The mask slipped from Kael's face, clattering softly against the stone floor of the cavern.
Sara's breath hitched. Her hands trembled as she stumbled back, eyes wide in disbelief.
"It's… you," she whispered, voice breaking as memories surged forward like a flood. "The boy who fell. The one they told me was gone."
Her knees weakened, but her gaze never left him. Her lips trembled, shaping words she had carried for ten years.
"You're alive…"
Kael's jaw tightened, his abyss-black eyes unreadable. Inside, the roar of rage and grief threatened to surge free—but his expression remained cold, controlled. He would not show weakness. Not now.
Without a word, he stepped forward, scooping Sara effortlessly into a princess hold. She gasped, startled, her face flushing with shock.
And then the world warped. Shadows folded in around them, swallowing the cavern whole.
They reappeared within Kael's Dungeon—the vast underground expanse that pulsed with living mana, now grown to near C-rank majesty. The chamber was alive with energy, the air carrying both weight and wonder.
Sara's mouth fell open. Her noble upbringing had not prepared her for this sight: vast crystalline caverns lit with shifting colors, sprawling colonies of humans, elves, and dwarves, all living in ordered balance beneath Kael's silent rule.
"What… is this place?" she breathed, voice trembling between awe and fear.
Kael set her gently on her feet, his expression masked once more by calm. "Home," he said simply.
His voice carried through the abyss, and immediately, shadows answered his call. The three leaders—human, elf, and dwarf—arrived swiftly, kneeling with silent respect.
Kael extended his hand, and in a swirl of shadow, the rescued slaves appeared. Confusion, fear, and relief flooded the new arrivals, their chains gone, their eyes wide as they beheld the underground world.
"Stabilize them in your colonies," Kael commanded. "Give them food, shelter, and purpose."
The leaders bowed. "At once, Lord."
As the freed ones were led away, Kael's gaze swept over them with practiced precision. Among the throng, he picked out those whose eyes still burned with curiosity, focus, and cleverness. Those rare sparks of intelligence that marked potential.
"You will not remain with the others," he told them. "You will join the Research Division. Your minds will build what this war will demand."
They bowed nervously, yet determination glimmered in their eyes.
Within the newly established Research Floor, Kael oversaw the first production line for golems. Not crude experiments this time, but carefully refined constructs, designed for war.
Mage Golems: imbued with compressed magic cores, capable of casting stable projectile spells.
Artillery Golems: stationary titans designed to fire mana-charged shells like mortars, covering battlefields with devastating arcs.
Single-Shot Golems: designed for raw destructive power—charging energy into one catastrophic blast before cooling down.
The researchers worked with feverish intensity, the walls filled with glowing runes and arrays. The hum of construction filled the dungeon like a heartbeat.
Sara stood silently at the edge, watching, her mind struggling to grasp the scope of it all. Once a fallen noble, once a slave—now standing in the heart of something beyond kingdoms. Her gaze kept drifting back to Kael, to the boy she thought had died, now standing as something far more than human.
Kael's voice cut through the air, commanding yet calm.
"Release the wyverns."
At his words, shadowy gates split open, and from them emerged three lesser wyverns, their roars shaking the cavern.
Two were directed toward the twin dragons, the young fire-and-ice siblings now fused in aura, their twin-fang heritage sparking with raw potential. Flames licked the ground as frost crystallized beside it, their powers instinctively weaving together.
The third wyvern bellowed, wings unfurling wide—only to meet the unflinching stare of the Megalania, Kael's colossal lizard.
"Fight," Kael ordered.
The chamber exploded into chaos.
The twins surged forward, fire and frost roaring in tandem as they struck, their control already frighteningly natural. Plasma-like heat collided with shards of ice, weaving a storm of destruction that forced the wyvern into retreat.
The Megalania crashed into its own foe, tail whipping with crushing force, jaws snapping with earth-shaking violence.
Sara, watching from the sidelines, pressed a hand to her chest. This was no dungeon trial. This was a war camp being built beneath the earth—every creature sharpened for the storm to come.
Kael stood unmoving, arms folded, his abyssal gaze never wavering.
The war was coming. And when it broke upon Greyspire's walls, the world would see who ruled the shadows.
The clash of wyverns and dragons thundered through the cavern, the ground trembling beneath their fury. Flames and frost danced violently, echoing against the walls like a storm of destruction.
Amidst the chaos, Sara stood on the edge of the training grounds, her fingers clutching at the hem of her worn dress. She had spent years silenced under chains, but now—here, beside Kael—she felt a spark of something she thought long dead: her voice.
She turned hesitantly toward him, her gaze lingering on the towering golems still under construction, their cores glowing faintly with compressed crystals.
"Um…" she began nervously, her voice soft. "What if… instead of relying on magic cores… the golems could… pull mana directly from the air?"
Kael's abyss-black eyes flicked toward her, unreadable.
Sara swallowed hard, but continued, her voice trembling yet gaining strength. "I-I mean… like how your lizard does. When it prepares its breath… the spikes along its back rise and gather energy from the surroundings, instead of from within. If the golems could do something similar… then they wouldn't run out of power mid-battle. They'd keep fighting… as long as there was mana around them."
The chamber seemed to still for a moment. Even the hum of the Research Division faltered as researchers turned wide-eyed toward her suggestion.
Kael's gaze lingered on her—sharp, weighing, yet faintly intrigued.
Sara flushed under the intensity of it, her hands clenching nervously. She had offered nothing but trouble in her life as a fallen noble, but here, with him, she wanted to prove her worth. To not be useless.
Kael gave the faintest nod. A single, small acknowledgment, yet one that sent a rush of relief through her chest.
Far away, across the borderlands, the enemy army's command tent glowed with the warmth of firelight. Inside, the commander sat at the head of a long table, tearing into roasted meat with the calm demeanor of a predator certain of its victory.
Around him, officers and captains dined uneasily, their conversations hushed, their minds weighed down by the immensity of the march ahead.
Finally, one captain could no longer hold back his concern. He set down his goblet and leaned forward, his tone careful.
"My lord… what if the attack does not go as planned?"
The commander paused mid-bite, then slowly placed the bone aside. His gaze swept across the table, silencing the murmurs with nothing but his eyes.
Then he smirked. A cruel, calculating smile.
"It will," he said simply.
The captain hesitated. "But… Greyspire has proven resilient. And the rumors—about the masked man and the Titan-lizard—"
The commander raised a hand, cutting him off. From beneath his cloak, he drew forth a dark crystal, its surface cracked and pulsing faintly with ember-like veins. The air itself seemed to shiver as it touched the table, filling the tent with an oppressive heat.
"This," the commander said, voice dripping with confidence, "is no ordinary weapon. It is a summoning stone, forged from the heart of an ancient ruin and forcefully bound with the chains of slave magic."
Murmurs erupted around the table.
The commander leaned forward, eyes glinting with hunger.
"When the time comes, this stone will summon a Fire Dragon—a beast of devastation that once razed empires. And because of the enchantments woven into this crystal, it will not be free. It will be mine. Every command, every order… it will obey without question."
The captains paled. Even the bravest among them swallowed nervously.
The commander reclined in his seat once more, satisfied by their silence.
"So," he finished, lifting his goblet high, "whether Greyspire resists or not… the outcome is the same. The dragon will burn it all."
The tent echoed with the clinking of cups, though none of the captains could banish the dread settling in their hearts.