate.
Then it emerged from the darkness.
A massive lizard, nearly twice the size of a horse, its body low and powerful. Thick slabs of stone grew naturally along its back and shoulders, forming crude armor. Its eyes glinted amber in the firelight as it hissed, claws digging into the cavern floor.
Raul swallowed. "That… looks tough."
Victor tightened his grip on his hammer. "Stoneback Lizards," he muttered. "Or something close."
The creature lowered its head and charged.
"Arms up," Arin commanded, voice steady.
"We engage."