"There might be others," Dem warned, allowing Sark to take point again.
"There are too many miners and technicians down here for those men to have killed," Sark murmured as they moved. "They must have trapped them. There's a heavy door ahead, but it's wood—it wouldn't withstand more than a few strikes of a pick."
Dem suddenly gripped Sark's arm, halting him midstep. "Smell that?"
Sark inhaled—and flinched. "Nayon oil. The kind used to burn through rock."
"You can burn through rock?" Telo held his spear tighter, eyes sweeping the corridor.
"I over-simplified it," Sark replied. "You drill a hole, fill it with nayon, ignite it, and eventually it eats through. It's too slow to use regularly—but for traps? Perfect."
Another turn in the tunnel revealed two empty barrels, still reeking. The corridor bent sharply.
"Trap," Dem said.
Nayon had been dumped, forming a small river across the floor. Fuses snaked through the oil toward a keg that sat innocently against the wall.
"Kegs with fuses," Telo muttered. "Always a bad sign."
"It's fake," Dem said after a glance. "It's the door that's rigged."
Hugging the wall to stay clear of the fumes, he reached the wooden access door. He bent, studying the latch.
"Is it going to blow if we try it?" Telo asked. "Maybe let me—"
Dem shook his head. He tore a strip from his sleeve, wrapped it around the latch, and yanked it open.
"Move slow," he warned. "No sparks."
"The latch was trapped?" Telo asked.
"Flint on one side, sulfur on the other," Dem said. "One spark in this much nayon…" He let the unspoken outcome hang.
He stepped forward, calling into the dim chamber beyond.
"Taigon Frostridge sent us. I'm Commander Dem of the Sentry force."
Silence… then heads began rising from behind crates and overturned mining carts.
"Dem?" Rave stepped forward, shock turning into relief before she threw herself at him.
"Rave." He hugged her once, then eased her back. "What happened?"
Rave swallowed. "Someone set charges near the entrance. When we retreated, they rigged this door. Said they'd burn us alive if we opened it. Was it really a trap?"
"Yes." Dem's tone left no room for doubt. "How many survivors?"
"Forty-three. Another dozen died in the collapse." She glanced down the hall. "Is it just you five?"
"For now. Follow us. Step carefully—walk around the nayon and don't touch anything metal."
Dem led the way, keeping Rave close as they retraced their steps, weaving past the spilled oil.
"What were you doing down here?" Dem asked.
Rave sighed. "Bringing supplies. Rotating duty. Just… bad timing."
"Take us to the drill. We brought coal. We need to move fast—this is only stage one of whatever they planned."
Outside, Taigon was shoulder-to-shoulder with his people, shifting rubble by hand when Reyka appeared beside him.
"I thought you'd be with Dem," he said, lifting a stone.
Reyka set her own chunk aside. "He's already inside."
Taigon froze. "What?"
Before Reyka could answer, a shout rose from the front of the work line.
"Hey! You feel that? It's vibrating!"
Taigon rushed forward, placing his hand against the collapsed stone. His eyes widened.
"That's… that's the drill! The drill is running!"
Cheers erupted up and down the pass.
Six hours later, a massive drill bit punched through the rock, showering dust and stone. Frostridge voices roared with relief.
It took another two hours to enlarge the opening enough for miners to crawl through. One by one, survivors emerged—each greeted with cheers and pulled into waiting arms.
The final figures to climb out were the five Sentries, covered in dust and sweat.
Dem stepped through last, brushing rubble from his shoulders.
"Dem!" Taigon rushed him, gripping both arms, nearly shaking him. "I—"
Dem let him squeeze once, then freed himself gently. "This wasn't an accident, Clan Chief. Put your people on alert. The Sentry force will handle the rest."
Taigon didn't argue. He simply nodded once, forcing himself to focus on the immediate crisis instead of the dozen questions racing behind his eyes.
"I'll leave it to the Sentry force."
Dem tossed the newly looted storage ring to Telo. "All yours. Looks like a small one—enough for personal gear."
Telo's grin stretched wide as he swung onto his horse. "Form up! We're riding!"
"The closest city with any real magical footprint is Thaigmaal," Sark said as he matched Dem's stride. "Let's talk on the move."
Dem vaulted into the saddle, turning southeast. "Mountains on our left. This trail should take us toward Thaigmaal in three or four days, if it's clear."
The Sentry force fell in behind them, horses settling into a steady rhythm.
"You think someone in Thaigmaal wants the Frostridge mines?" Dem asked, riding between Sark and Telo.
"The Frostridge clan holds the deed," Sark explained. "If someone wants them, they want them illegally." A pause. "That rune we interrupted… it was far more sophisticated than common criminal work. I just hope the Academy isn't involved."
"Academy students committing crimes is rare," Dem agreed. "The Academy hates scandal."
Sark lowered his voice. "This stays between us. Understand?"
Dem and Telo both nodded.
"The Frostridge clan is wealthy," Sark continued. "And there's a vault in the mines—full of gold and rare minerals. Enough to tempt saints and devils alike."
"You think this was a robbery," Dem said flatly.
"Yes." Sark didn't hesitate. "Secrets like that eventually get talked about. Someone decided to take a chance."
Dem blew out a breath. "If that rune was meant for transport… they block the surface, kill the miners with bad air, finish their runework, and by the time the Frostridge dig them out, the vault's empty."
Telo cursed softly. "Taigon mentioned it collapsed right before the mid-day venting. That timing is too perfect. Either luck… or an inside job."
They rode long after dark, stopping beneath an overhang where the mountain jutted over the trail, giving them shelter and concealment.
Dem slid down from his horse. "Normal camp. Fires are fine. Two stationary guards, one on each side of the overhang."
Telo jogged off to pass the word.
Dem cleared a space beside the stone wall, retrieving gear from his ring: a thick fur rug he rolled flat, two sturdy wooden chairs, and a small table for map work. He lit a lamp, warm yellow glow flickering across the makeshift command post. Finally, he unrolled his bedroll against the rock and sat, letting the camp settle around him.
Sark joined soon after, spreading a map across the table. "We're here," he said, tapping a mark near the mountain. "Anyone coming from Thaigmaal will have to pass this way first. I'll post scouts all along the route."
Dem nodded. "Good. And how are you feeling? The first change… it seems to leave lasting benefits."
Sark leaned back, stretching his shoulders with a groan of pleasure. "Feels like I shed twenty summers. We live our whole lives knowing something feral sleeps inside us, but unable to look at it, think about it, or even speak of it. Finally seeing it… liberating." He paused. "Did you recognize what I am?"
"A white variant of a King Snake," Dem said.
Sark grinned. "Figures. That's why you picked my team for the vents?"
"Yes. Others could've done it, but the three of you already work well together."
Reyka arrived with a steaming bowl, handed it to Dem, then leaned against the stone. "I brought one for Sark too." She eyed Dem's setup. "You keep pulling furniture out of thin air. I need one of those rings."
Dem smirked and silently pulled out another chair for her, setting it beside them.
Telo returned with the rest of the sub-chiefs. "Commander, we holding a meeting?"
"Quick one," Dem confirmed. "We'll stay put for the next few days. We'll fortify this position, rotate light training, hunt for fresh meat, and wait. If trouble's coming, it'll be in the next four days."
He looked over the firelit camp as the Sentry leaders gathered—calm, ready, confident.