Their wagon was ‘commandeered’ as soon as they passed the gate, something that angered Orenda, but apparently no one else. Because no one else shared the sentiment, she assumed there was something that she was missing about the social ramifications of how they were being handled, and pushed that emotion down as best she could to take in her surroundings. She, Gareth, and Bella were taller than the guards surrounding them, and easily able to see over and around them.

The place was beautiful in a strange way.

The magic in the air was as palpable as it had been outside, flowing freely over her, but especially under her. Orenda felt the fire below her, at the core of the planet, the beating heart that all life drew from. She felt the magma flowing there, holding the earth on its back, supporting her and everyone else, in a way that she never had on the surface. This place… this place felt more like ‘home’ than anywhere she had ever been, in the sense that the very area called out to her, welcomed her, held her its magical embrace.

Not in the sense that the people welcomed her, because they very clearly did not. The guards crowded them on all sides, ushering them down a street lined with buildings that seemed to be military outposts. Dwarves in armor looked down on them, but most of them wore helmets that made it impossible to see their faces.

Large fire crystals embedded into the side of the buildings gave off a soft, red light that lit more evenly than a flickering flame; Orenda had never seen them used in that way, hadn’t known that they could be. This place was alive with the magic of a type that Orenda had never felt, but understood instantly. She liked it here. She was powerful here. She suspected Gareth was as well.

The military tunnel eventually opened up, and Orenda took in a city the size of a colony.

She did not know civilization could be this vast, that it could stretch on for so long with no wilderness between it. They walked into a wide open cave that stretched out for miles, but the middle of it had been, either naturally or by force, hollowed out. Buildings only lined the one side, the other overlooked the edge, which was set off by railing to prevent accidents, and Orenda looked down.

It stretched on forever.

It spiraled downward with more buildings, people, and bustle, farther than her eyes could reasonably track. She thought that if she dropped something she would not hear it hit the ground. If she had been afraid of heights, she would have felt the vertigo, but as it was, she simply stood in amazement at the grandeur of what the fire people had wrought.

To be fair, the scale was more impressive than the buildings or people themselves. It was obvious that the people here were on hard times, from the hobbled together repairs she saw on the living and the inanimate. The strange thing was, it looked as if these things had been grand, once, but could not be sustained. People wore garments of silk repaired with a fabric Orenda was unfamiliar with, but it looked a cheap imitation of silk’s sheen, too thick and too… the only word that came to mind was ‘fake’. The repairs done to buildings were the same, as if the people were faking a grandeur that they had lost, and longed to return to.

There were dwarves and humans in the street in this state of disrepair, all staring at their group as they marched past, and Orenda began to feel a bit like a prisoner, which, she supposed, she was. But it was the first time in a long time that she did not feel an unearned air of superiority to those who wished to do her harm. The earth elves had always had an underlying fear of her, of the concept of fire- but these people understood it as she did. Here she was not a great mage, last of the fire mages- here she was one among many who may not have been as well trained as those around her.

It was not a good feeling.

They were approaching a building that looked like a temple, and she saw Gareth’s shoulders square as he walked through the large archway, tensing for the first time since their arrival, and she wondered, in that moment, if he was scared too.

Inside, the building was carpeted in a lush red that ran from the doorway to a little stage, upon which was a table. At the table sat nine dwarven figures dressed more nicely than the general populace, but still with that aura of degradation, of someone who had been better, once, and had lost something. They had plates of metal before them that stood up at an angle, probably displaying a title of some sort, but Orenda could not read the text.

These were obviously nobility, but Orenda had never interacted much with dwarves. They only came to the industrial district to trade, and she hadn’t seen any since she left the workhouse. Even at the workhouse she never worked the deliveries, so she knew little of them then. They were a rarity, she had thought, but she realized how wrong she had been. They were many, they simply didn’t want to interact with the Urillians. Orenda did not blame them.

She was shocked to hear a feminine voice come from the person sitting in the center of the table, because she had mistakenly thought the figure was a man. She had a full beard which had been braided and arranged with flowers, and a stocky build. She also wore long flowing fabric, that, together with the beard and her long hair, which had been curled and braided, masked most of her body. Her face was gnarled with age, a true crone, and age blurred the genders, but still Orenda felt a twinge of embarrassment for making assumptions about people, and wrote the lesson away in the back of her mind for the future.

“Harold Hillheart,” the woman said in common, for which Orenda was grateful, “You have returned to us.”

“Yes,” Falsie stepped forward, “I have returned to right my mother’s wrongs. I have come as a Knight of Order to restore the Fire Elves. I have brought with me Gareth Firefist, son of Orenda Firefist the greater, high priest of the sacred Mountain Temple, and Orenda Firefist the lesser, Chosen Child of Thesis who will take the sacred staff from its sacred flame.”

“This is a high claim,” The woman said.

“Ms Metaldelver,” Gareth stepped forward, “I do not like the whole,” he waved his hand dismissively, “Nobility thing. I’m not my mother’s son. I’m not a priest, I’m a pirate. And I’m not here to swindle you or to get your hopes up. I’m here for a supply run, pure and simple. The last time I was here there weren’t guards at that gate-”

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“Gary!” Falsie warned, “I’m tryin to do a thing here-”

“I don’t give a damn about your etiquette!” Gareth snapped, “My niece is not a figurehead! She’s not a martyr! She’s not going to die on some dumbass quest like her father to appease a group of people she’s never met and who don’t give a damn about her! I asked to speak to the high council, and I’ll do it on my terms!”

“You’ll watch your mouth!” Falsie snapped at him.

“This is me watching my mouth,” Gareth snapped back, “You wanna see crazy?”

“You’re Gareth Firefist?” Another council member asked, “Captain Nochdifache is Gareth Firefist?”

Gareth huffed and stood with his legs apart and one hand on his hip, as indigent as he possibly could be.

“Thank you, Falsie,” His voice dripped with sarcasm and ire, “For your discretion.”

He turned to the council and continued.

“It would be stupid to say ‘no’ now. I am Captain Nochdifache. I am Gareth Firefist.”

“Take off the mask in our presence,” Ms Metaldelver said softly, “I know Gareth Firefist. He was not ashamed enough to hide his face. He and his brother Garon fought against the evil conquering Urillians with a spirit that could not be broken.”

“Well Ronnie’s body broke a lot easier than his spirit!” Gareth yelled.

“I have heard of your loss, Gareth,” she said, “I loved him, too, but I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. Reveal your face so we can confirm your identity.”

Gareth looked over his shoulder, then around at the guards surrounding them.

“Everyone not on the council or in my party will clear out,” he demanded, “it’s…” his voice broke, and Orenda did not like the change. He sounded almost like a child when he said, “It’s real bad, Aunty Krothy. It’s… it’s so bad. Mom wouldn’t… wouldn’t recognize…”

“Clear out!” The woman demanded and pushed herself heavily to her feet. She walked slowly and with great difficulty, leaning heavily on a mage staff for support, but she made it down the steps of the podium, and as she walked toward him, Gareth fell to his knees.

Orenda watched the soldiers file out of the building, and felt the atmosphere in the room change. There was something about this woman that was not intimidating, and the fear inside her lessened, gave way to something else, something she didn’t understand, but it was more warm than hot, more comfort than authority.

“What have they done to you, Gary?” She asked softly, and Gareth fell to his knees.

“I… I…” Gareth said, staring at the floor.

The old woman reached out and peeled off the mask. Gareth slowly raised his face to look up at her, to meet her eyes, and she ran the back of her knuckles along his scar.

“How did this happen, Gary?” She asked.

“The Emerald Knight killed Ronnie,” Gareth explained, “And… he almost killed me. He took my hand. Falsie, that is, Harry, made me a replacement, and it’s served me well. I don’t… I never thought Helga meant to hurt us. Rendy isn’t the chosen one. She needs to learn that. Oh- Orenda, come here. This is my godmother, Krothith Metaldelver. She was… great friends with my mother. She was supposed to ferry you to Huriyat AlIinsan. I still… don’t know how you wound up at that workhouse.”

“Your niece?” Krothy asked, “Named for your dear mother?”

Gareth nodded.

“Come here, child,” Krothy said, “Let me get a good look at you.”

Orenda stepped forward and knelt to be more on the old woman’s level.

“Oh, you look so much like your grandmother,” She smiled, “Those boys didn’t look anything like her; they took after their father, but you got lucky, I suppose.”

“Thank you,” Orenda said.

“You’re the chosen one,” the old lady said as if testing the concept, “Who will take the sacred staff and protect us from great danger?”

“Well,” Orenda said, “I may as well be. Someone has to be, don’t they? I think I should at least try. It couldn’t do any harm.”

“No,” Gareth shook his head, “She isn’t. Just like Ronnie wasn’t.” He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again it was so low as to be almost inaudible, “Just like I wasn’t.”

“Harry,” the old woman turned to him, “I want you to know that I never blamed your mother. I sent representatives to barter for your dear father, after he was abducted by the Urillians.”

Something about this statement set something off in Gareth, and he began to cry where he still knelt. It was soft, and Orenda didn’t think she would have noticed had she not been kneeling beside him, but she could see his reflection in the mask from where Krothy had sat it on the floor, and she watched great tears roll down his face. She stood and put a hand on his shoulder.

“He was trying to protect us!” Gareth said, “Me and Ronnie. He was trying to protect us, trying to get us off this… we got away but… they took him to the capital! I’m sure she… she got into his mind, she tortured him! Because of us.”

Orenda did not know what to say to this, so she tightened and relaxed her grip on his shoulder in what she thought was a show of support.

“My father died as he lived,” Falsie said with conviction, “Protecting people. He was always nurturing, caring, and protective. He had a heart as big as these mountains, and he would not back down against anyone who tried to harm those who could not defend themselves. He was a great warrior and a great father. I hold his memory dearly, and god willing, some of that has been passed to me. I have come to restore the last priest to the temple, to lead the Chosen One to her destiny.”

Orenda had not known that her decision would be treated so formally, would affect so many people. She had been acting, more or less, on a sense of what she felt she should do next. It never occurred to her that the ‘chosen one’ was a real title with real responsibility. She simply wanted the staff, for very practical reasons. Orenda had never really had a family, and though she had always dreamed that there existed, somewhere out in the world, someone who loved her unconditionally, like a father, to see the only relative she had on his knees crying because he could not find worth in his life to equal the price that had been paid to protect it, she wondered, for the first time, if she was doing the right thing.

“Gareth?” She asked tentatively, “Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright!” He snapped, “I’ll never be alright again! I wouldn’t be alright if you paid me! I told you, Orenda, I’ve earned this madness! I will live it and no one will take it away! I won’t lose it, not for social convention. I don’t care if I’m making a scene!”

That wasn’t what she had meant, but he seemed somewhere else, far away, and she rubbed his back because she didn’t know what else to do.

“I’ll need armor,” Falsie said, because everyone else was politely ignoring Gareth’s outburst, allowing him to just sob into the carpet until it passed, “Like my mother used to make. For the three of us- the human, the halfling, and me. The magic has gotten too strong up there and needs to be nullified so we don’t burst into flame.”

“Yes,” Krothy agreed, “but the building has been abandoned. I don’t know what you’ll find there. I doubt you’ll find any armor left. No one travels to the temple anymore, not since the spirit died, not since Thesis abandoned that place.”

“I will reawaken the love of a god,” Falsie said as if it was a fact, as if it was something he could just do, at any time, with relative ease. “I will restore Order.”