Unbound

“Do you think it is safe?” Vess asked.

“I really doubt it.” Felix peered into the dark hall beyond the Gloaming Gate. It was bored straight into the Kingsrock, and the thick shadows were unmarred by the inscriptions now illuminating the outside of the gate. “If this was made by Nymeans then I won’t be surprised by more traps.”

“You were welcomed. Your Authority should keep any defenses at bay, no?”

Felix shrugged. “Probably.”

A small shape jerked at Vess’ shoulder, and the motion was followed by a series of rapid snorts before Yin poked his small head out of Vess’ cowl. He squinted into the light. “This is the Kingsrock?”

“Good morning Yin. Yes, it is.”

“I approve of the decoration,” he said, jerking his bearded chin toward the golden ground. “The boy got us here?”

“He did.” Vess looked at Felix, who was smiling at them both. She felt a slight flutter in her stomach, entirely unconnected to her core space. His eyes were so blue when he smiled, like something inside of him was glowing. “It was quite impressive.”

Yintarion squinted at her, then sniffed. “I smell elementals. You fought some while I slept?”

“No, I required the rest. Digestion is important and taxing.” Yintarion crawled out of Vess’ cowl completely, perching atop her silver and white pauldron. He stretched, similar to the house cats her cousins owned. “What kind?”

“Fire and air. Earth and metal,” Felix answered, now crouching near the entry way and running his hands along hexagonal tiles. They were inlaid with silver and gold, depicting interesting, swirling designs. “Greater Elementals.”

“Oho.” Yin turned on her, his golden eyes intense. “I need them.”

“I will see what we can do. The enemies were left back in the Starfield Steps, outside this area.” She didn’t relish the idea of hunting those treacherous glaciers, not alone, but if Yintarion needed them to advance his Evolution, then she would not balk. “I will see what we can do after we secure this place.”

“Ah. Yes. The Kingsrock. What of the giants? Ah.” Yin angled his neck around Vess’ head, peering at the prone form of one giant as well as several others huddled close. They watched Felix with angry eyes, but had not made a move since he had opened the gate. “Do they remain an issue?”

“No,” Felix said. He glanced back at the giants and the gathered tribes beyond them. “Not if they got the hint.”

Kimaris, Battlelord Vidar, and all the giants sworn to Felix had approached, setting themselves between the tribes and the Gloaming Gate. On their heels were the Feldspear Coven and the Cold Rock Coven, jostling for positioning as before. The floating Witch, the one that had addressed Felix previously, simply watched from a distance. Vess couldn’t quite make out her Spirit, but her expression was pinched as several other Witches spoke rapidly in her ear.

Impressive demonstration or not, Vess doubted their words had anything to do with acquiescing to Felix’s Authority.

“My Lord,” Kimaris said by way of greeting. “I think we should proceed within, before relations…escalate.”

“Probably smart.” Felix straightened from his inspection and ran a hand through the air just inside the gate. “I think it’s safe. There’s a lot of Mana moving around in there, way more than normal. Keep your heads on a swivel. Harn? Have the company bring up the rear.”

“Aye.”

The Claw marched closer, hands near their weapons but nothing drawn. They came up behind the allied giants, adding a second barrier between Felix and the gathered tribes. Vess lost sight of the floating Witch and her attendants completely.

“Vess. Evie. Beef. Walk with me.”

She followed Felix, the others—with the Chanters trailing behind—just after.

Felix stepped into the corridor. It was warm inside and smelled of damp minerals, not sulfur but almost salty. The ornate tiles beneath his boots didn’t fall apart or light up with sigils, and the towering walls were carved into thin, rectangular panels that framed sweeping pastoral vistas. Someone with a great deal of talent had faithfully recreated the barren expanse of snowy tundra and the looming northern mountains, and in much the same way as the Shadowgates and other Nymean ruins, colors were denoted by different types of ore and stone. The ceiling was too high to see normally, hazed by a veil of shadow and some sort of thick Mana. That was what Felix had been really concerned with during his investigation…but it remained suspended, doing who knew what, but at least not actively harming him.

“The way seems clear. Everyone—” Felix drew a quick breath in surprise as he turned around. All of his friends and allies had fallen to their faces, their necks corded and limbs jerking spasmodically as they tried and failed to regain their feet.

“We–can’t move!” Evie gasped.

Vess was on her side, right arm splayed outward and quivering. She lost the battle and slammed chest-first to the tiles. “Nnf, Yin? Can you—?”

“I cannot. I too am pinned.” The golden Wyrmling hissed like a cornered cat. “I dislike this greatly!”

“It hurts!” Beef moaned.

Shit. Pit? He saw his Companion standing without any issue, though his ears were laid back as he surveyed the scene.

“I’m fine. What’s happening?”

“I don’t know.”

“Felix! The–the Stronghold is denying us!” Tzfell said from the ground. Even she had been pressed down to her belly. “Spiritual pr-pressure is being used against us! Access the Authority! Allows us in!”

“I can’t.” He mentally jabbed for his Authority Screens but only those for Ahkestria and Nagast appeared. He had increased his Authority in the Hoarfrost, but he hadn’t claimed the Seat and Seal yet. “There’s nothing to access!”

Several of the giants started gagging, as if the pressure were cutting off their airflow. Felix growled. He would have to drag them all out, or else his friends and allies would be killed by System-based bureaucracy.

Death by red tape. Shit. I—His Inheritor’s Will buzzed once again. Felix grasped the hilt and, just as before, Felix could almost understand it. He drew out the hooked blade, lifting it until the hilt was level with his eyes. “What do I do?”

The blade quivered, pulling his arm upward. Felix allowed it, letting the Crescian Bronze guide him as he raised the weapon into the sky. It felt light as a feather until the glyphs began to blaze. The weight of it crashed onto him like a mountain, forcing Felix to put both hands onto its hilt to keep it aloft. It tilted, asking without words, for him to act.

Felix slashed downward, and the very air was sliced in two.

The air howled as it whirled forward, dust kicked up and into swirling cyclones that bifurcated the corridor. Inheritor’s Will glowed, the first glyph then the second. Etheric Division split the Mana all around them, disrupting the Spiritual pressure before the second glyph ignited. Etheric Unification. That strange hazy darkness fell, pulled into the Inheritor’s Will with all the strength of high tide, until nothing was left.

All was quiet in the aftermath, and Felix was sweating buckets, as if he’d just fought the hardest fight of his life. His arms screamed at him, muscles protesting as he lifted his hooked blade once more. The thing had grown incredibly heavy, so much so that he feared his sheath would not hold it, but it slammed home without issue.

Within his chest, Felix’s Hunger grumbled, like Pit denied a treat. You just ate. Don’t be greedy.

Yeah. Don’t be greedy, Pit echoed.

Felix decided not to point out that particular bit of hypocrisy. Instead, he went and helped Beef up, Vess and Evie having already regained their feet. “You should all be fine now.”

“What’d you do?” the kid asked.

“I cut through the red tape.”

There were no other defenses within the interior of the Kingsrock, or at least none that assaulted their party. After entering the Gloaming Gate—and letting it close behind them—Felix and his hundred strong group progressed through the tiled corridor and into a very large, domed chamber at what seemed to be the center of the structure. There was no light within the space, no windows, magelights, or even torches mounted on the walls. Thankfully the Witches summoned hand-sized shards of ice that glowed with a steady, icy-blue illumination. It wasn’t much, but it helped most of them parse the increasingly vast layout of the Kingsrock.

Felix didn’t need any of it, and he walked ahead, Pit at his side. The domed chamber had a beautiful floor of inlaid stone, depicting a very large four-pointed star set into the dark material. Several corridors led off of it, including three sets of stairs that ascended the sides of the dome before entering some sort of loft area. The place was so large, every step from their company sent faintly musical echoes up into the dome.

“Nymean built,” Laur said from nearby. “That cannot be denied. You were right, Tzfell.”

“Mhm.” The Dwarven Chanter held a small flame above her palm and pressed it close to the floor. The tattoos on her face twitched. “I am happy I was. This place is in immaculate condition. It should prove a treasure trove of details on the Lost Nym.”

“Don’t go poking about just yet,” Felix warned. “That likely wasn’t the only trap.”

“Wise words, Autarch. We should make finding the Seat and Seal our highest priority. It should be the most warded location in the structure. Can you find the strongest wards, Laur?”

“That is all I can find. Wards and more are sung into the stone itself, so densely that I cannot parse them from the interplay of Harmonies. This place is a masterpiece of architecture and magic.” Laur tried something, but the magic sizzled above his palm. “There is a song here I cannot penetrate. The Seat is hidden from me. We might be standing on it, for all I know.”

Felix glanced down at the inlaid flooring and flared his Manasight. The place was awash in vapor, pools of liquid power, and even solid bars of crystallized Mana. All of it was interwoven into the stone, the metal, the wood of the balustrades on the staircases. Laur was right; the place had been built by someone far beyond Felix’s level of shaping skill.

Kimaris walked up to him, a shard of light above her shoulder, and spoke with an awed hush. “It is more than I could have imagined. It—look, my Lord. The stairs.”

Felix immediately spotted what she meant—he had seen similar designs in other Nymean structures, but none quite so stark. The center of each staircase was designed for a very small person to use, such as a Gnome or Geist. On either side were the more standardized steps used by Humans, Orcs, Elves, and others. But surrounding them both were far larger treads, ones that were clearly built for giants.

“Is this truly where the High Chieftain resided?” she asked.

“I really hope so,” Felix answered. Because otherwise he had wasted his time finding the place. “Do your legends tell where to go from here?”

“Only that the High Chieftain ruled from on high, over all he could survey.”

Felix looked up the nearest staircase. “Right. That makes sense. We’re going up, people!”

They followed the stairs, ascending to the loft a single story above. There the rooms were just as grand, built for dimensions far exceeding Felix’s own. Doorways and halls proved no issue to the giantfolk that followed him, and more than once he heard a soft exclamation of delight at the novelty.

Most of the chambers were empty of furnishings and finery, as if everything that wasn’t bolted down had been taken long ago. There wasn’t even any dust, though Felix was sure no one had stolen it. Something about the abundant enchantments around them kept surfaces clean and tidy, and even the snow and dirt from their boots dissolved in their wake.

The halls soon grew too numerous to count. Archways led from room to room, their denuded nature offering little to differentiate between them. Where they saw stairs, they ascended them. Dead ends abounded, however, forcing them to double back often, even retreating back down staircases before hunting for another. Their steps were a sharp staccato scale, ascending. Descending. Moving and yet monotonous.

Frustration grew among their company, and even Felix was getting annoyed. Every path felt like it would lead them to the top, but inevitably there was another level above even that. Eventually the rooms began to have new details, mostly sculpture, but that was a whole other problem entirely. They varied from reliefs like the entryway to busts and even depictions of complete creatures. However Felix was disgusted to find most defaced in some way. The reliefs were gouged and scratched, empty holes denoting where precious gems once resided. The busts were cracked and sagging, the full creatures missing limbs and eyes and teeth, the metal or stone melted by some terrible flame until they were unrecognizable.

Someone had ransacked the place.

“This is blasphemy,” Sitri said in a thin, wavering voice. “The relics of our people. This was a majestic Therium. Now it is scrap.”

“This place was sealed. Who could have done this?” Vess asked. Her outrage danced across Felix’s skin.

“Dwarves,” Naberius said, and the word dropped with disdain. A faint note sounded, far off. Angry glances were shot toward Tzfell, but the Chanter ignored them.

“A bold claim,” Laur said. Tzfell said nothing.

“Not so bold as her kind. Only the Dwarves have dared to steal our heritage. Only the Dwarves have waged war on us for an Age!”

“A war started by the giants,” Tzfell finally said, voice rising. A faint hum threaded through her words, as if her magic was only syllables away. “You have raided our towns for far longer!”

“Thieves and invaders!”

“Savage monsters!”

“Enough,” Felix said, leveling a glare at everyone. It wasn’t enough. The swell of music crescendoed, a burgeoning riot that tugged at his heart. Insistent. Cajoling.

Naberius and some other Witches reached toward Tzfell, magics curling across their fingers. Tzfell hummed, her shoulders blooming with loops of strange geometries. The song shouted, it roared. The melody was violence.

Felix shuddered at the touch of it. Refused it. He drew his hooked blade. It blazed, bronze light burning like the sun in his grasp before dimming, leaving only a sharp, dissonant screech. The keening sound startled them all, Chanter and giant both, and the song that had pressed at them vanished into nonsensical chords.

“This isn’t helping anything,” he spat through bared teeth. “Listen! The Kingsrock is manipulating us.”

“The Dwarves—!”

“It’s a trap! Can’t you hear it? God!” Felix shook, shoulders bucking as if throwing off a thick, stifling blanket. “You can tear each other apart later! On your own terms.” There was a tugging from his sword, and Felix trailed off, focusing on the blade. “Huh.”

“What is it?” Vess asked, voice hoarse. He didn’t recall her shouting.

“The sword wants us to go this way.”

Evie held the bridge of her nose while leaning against Beef for support. “It ain’t been wrong yet, right?”

Pit followed the path of the twitching blade. He let out a confused trill. “That’s a wall.”

“Not for long,” Beef declared—before charging into it head-first.

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