The decline of the Zahida made the gnomes' journey westward difficult. It might have been a death sentence for others, but gnomes didn’t need as many supplies and were powerful in their own right, meaning they relied less on the ambient mana and more on their elemental magic.

Weeks after departing Tahir, they approached the mountains—a range contributing to the Zahida region’s isolation. Once they made it through, they would be in what many considered Triahkel ‘proper.’

The sand was so nice and warm. And such a lovely colour. She didn’t understand Grnulf and Krinink's complaints. Nithroel made a small circular motion with her finger, and a little whirl of sand rose like a tiny tornado briefly before collapsing into the sand around her.

“Hey! Who did that?”

Grnulf shouted in outrage. A few grains may have flown back into his face, carefully avoiding his eyes—it was entirely by accident, of course.

“Krinink, you’re going to pay for that!”

Krinink's chuckle was close enough to an admission of guilt for Grnulf.

“I didn’t do anything!”

And thus began a mostly friendly sand war between Kninink and Grnulf. Nithroel’s green eyes twinkled with glee, but she held back a laugh. Widbi and Nemzo both eyed her, far more observant than the two apprentices, but they said nothing.

“Sand is never just one grain. Nemzo was correct.”

It always worked together. There was power in numbers. Or was it the power of teamwork? She stroked her companion's chitin, and its tail waved from side to side in lazy contentment. Sting, the name agreed upon, chose to stay with Nithroel. And the little scorpion seemed quite happy with his decision. Food whenever he desired. Shade from the glaring sun. The future was looking bright for Sting.

So, as Sting was living his best life, Nithroel was pondering life—one of her favourite pastimes. She could get lost in thought, forever diving deeper into the rabbit hole. There had been a minor incident where she had delved so far that her master, Mavimailkal, had to conduct a grounding ritual to retrieve Nithroel from her own mind.

The side effects included bizarre warps in reality that took two moon cycles to wear off. Nithroel wasn’t allowed to practise magic the entire time her mind was recovering—using magic in a skewed reality had disastrous consequences—and when she was cleared to resume her typical day-to-day activities, she had such a buildup of elemental magic that she accidentally created an entire contained forest in the gathering circle of Bott Freda—there was a certain consistency to gnomish place-names.

The gnomes living in that city were highly inconvenienced, but they didn’t even consider cutting down the newly sprouted forest in the middle of the city. Rather, they adapted to it. The forest took up much of the space where they held public meetings, but the solution was a simple one—once enough gnomes put their minds to the task.

The gnomes constructed benches, added simple footpaths, and created something of an urban forest. There were also tree swings and a fountain that fed into multiple babbling brooks. The most recent addition being mushroom huts. Mushrooms hollowed out to resemble yurts that gnome families and friends would reserve for small getaways.

It quickly became a tradition for gnomes to add homes for the animals the forest attracted. It was a rite of passage in a way. Gnomes would work on their addition to the forest for years and years. It fostered competitiveness amongst the gnomes; increasingly elaborate nests, burrows, and houses appeared each year. Three enormous oaks, growing in a cluster, were hardly visible due to the sheer number of birdhouses, bird mansions, and even bird condominiums hanging from them.

No gnomes were restricted to specific tasks, so a Lonkadir gnome—like Krinink—could easily be found in a research position in the Grand Archives if that was their passion. Likewise, some Sylhanas could be found running a forge. But Gnomes from the Lonkadir line, who primarily tinkered, mined, and invented, were somewhat famous for their ostentatious and outlandish contributions to the forest. Including a 99.9% pure silver bird house with a dia-moonstone encrusted roof—an extremely rare gemstone worth a small fortune that could only be mined every 27th waxing lavender moon—that they crushed, infused, then melted into gorgeous transparent shingles that reflect a delicate purple in the moonlight. The window coverings were made from rare artisanal lunar silk swatches that cost hundreds of gold per metre. It was a favourite for nocturnal birds and an utterly ridiculous use of precious materials…the gnomes loved it.

Nithroel's thoughts shifted from the urban forest to the sands around her. The dampened magic. She had conferred with the earth, the element she was so deeply attuned to, and something needed to be done. But she couldn't discern what. Why was it so hard to hear?

She didn’t notice the alarmed voices initially, lost in thought as she was. The push from a spell also went unnoticed. Only when she landed on her back in the sand did she snap out of it. She stared at the bright, cloudless sky as noise filtered in.

Someone cried out, and a bone-splintering shriek followed.

Nithroel scrambled up and witnessed a qhul for the first time—multiple qhul, in fact. The monsters were giant, with a deep crimson chitin and clacking mandibles. And why would any creature need that many legs? Nithroel shuddered as she stared at all the appendages.

The qhul rammed into the ever-moving shield spells Nemzo and Widbi cast. But even they, with their refined mana wells, wouldn't last forever in this place of diminished magic. Unlike a [Mage] who acted as a conduit of mana, an elemental’s mana was recharged passively and stored within them, infused in their very being.

“Engage evasion sequence 24!”

Widbi shouted, and Nemzo did a sort of cartwheel over Widbi just in time to dodge a lunging qhul.

Gnomes could fight with magic, some quite well. There were gnome adventurers, warriors, and such, but they were the exception to the rule. Few wielded weapons beyond wit and magic. Thus, they honed other skills more suitable for their smaller stature. They relied heavily on teamwork and evasive maneuvers.

“Oh no. Three! Number three!”

All the gnomes back peddled from the area as the sand sank into a giant hole that opened up right under where the group had been. A great sand maw had swallowed the ground, hoping to gobble up the gnomes with it.

The sand maw was the desert-dwelling sibling of the gaping maw of the ocean. It would tunnel through the sand, searching for a suitable spot and then patiently wait for months on end. The sand maw would sit just below the surface, waiting for the vibrations that indicated food was walking above. Then, the monster opened its maw, and everything above it, sand and food, dropped straight into the sudden sinkhole.

“Routine 30 in three. Three…two…one!”

Widbi lept through the air, landed on a qhuls head, and bounced right off, landing across the sinkhole where the maw was still waiting for something delicious to drop into its mouth conveniently.

Gnomes that went out on expeditions would spend months to years memorizing and practicing their evasive sequences. The gist was that some would act as the distraction, taunting, dodging, and simply pestering their foe. The other group members would rain down spell power until the enemy switched targets. Then, the distraction group and attack group would swap roles. Most individual enemies didn’t take more than two rotations to finish off. But some of the smarter ones—they saw through the trick.

Gnomes were also very adept at fleeing should the situation become too dicey. They were out to uncover lost legends, record history, and preserve knowledge—not do battle with monsters ten times their size.

One might think an immortal species wouldn’t need to be out searching for stories lost to time. Couldn’t they just remember it all? But at the inception of the world, there was no written word. And even once there was…it took eons for gnomes to find their true purpose as knowledge keepers. Those who battled against time refused to let it erase history.

Some—like The Undine—were so dreary with their in time, everyone will be forgotten attitude. Well, that wouldn’t happen if the gnomes had anything to say about it. And, oh boy, did they have lots to say.

“Krinink, 16!”

Krinink carried out the maneuver. And the qhul Widbi had drawn the attention of made the unwise decision to go after the annoyance. To the gnomes' delight, the qhul, in its rage, scuttled after Widbi and landed straight in the maw's gaping mouth. The maw’s trap shut, and it quickly burrowed back down, leaving the fight now that it had found a meal.

Nobody saw where they came from, but suddenly, a third group entered the fray. The Scorpion Men of Tahir, the people who had come west to hunt down the qhul, began attacking. They quickly put the qhul on the defensive.

Only a few monsters remained once the scorpion men engaged, and one saw an easy target in Nithroel. It lunged, opening its abnormally large mouth full of sharp teeth. It would swallow Nithroel whole. Heck, she'd hardly even qualify as an appetizer to the giant monster.

The other gnomes yelled evasive sequences at her while Nithroel untimely wondered if centipedes were supposed to have teeth.

Widbi tried throwing up a shield spell in front of her, but his magic was waning. The qhul smashed right through it. The beast was coming at Nithroel fast. Grnulf covered his eyes, not wanting to witness Nithroel’s end.

A thick vine covered in thorns, some nearly 30 centimetres long, punched through the qhul's mouth and out the back of its head.

The other gnomes stared, stupefied, as the last qhul fell over, a nasty brownish-yellow blood leaking from it. Nithroel had used no defensive measures, no evading—and she was an apprentice no less.

But Nithroel wasn’t one to mess around.

She knew magic was capable of great and terrible things and that, as an earth elemental, she was capable of great and terrible things. That didn't mean she liked it, but she liked the thought of being digested alive and whole by a qhul even less.

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Exhaustion swept through Nithroel. Her legs were shaking with the struggle to hold her body, so she plopped into the sand. Immediately, Sting scurried up her arm and back to his favourite spot on her shoulder.

Nemzo hurried over to check on her, a look of shocked awe on his face, bushy white eyebrows raised so high they disappeared under his hat.

“What has Mavimailkal been teaching you?”

Nemzo’s voice was weak, but he ensured Nithroel was free from injury before going to check the other apprentices.

“Do you think Master Mavimailkal would take us as apprentices?”

In the background, Nithroel could make out Grnulf and Krinink speaking in low voices.

“Greetings from the Deathstalkers. Who might we address?”

A deep, thundering voice called out to the gnomes. A person with the head, torso, and arms of a human male and from the pelvic area down was all scorpion body, with four sets of legs and a tail longer than his whole body, approached the stunned gnomes. His skin matched his chitin but was made even darker by the harsh desert sun. He was huge, so much so that his muscles had muscles. The rest of the group had a similar appearance though different facial features, and their chitin varied from black to shades of brown—Nithroel noticed some with a reddish hue, as well.

The leader of the Deathstalkers, a renowned and somewhat feared group of hunters, carried an almost ridiculously large glaive while the rest of the group was armed with spears and bows.

Nemzo turned to the group that had saved them. His face was flushed bright red, and sweat ran down it from the exertion. But he was also visibly shaken. Nithroel knew this wasn’t his first time defending against a monster, but he also had no stomach for violence.

”Hello. I am Nemzo, leader of this expedition.”

Nemzo’s voice was hoarse from shouting evasive maneuvers, but he waved with a shaky hand as the hunting party of scorpion men approached.

“Thank you for rescuing us. The qhul would surely have outmaneuvered us in this terrain. Is there a way we can repay you?”

Widbi, who had seen more action in his lifetime and was less pacifistic than Nemzo, rallied much more quickly. The scorpion man, who appeared to be the leader of their party, gave a bow adapted for their anatomy. His front legs bowed outward as his human torso and upper scorpion body dipped toward the ground.

“The Scorpion Men of Tahir vowed to rid the world of the qhul. They are a blight upon this earth—devourers. To see them dead is thanks enough. Though we would not have been alerted in time if not for him.”

The gnomes followed the scorpion man's gaze to Nithroel.

“Err. That's Nithroel. She's a…she.”

Nithroel rolled her eyes. It wasn't the most intelligent statement Grnulf had ever made, but factually, it was correct, so that was something. She noticed the inkstick flying across the page of his notebook and hoped he hadn’t recorded that.

“Not the brave girl. Her companion.”

Sting was perched proudly on Nithroel's shoulder, waving his tail energetically and emitting a happy clicking sound.

“What do you mean?”

Widbi looked suspiciously at Sting.

“That scorpion there, he could sense our proximity and made contact when the qhul attacked.”

“Incredible. Well, thank you both then.”

Nemzo and Widbi gave a small bow of the head to Sting and the scorpion men.

“We must be going. Qhul rarely travel in groups that small. You should leave the desert with all haste. They will be attracted to your magic.”

“Should we worry about the sand maw?”

“No, it had a meal, and the qhul will satisfy its hunger for a time. But I recommend you do not linger. We leave you now. Safe travels.

The gnomes shared their thanks once more, said their goodbyes, and quickly resumed their route west.

It would not be the last time the gnomes saw qhul. The centipede-like creatures fed off magic and had gotten the most tantalizing taste of elemental magic. They could sense the magic. Maybe even…track it. And they dearly desired to consume it.

———

With the qhul run in behind them, the expedition party made their journey through the mountain pass and into a far more luscious landscape. The western part of Triahkel, beyond the mountain’s natural border, was an expanse of green and golden plains that transitioned into an ancient and overgrown forest.

They followed the trade road toward Striport, making short detours to small towns and villages along the way. They collected stories, provided services and assistance where they could, and did what gnomes do: preserved knowledge in any form.

Krinink, Widbi, and Grnulf worked together to record the stories they had heard. Krinink and Widbi—mostly Krinink as it was part of his apprenticeship—would scrutinize their findings, apply historical analysis, and add context where context was needed, all while on the go.

“Does anyone else see that?”

Grnulf pointed toward a yellow flower with a pulsating glow unlike anything he’d seen before. The spark of interest immediately came alive in Nithroel’s eyes, the best among the apprentices at identifying things found in the natural world.

“What is it?”

She hurried toward the plant and began pulling supplies out of her bag to take samples. Nithroel reached out, but a hand quickly smacked hers down before she could touch the plant.

“Do not touch that, Apprentice Nithroel.”

Nemzo gave her a stern look. His gaze was severe, more so than Grnulf could recall seeing.

“Why not, Master Nemzo?”

She was baffled. Nithroel’s eyebrows scrunched up, and her hand twitched like she was using all her willpower to prevent herself from touching the mysterious flower.

“Look with your eyes. Better yet, look with your magic. You are deeply connected to the earth. What do you see?”

Nithroel’s gaze turned to one of concentration. With the sand no longer dampening their magic, Grnulf could feel Nithroel pushing out her power like a wave, scanning the earth around her. Grnulf attempted to copy Nithroel, but the density of the forest made it exceedingly difficult for him to examine and pick out individual signatures.

“I don’t see anything. What is it, Father?”

“Shhh, Grnulf. Let Nithroel look; she has a knack for these things.”

Minutes passed in silence as Krinink and Grnulf exchanged questioning looks. Grnulf, the ever-impatient, opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Widbi cast a bubble of silence over him before he could interrupt Nithroel’s concentration…again.

Nearly an hour later, Grnulf, Krinink, and even Widbi were startled when Nithroel gasped and stumbled back. The thick earth magic permeating the area dissipated as her mind returned to the here and now. But she didn’t speak; she stared at the plant and looked around it as if searching for something only she could see.

“What have you learned, Nithroel?”

“It’s everywhere. I cannot find the end of it. The roots just keep going, spreading. And there’s so much mana pumping through them. Like the tubes that carry our lifeblood in our bodies. I—I don’t understand.”

“Excellent observations, that we shall leave it at that. This is a very rare plant, one you will likely never see again. I have only seen it one other time in my long life. Know that you should never harvest it in any way.”

“But, Master Nemzo, some of the roots are dying. This plant is sick.”

She pointed toward something Grnulf couldn’t see. Her finger ran east as if tracing something. Nemzo focused. The wave of power that left him felt more like an ocean. The power returned to him like a rubberband snapping, and he gasped.

“That is not good. Not good at all. We must alert the humans that this plant is to be left alone.”

Of course, Grnulf documented all this information, thoroughly describing the flower and recording Nemzo’s warning—his records would help inform future generations.

They hurried to the nearest town, intent on spreading the conservation message.

Rockyvale was a small city with no distinguishing features, and the gnomes had no intentions of lingering. Grnulf got a sour feeling in his stomach when they passed through the gates, and the grimace on his father's face confirmed it. The magic in the air felt all wrong.

The group asked the gate guards for directions and hurried to the council leader's office to speak with Councilman Dorn.

“Councilman, we will not ask for much of your time. I am Nemzo, and with me are Widbi, Krinink, and Nithroel. We must speak with you on urgent business.”

Dorn slowly looked over each gnome with dark beady eyes. Grnulf did not like his careful inspection.

“And what can I do for you, sir?”

“We have stumbled across something not far from here. I feel compelled to bring a warning.”

“A warning? And what is it you stumbled upon?”

The councilman's face was blank—the poker face of a politician. Grnulf covertly documented the exchange, holding his notebook behind his back as the inkstick recorded his thoughts.

“A flower in the woods, only 10 kilometres or so from the gate. It is a piece of the earth that cannot be separated.”

“Why is this flower so special?”

Nemzo took a moment to consider how to word the answer best.

“Think of it like the lifeblood of magic.”

“The lifeblood of magic, you say? That seems unlikely. Magic is everywhere. Are you not a being made of magic?”

Grnulf expected the man's face to show surprise, interest, really any emotion at all, but it remained carefully neutral, which was its own sort of tell. He suspected the councilman was already aware of the plant.

“Yes, we are earth elementals, but we still need the magic in the earth or else what are we.”

“What are you indeed...”

His tone grew condescending and impatient. The sour feeling in Grnulf’s stomach was growing. Nithroel looked ready to faint, and Krinink wasn’t faring much better. It almost felt like their magic was being slowly siphoned away.

“There will be grave consequences should the humans not heed our warning.”

“You are not in a position to dole out threats, gnome.”

Dorn’s lip curled in disgust.

“I am not threatening you, Councilman. I am warning you that nature will revolt should it be harvested.”

Nemzo spoke adamantly, but the councilman drummed his fingers on his desk impatiently, ready for the gnomes to leave.

“Very well, we shall take this warning under advisement and leave this plant alone. Who cares about a silly little flower anyway? What did you say it looked like?”

Dorn asked too casually.

Nemzo described the flower, its radiant yellow petals, and the way it glowed, but Dorn’s face remained unmoved. Grnulf recorded his suspicions.

“I will relay this information to the other council members. You have nothing to fear. Good day.”

Dorn succinctly dismissed the gnomes, who were only too happy to beat a fast retreat out of this city and continue on the road to Striport.

The humans of Triahkel promised that they would leave this power alone. Some things in the world should not be disturbed. But greed was a strong motivator for the weak-willed, and as soon as the gnomes turned their backs, fighting over the strange flower resumed.

The humans had already discovered it. They had found something magnificent. Extremely powerful. Living. Yet something that could be harnessed, wielded, and subsequently exploited if done correctly. Humans were the chaos of the world, and this flower could be their chance to gain the inherent magic they never received.

In the gnomes’ minds, since they said to leave it alone, obviously, everyone should understand it was not to be disturbed. A classic display of gnomish arrogance. But those not of the gnomish persuasion tended toward jealousy in the face of the power of gnomes. Sure, they appreciated the knowledge, gifts, and great acts of magic performed as boons to their lands and people. But if the humans could acquire the power to do it themselves, even if the cost was high…

“What do we do if they don’t heed our warning, Master Nemzo?”

Krinink finally broke the silence hours after leaving the city. The sour feeling in Grnulf’s stomach had finally abated, but he remembered it—like his very essence had been leaving him.

“There will be nothing we can do, young Krinink. Our world may well be doomed.”