The sun was setting by the time Natan and Gazzaro reached the foot of the mountain range, but instead of darkness, a strange brilliance greeted them ahead. They entered a massive fissure in the mountainside—a passage that looked as though it had been split by a giant's axe.
As they passed through, Natan froze. His jaw dropped at the sight before him.
They were inside a colossal mountain, yet within it lay a sprawling city carved entirely out of stone: Bato-Balani. Homes, bridges, and towering spires seemed sculpted directly from the cavern walls. The night outside held no sway here; the entire city ran on magical energy. Floating in the air at the very center of the city was an immense crystal. It glowed a fiery blue, exuding fine, shimmering vapors that illuminated every corner of the wide streets.
"Impressive, isn't it?" A deep, raspy voice shattered Natan's stupor.
Natan turned to his companion. Gazzaro had reverted to his true form as a Tikbalang. He was tall, with the muscular torso of a man and the head and legs of a horse. His coat was black as midnight, and he wore a weathered leather vest.
"What is that in the center?" Natan asked, unable to tear his eyes from the glowing stone. "It looks alive."
"Ah, the Heart of Bato-Balani," Gazzaro replied, puffing a cloud of smoke from his cigar. "That is the reason winged creatures cannot fly here. It absorbs all wind magic. So if you plan on taking flight with fairy wings, you can forget how to move."
Natan swallowed hard. He looked across the vast expanse of Bato-Balani. He had come a long way from that hospital room. "Thank you, Gazzaro. If not for your speed, I might have become dinner for the ghouls back in that forest."
Gazzaro let out a booming laugh, a sound like a horse's wild whinny mixed with dry humor. "I merely kept my word, Natan. You asked to reach this place safely, and I brought you here. A Tikbalang does not break a promise." The creature straightened his posture, his expression turning solemn. "But this is where our journey ends. It is time to part ways."
He extended his palm, signaling for the return of the golden hair Natan had plucked.
"You're leaving me here?" Panic suddenly gripped Natan. He looked at the bustling streets of Bato-Balani—filled with bizarre beings, low-ranking goblins, stone-folk, and other entities he couldn't name. "How am I supposed to find the stolen relics here?"
Despite his hesitation, Natan returned the golden hair to the Tikbalang.
Gazzaro leaned down until he was eye-to-level with Natan. His breath smelled of damp earth and burnt leaves. "Mortal, listen closely. Because you were decent to me on the road, I will give you two pieces of advice. They are free, so do not waste them."
"What are they?"
"First, seek out a blacksmith named Andata. She is the only one who can identify the kind of relics you are looking for. If anyone can help you trace them, it is her..." He drew himself up, blew another puff of smoke, and continued, "Besides that, she is a healer. He can stop your bleeding. Find her before you bleed out."
Natan nodded, committing the name to memory. "Andata. Got it, I'll find him. What's the second?"
Gazzaro's voice dropped an octave, and his flame-colored eyes burned brighter. "Second... avoid, by any means necessary, mingling with the Sigbin. As you can see, Bato-Balani warmly welcomes all manner of creatures, so it is not unlikely you will run into their kind."
Natan frowned. "Sigbin? Those dog-like creatures with huge ears that walk backward? Why? What will they do to me?"
"In Eldoria, the true form of a Sigbin is far from the filthy, slumping beast of mortal folklore. They are glamorous, civilized beings who inhabit the highest peaks of Bato-Balani. They possess sharp, alert fox ears, piercing red eyes that can read your fears, and luxurious, thick tails of gold and white. Clad in radiant silks, these creatures are exceptionally intelligent and cunning, making them dangerous foes for the unsuspecting."
"Wait, I'm—"
Gazzaro didn't bother explaining further. In a flash, the massive Tikbalang turned, took several long strides, and before Natan could speak another word, vanished completely into the thick surge of crowds on the street. Just like that, his only guide in this world was gone.
"Gazzaro! Wait!" Natan shouted, but it was too late.
Natan was left standing in the middle of Bato-Balani's crowded thoroughfare. All around him, creatures spoke in languages he couldn't comprehend, vendors peddled glowing fruits, and guards clad in armor made of solid stone patrolled the perimeter. Above, the giant blue crystal continued to cast its cold, otherworldly light.
Natan clutched the hem of his clothes. He was completely alone, unarmed, in the middle of a city of magical beings, bearing a mission to save his sister.
Natan began walking through the dense crowd, fighting the anxiety swelling in his chest. He approached a creature who looked like an elderly goblin organizing sparkling gems.
"Excuse me... sir, I just wanted to ask," Natan said politely. "I'm looking for a blacksmith named Andata. Do you know where I can find her?"
The goblin merely glanced at him from head to toe before returning to polishing his gems as if he hadn't heard a thing.
Natan scratched his head and moved on to a stone-man leaning against a wall. "Hey, do you know Andata? The blacksmith?" But like the goblin, the stone-man ignored him completely, continuing to crunch on a piece of coal.
Why won't they talk to me? Natan thought. Do they not understand me, or do they just not care about strangers here? Everyone in Bato-Balani seemed entirely consumed by their own affairs.
As he continued his search, the surroundings suddenly fell quiet. The noisy chatter of shoppers and the clinking of coins vanished. Natan felt the press of the crowd slowly backing toward the sides of the street to clear a path.
From ahead, a grand procession approached. Natan stood spellbound. A group of women was dancing in the middle of the street beneath the blue light of the Heart of Bato-Balani. Their movements were captivating—swaying, fluid, yet filled with an artistic mystery that felt like a sacred ritual. Every creature around watched in silent admiration. No one dared to shout, cheer, or block their way. Everyone offered them a mix of holy awe and profound respect.
As the procession drew nearer, Natan look at their features. They had sharp, furry ears like foxes, flawless postures, and long, sweeping tails of gold and white that danced in the air as they twirled.
The Sigbins.
Natan's gaze locked onto the woman at the center of the group—the muse of the parade. She was far more enchanting than the rest. Every gesture of her hands seemed laced with magic, and her crimson eyes glowed as she gazed into the distance.
Suddenly, Gazzaro's stern warning echoed in his mind: "Avoid, by any means necessary, encountering a Sigbin. Do not look them in the eye... run."
A cold shiver ran down Natan's spine. He swallowed hard and forced his resolve to harden. Though some magnetic pull made him want to stay and marvel, he slowly lowered his gaze to the dirt. He backed away from the crowd, turned his back on the lavish parade, and ducked into a dark alleyway to continue his search for the blacksmith, Andata.
Night deepened over the city of Bato-Balani. The blue glow from the city's Heart seemed to change tone—becoming cold and pale in Natan's eyes. Exhausted, starving, and lightheaded, he attempted to approach a stony fountain by the roadside to drink some water.
Before he could reach the flowing stream, the world spun wildly. He lost his balance and crashed heavily onto the hard, stone ground.
"Ah... ugh," he groaned as a sharp, intense pain flared through him.
Natan clutched his side. Only then did he realize the cause of his sudden weakness: the wound he had sustained from his encounter with the Tikbalang was still unhealed. His clothes were soaked through with thick, warm blood. His strength was fading fast. Every breath felt like a blade slicing through his lungs.
In the midst of his struggle, as darkness began to consume his vision, a shadow blocked out the light above. He could make out the silhouette of a figure. What stood out most was long, flowing hair of brilliant red—as red as the blood spilling from his side.
Though his sight was blurring, Natan saw a hand reaching down toward him.
"Come, don't force yourself to stand alone," a soothing, cool voice said. "Come with me so I can tend to that deep wound before you bleed out completely."
Despite his delirium, the warning flashed through Natan's mind. The captivating voice, the sudden appearance in the dark...
Natan forced himself to shake his head, pushing the hand away with the last of his strength. "No... I won't fall for it. I need to stay away from you... you deceitful Sigbin."
The figure paused, then let out a low, amused laugh. The sound was like metal being gently ground, yet strangely melodious.
"Sigbin?" The figure knelt to get a closer look at Natan's face. It was then that Natan noticed the woman had no fox ears and no tail. Instead, she wore an apron made of thick animal skin with a hint of smell of charcoal and iron. "Your fever must be terribly high, mortal. Do I look like I'm dancing in a parade or walking backward?"
The figure rested a hand on the pommel of a massive hammer hanging at his waist. "You're far too suspicious, but I'm glad I'm not a furry creature. I am no Sigbin. I am a forge spirit... My name is Andata."
Natan's eyes widened at the words before darkness swallowed his sight completely.