Corvis Eralith
I was spat by the Portal Frog I had left in the Pits, appearing in the large and dark abandoned cave that once was the lowest slums of Vildorial.
Transiting through the Portal Frog was violent and fast, but undeniably fun like an adrenaline-fueled coaster ride.
Split seconds ago, I'd been under the bright sun of the Beast Glades, relocating the gateway amidst the ruined shell of the Iron Deephold. Now, I stood at its designated drop point, plunged into the endless gloom of the Pits of Vildorial.
"Capture," I commanded, conjuring the Mourning Pearl-enhanced Bubblespell to catch the moment in time and space.
The teal Trucewater imploded from all around me into a pearl-shaped bubble before vanishing entirely: the exact inverse of the "Unleash" command.
Thanks to my recent Insight, the Fate deviant of water mana had permanently shifted from the stark white of the section of the river its namesake, the Truce-Waters, into a vibrant teal.
Collapsing inward, it froze the frame of my violent arrival as the Portal Frog ejected me, remembering and storing the moment in REtrocurrent.
Water memory... I sighed in my head.
To think a pseudoscientific theory from Earth was kind of true in this world, at least when speaking of Trucewater, was absurd. And yet here I was, using that very principle to anchor myself to a point in time, to create a lifeline I could return to whenever I needed.
I looked up, staring at the landslide that sealed this place from the rest of the world. The massive wall of rock and debris rose before me like a monument to despair, a physical manifestation of the decades of neglect and abandonment that had defined the Pits.
There, decades ago, the Motherquake, the wrath of Mother Earth herself, as the Powders called it, had destroyed the headquarters of the Goldminers' Guild, killing hundreds and entombing the Pits.
I looked down at the Portal Frog that had spat me here and made a few steps back, looking around myself in precaution.
The creature croaked softly, its bulging eyes fixed on me. I had asked the amphibious REbelf to keep itself far from the dozens of small encampments of the Pits, whose warm fires were the only source of light in this cave, as it was devoid of the glowing crystals and mushrooms that were present on both Vildorial and Burim ceilings.
"Perfect, now spi—" I froze as a faint noise cut through the air behind me.
In a heartbeat, the predatory instincts of Eralith Asclepius answered.
I pivoted cleanly on the ball of my Servo-Foot, popping a loose pebble into the air and snapping my hand around it in a single motion.
An ochre aura erupted from my hand, casting long amber shadows on the ground and illuminating the intricate, gear-like runes of the Kain Clan as Massbinding surged from deep within Finn Warend's mana core.
"Lord Throneholder!" A chorus of voices exclaimed.
Behind me, emerging from the Pits' darkness, was a group of young Powders, two of them having Servo-Limbs themselves. I vaguely remembered when I had given them those samples.
They were a group of young, healthy dwarves; or the healthiest you could be in these depths.
"I... sorry," I said, dropping the pebble back to the ground. The stone clattered against the rock, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence. "You took me by surprise. I didn't expect people to be here."
"We are the ones who should apologize, Lord Throneholder," one of the dwarves said, stepping forward. He was tall for a Powder, his shoulders broad, his face etched with the lines of someone who had seen too much hardship. "We were exploring the old tunnels and didn't hear of your arrival."
"No, it's my bad, really. You were the first ones I meet anyway," I said, scratching the back of my neck at hearing them calling me "Lord Throneholder."
"You were exploring the tunnels?" I asked, curious.
The thought of the Powders venturing beyond their encampments was unexpected, a sign of a shift I had not anticipated.
"Yes, Lord Throneholder," another dwarf, this one wearing mining equipment attached to his robes, said. His face was smudged with dirt, his hands calloused from years of labour. "With all the supplies you brought us, and you fixing the Water Generator, and the Servo-Limbs too, and the esteemed Unravelers' guidance; we thought it could be wise to get ourselves busy."
"That is commendable," I said, genuinely impressed. The Powders had taken the tools I had given them and turned them into something more. "But if you want to get yourself busy right now, I need your help with something."
The group of dwarves all stood at attention, eager to help. Their eyes were bright, their faces open, and I felt a surge of something from my soul at their willingness to follow.
"I have brought a new gift for you," I said, making a gesture with my hands to the Portal Frog to spit the portal.
The creature's throat bulged, its body convulsing, and I felt the familiar pull of the river as the ancient gateway emerged from its depths.
"I present to you—" I declared proudly, my voice carrying across the cavern.
Right on cue, the small Portal Frog gagged and regurgitated a massive archway. The ancient gateway crashed onto the floor, embedding itself into the bedrock with a sound like thunder. Behind me, a collective, sharp gasp echoed from the dwarf audience.
"—a true, functioning portal of the Ancient Mages themselves! The backbone of Dicathian society as we know it!"
Damn, Finn, calm down with this whole salesman (salesdwarf) fervour, I joked with myself. The enthusiasm was genuine, but it was also performative, a mask I wore to inspire hope in those who had so little of it.
But it did not matter. It was time to make the Pits greater than the Powders could ever dream of.
—
"Everyone gather around the Water Generator!" I called aloud, as I walked to the centre of the largest of the Pits' encampments, right by their Water Generator. "I have news to tell you!"
The word spread quickly, carried by the dwarves who had been with me from the start. Within minutes, dozens upon dozens of Powders, both old and young, exited from their makeshift houses: just old debris arranged to make somewhat sturdy hideouts with short roofs and thin walls, devoid of any comfort or luxury.
The oldest dwarves, those who acted as the true leaders of the current Pits, were the first in the crowd around me. Their faces were lined with age, their eyes carrying the weight of decades of struggle.
From my experiences in Darv, and also from all the literature I had read in Stonebound Tomes about the dwarven kingdom, I had learned something that made Darv's leaders stand out amongst the rest of this world.
Elders were obviously highly respected everywhere, but in Darv that was much more rooted in the dwarven spirit.
Considering how high the mortality rate for youngsters had been throughout the history of the underground nation—many, many of them dying young and inexperienced in the mines—old age was seen as the greatest pride for a dwarf.
The symbol that Mother Earth smiled upon you.
The same wasn't true elsewhere. In Elenoir, people like Grandpa were not revered because of their age, but because of their achievements, for him being an Eralith and one, if not the, most beloved king in Grandpa's case.
Sapin... it wasn't very different from Earth, actually. Elders in Sapin were respected if they were nobles or if they were strong mages. But if you were an old farmer who had never even glimpsed at mana or never left your small village? That was a very different story.
In Darv, old age was always respected. The Lords were all old dwarves; the concept of abdicating due to old age was unthinkable in Darv.
The strongest dwarves I knew were all old men: Elder Rahdeas, Elder Buhndemog, Lord Daglun Silvershale, and Lord Carnelian Earthborn. Every single one of the prominent dwarves from the novel were older than their respective counterparts in Elenoir and Sapin.
Even the Lances, thinking about it. By elven standards, Alea was very young, and even if I knew little of Aya's personal life, I knew she wasn't much older than her colleague. Bairon Wykes and Varay Aurae in Sapin too weren't that old when you compared them to Olfred and Mica.
All of this just served to make me feel even more uncomfortable when I saw all those dwarves looking at me, a ten-year-old, with so much hope. Darvish people were so desperate that even a kid was a beacon of hope for them.
While immersed in my thoughts, I noticed the crowd settling, hundreds of Powders gathering in a circle around me. The faces blurred together, young and old, hopeful and weary, their eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"You are all here, I see..." I said, surprised by seeing all of the Pits answering my call. I had expected just a portion of them showing up, perhaps a hundred at most. But here they were, almost the entire population of the Pits, gathered in the flickering light of their fires. "Thanks for coming."
"I won't waste your time with much preamble, then," I decided. "Today, I want to make an announcement."
"Last time I have been here, I promised you that I would make the name Greysunders mean something to you," I said, my voice carrying across the crowd. "That I would sunder the grey of your lives. Now, I stand here amongst you all to gift the Pits with the means through which I will be able to make that dream of mine happen."
"Please, look!" I declared, gesturing with my hands to the tall Djinnic archway that, in the distance of the cave, reflected the feeble light cast from the fires of the Pits.
"A portal?" Someone asked, their voice full of incredulity. The word spread through the crowd like a ripple in still water, carried by whispers and gasps.
"Yes, it's a portal! I have seen it once! In the city above!" Another, an elder, said. His voice was thick with emotion, the memory of a world he had been sealed away from for decades.
Voices rose in unison, all talking about the portal, which was already the tallest building in the Pits... not that it had much competition to begin with.
"The Pits shall rise!" I declared, my arms wide to encompass all the Powders. "With a portal, no more shall you depend on the goods stolen from Vildorial, or the supplies sent by the Warend Trading Company. You can be independent."
The crowd erupted in a chorus of excitement, dozens of new voices that were silent before, the few that didn't understand the magnitude and importance of a portal, started to talk, already imagining what things the gateway could bring to the Pits. T
The possibilities were endless: trade, travel, connection to a world that had forgotten them.
But not everyone was as enthusiastic.
"And what about the city above?" An old, unfortunately familiar, voice asked. "People here might have forgotten, being sealed away from Dicathen for decades, but portals bring also instability."
Marko Felsen, Water Baron of Lower Vildorial, wearing his dark noble clothes and showing off his new malachite arm—the Servo-Limb I had given him as part of our transaction to reach the Pits—voiced his doubts, looking at me with severe eyes.
That was a keen observation, I had to admit. I couldn't declare to the world I had connected some old slums of the dwarven capital to the already heavily secured teleportation network of Dicathen.
The consequences of such a revelation would be catastrophic, a political scandal that would echo across the continent.
Faces turned to me, waiting for my answer to Marko Felsen's objection. The silence was heavy, expectant, the weight of a hundred unspoken questions pressing against me.
"We will be careful," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my chest. "For once, this portal will be only connected to Burim for the moment."
I was confident I could program the portal as being a universal one. As long as REmould would give me power over the Article of Unity, the portals would be like open books to me, their secrets laid bare before my eyes.
"No one will be able to reach the Pits on their own accord without a portal attendant loyal to my cause allowing it," I continued.
All portals were operated by attendants who managed the traffic in and out of the cities. They were the ones choosing the destinations people were sent to. I was sure Elder Rahdeas had some contacts with the ones managing them in Burim. But even if that wasn't the case, I was confident Olfred could get in contact with one.
"Thanks to that, we will be able to have only trusted people use the portal to reach the Pits," I said. "For everyone else, the existence of this portal will remain a mystery."
I didn't know how it worked in Darv, but in Elenoir the records of those who traveled by portal were kept by the Royal Police in Zestier, Eidelholm, and Asyphin; Azellio was still under the strict jurisdiction of the Treeful Phalanx.
If you changed the registers a little bit, no one would ever notice a few dwarves coming in and out of Burim.
"So you are planning to infiltrate the affairs of House Lonuid?" The Water Baron asked.
House Lonuid? Were they charged with managing the portals in Darv? That could be a problem. A great one. The danger of House Feuds, the dwarven civil wars between the nobles, already loomed over me. Doing spywork on one of the Monolithic Houses didn't seem like a good plan to avoid too much conflict.
People looked at me, expecting my answer. Others looked at Marko Felsen, approving his objections. The crowd was divided, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.
I paused for a second, the silence stretching like a held breath. And then, I declared:
"This decision doesn't belong to me," I said. "It will be the people of the Pits who will decide if they are willing to take this risk. We will cast a vote! Every single Powder will have the power to tell their opinion on this, and the majority will win."
I used Ars Terramorph and rose on a pillar of stone, the earth rising beneath my feet like a living thing. Then I strengthened my voice with mana, making it carry across the entire cavern.
"The people of the Pits. No, the people of the Freecity of Pitrah will decide what to do with the portal I brought to you!" I exclaimed, the name surging from the depths of my soul.
Pitrah: Pits' Aerie in Oldest Asuran, the name an Asclepius would have given to a new underground city. And Freecity, an echo from Djinnkind's Faircities.
Returning to the waiting crowd, I conjured two spherical pebbles in my hands. On one, I shaped an S of Sandand, standing for connecting the portal to Burim. On the other, I engraved an R of Ramdad, standing for maintaining the status quo of the Pits.
"I will give each one of you two identical pebbles save for this tiny symbol," I said. "Choose S and we will proceed with my plan. Choose R and we won't."
People started to whisper between themselves, confused yet thrilled by this occasion: the first free vote in Dicathian history.
Standing on top of this pillar, looking down at these impoverished dwarves deep below the earth, I felt like Grandpa. Not the Grandpa of this timeline, but that of the novel.
I felt like the Virion Eralith forced to retreat with his people in the Sanctuary below the desert of Darv, the Virion Eralith who made his people choose. Choose between defying Kezess Indrath or submitting themselves to him.
The parallels with me now made me dizzy.
"I will let you time to think," I said, my voice lower in tone. "I shall return tomorrow, when you will place the pebble inside a storage ring so to maintain anonymity."
"Why anonymity?!" A voice shouted, belonging to one of the young dwarves that I first met when I arrived to the Pits today. "If someone is afraid of their vote, then they don't deserve to vote anyway!"
"To avoid conflicts of interest," I said, my voice carrying the weight of hard-won wisdom. "What would you do if you knew your family voted something you don't agree with? Would you follow them, or would you remain true to your convictions?"
"Or," I continued, "if you were threatened to vote something you would never have agreed to, what would you do? Risk and vote freely anyway, or comply to avoid harm?"
I let the silence fall before I resumed my speech.
"I spoke enough," I said. "The decision is yours."
The crowd stirred, a murmur of voices rising and falling like the tide of the river.
I saw uncertainty in their eyes, fear, worry and hope. The weight of a choice—their choice, not that of a rich noble or an uncaring king—that would define their future.
And I saw trust. Fragile, precious trust they had placed in me, a stranger who had come from the world above with promises and gifts and dreams of a better tomorrow.
I stepped down from the pillar, my feet touching the cold stone of the Pits. The crowd parted before me, their eyes following my every movement.
I walked toward the edge of the encampment, toward the Portal Frog waiting me, feeling the weight of their gazes on my back.
Tomorrow, they would decide, nd whatever choice they made, I would honour it.