The air grew heavier with every step.
Not with magic, though there was plenty of that buried in the stone around them, but with something more familiar.
place had been a battlefield long before either side arrived.
Lindarion followed Velistra down the winding path into the heart of the underground, Sylric beside him, cloak dragging over dust-covered tiles.
The walls shimmered faintly, not with runes, but with layered scars in the stone, etched by time or force or both.
Ashwing's voice, dry in his mind: "You're walking into a nest again."
"I'm not saying don't. I'm just saying… last time you did something a year ago, you broke four ribs."
"Ah. Right. Better odds."
The tunnel opened up.
Not into another hallway, but a chamber.
Circular. Wide. The ceiling arched high overhead, carved into a pattern of roots and wings that pulsed faintly with reddish-blue veins.
The floor was made of a mosaic, cracked, but still visible. It showed a flower blooming from a pile of bones.
The mutants moved aside to let them pass.
There were more now, lurking in the walls, crouched behind broken pillars, some half-visible in alcoves lit by glowing fungus. None attacked.
They started to appear.
The first emerged from a jagged doorway on the left. Broad-shouldered, skin like old stone, cracked and pulsing with lines of molten amber.
His jaw was partially replaced with black steel. His right arm was too long, ending in a curved blade where a hand should've been.
He didn't wear armor.
Velistra turned slightly toward them.
"This is Korrash. First Scar of the Deep Conclave. Former commander of the Black Tide."
His voice sounded like a rockslide.
"Elf. You broke a few of my soldiers."
Lindarion met his gaze evenly. "They deserved it."
Korrash smiled, broken teeth glinting in the glow.
The second appeared from above.
She dropped from a ledge near the ceiling, slender, fast. Landed on all fours like a cat. Skin pale blue, veined with dark green.
Her hair was a twisted tangle of braids tied with bones, and her legs bent too far at the knee. She wore wraps, not clothing. Flexible armor laced into cloth. She stood slowly.
"I'm Syrien," she said. "They call me the Mistshade."
Velistra didn't bother introducing her.
Syrien leaned toward Sylric slightly. "You look fun."
Sylric stepped half behind Lindarion. "I don't hit girls."
She tilted her head. "I hit everyone."
The third was already in the room.
His skin matched the stone exactly, until it didn't. He stepped free like a ghost shedding a disguise.
Short, hooded, face hidden behind a smooth gray mask etched with tiny pinpricks of gold. His aura was subtle. Dangerous.
Velistra gestured toward him. "That's Salen."
No title. No fanfare.
Ashwing muttered in Lindarion's mind. "That one's worse than the rest."
The fourth one came last.
And she was different.
She was tall. Slender. Dressed in an old military coat, fastened tight at the waist. Her eyes were yellow, not glowing.
Just bright. Her hair was white-gold, cut short. No visible weapons. No mutations. But the air shifted when she entered, like her presence stole the warmth from the room.
Velistra's voice lowered.
"This is Caliean. She doesn't belong to the choir. She came of her own will."
Caliean's gaze moved to Lindarion.
"You're the chosen little prince, right?" she asked.
Lindarion didn't respond.
Not without letting something slip.
Syrien cackled from the side. "Oooooh. That was a good guess."
Lindarion's voice stayed even. "I'm not here for introductions."
"You're here for the girl," said Korrash.
Lindarion nodded once.
"And you think you're walking out with her?"
Velistra smiled faintly. "No one here wants a war, Lindarion. But you stepped into a room full of generals. You should know what that means."
"I know exactly what it means."
"But if even one of you lays another hand on her, I won't stop at nests. I'll burn the roots too."
"Well," she said. "Now I am excited."
Lindarion didn't move.
Not as Syrien's grin widened or as Korrash's blade-arm twitched like it wanted a reason.
Not even when Salen's mask tilted slightly to follow his movements, subtle, like a predator deciding whether the thing in front of it was worth killing.
He just stared at Velistra.
"I didn't come to chat," Lindarion said. His voice was level. "Where is she?"
Velistra didn't blink. "You're outnumbered."
Her expression shifted slightly. Not surprised. Just evaluating.
"And what, exactly, do you think you'll do if we say no?"
"I'm not thinking," Lindarion said. "I'm telling you."
He stepped forward. Just once.
Ashwing bristled against his shoulder, tail lashing once. His wings remained folded, but the heat off his scales pulsed warmer now. Sharper.
"Give me Luneth," Lindarion said, "or I start with your wings."
Velistra's smile returned. But colder.
Korrash rumbled low. "He talks like he's forgotten how that last fight went."
"Maybe he thinks we won't break him again," Syrien said. She tilted her head at Lindarion. "Elves are cute when they bluff."
Lindarion raised one hand. Lightning snapped to his fingertips, quiet but deliberate. Not explosive. Just there, humming like a fuse waiting to burn.
"No riddles. No threats. You took her. Now hand her over."
"Maeven has her," Salen said softly.
It was the first time he'd spoken.
His voice wasn't mechanical or haunting. It was just plain. Like someone talking about the weather.
"Then take me to him," Lindarion said.
Korrash shifted his weight forward. "He's not done yet."
Sylric muttered behind him, "So we're just doing this, then?"
Ashwing curled tighter across Lindarion's collarbone. "Three of them could kill you in under a minute."
'Then we make sure it takes two.'
Velistra took a single step forward.
Her wings folded behind her, but her eyes didn't leave his.
"You're burning too hot," she said. "You'll run out before you reach her."