The dwarven gates—massive slabs of rune-etched stone—groaned open as Elder Thrain stepped through first, the other six elders fanning out behind him in a formation that commanded absolute authority. Behind them walked the Tower Master, elegant even in restraint, her veil fluttering faintly with each step. Luca remained close beside her, matching her pace instinctively, as if fearfully aware of her weakened state even though she hid it with perfect composure.
Inside the territory, the heat shifted.
Moments ago, when Luca had raced through this place, dwarves were sprinting across bridges, clattering hammers onto alarm bells, pulling weapons from racks, shouting orders across echoing forges. But now… that chaos had dissolved into an uneasy, prickling silence.
Dozens—hundreds—of dwarven citizens lined the pathways, their stout figures rigid with lingering tension. Their eyes followed the Tower Master with suspicion, curiosity, and poorly concealed awe.
