The deafening roar of the god's horn thundered through the halls of Gazmöd.

Frantic steps and hushed voices soon followed, as seemingly all denizens of the earthen city rushed to catch a glimpse of something only few of their kind had ever witnessed.

"They're opening the gates!" His sister's voice cut sharply through the muffled stampede just beyond their hovel wall. Nearly tearing his drape of a door down, she wrenched it aside to peek her head through, letting more candlelight intrude within.

Rust turned over, he had been awake long before the horn, but the dark and silent solace he enjoyed within his quarters had now come to an end.

He acted as though sleep had just left him, grunting and mumbling. "What's going on?" He asked, rubbing the dust from his eyes.

"Get up quick! They're opening the gates, let's go see!" She shuffled away to some other chamber. Darkness cloaked the room again, save for the candlelit outline of his drapes.

The last bit of peace I'll have today. He realized.

Stretching back, he sank into a pile of hair pillows and patched blankets that made up the stone bowl of a bed. His quarters were the smallest of his family's hovel, and he had to crawl through an old mining chute to get in, but that never bothered him. The lack of space was well balanced with comfortability and convenience; nearly everything he owned was always within reach, and it was better than sharing a chamber with his sister.

He watched as thin blades of candlelight slashed across the dark stone above.

The only reason they would have to open the gates is if something big needed to come in. Very big. His imagination ran wild with the idea. It could be a shipment of lumber from Hook town, but those are usually on a strict schedule, and they've hauled logs in through the small gate for as long as I've been alive.

The curiosity had bolstered his will, enough to sit up.

The colossal gates had been sealed since before his father's time, Rust knew. He had heard the stories a thousand times from his grandfather; of the royal parade when the King's own father died, and he first descended to inherit the heart of the mountain. It was said that the very moment he entered the heart chamber, the great horn sounded as the Haze above had dispersed. For his coronation, a week-long festival was planned, with every soul in the city marching out of the gates, and around the island.

Rust could still hear his grandpa's voice. "I'll never be able to tell you truly how great it was. Every Gazmödian out of the earth, happy, and with the light of Gods' warming our faces!"

The scribes had dubbed it "The Bright Day," as when night fell, all light was again snuffed out by the Haze, a blinding and poisonous fog that had been present for as long as histories were scribed. Chaos erupted as many lay sleeping. Screams of men, women, and children echoed through the hills, desperately trying to find their kin within the void.

How did grandpa find his way back? It was a question Rust never got to ask. He only ever spoke of the day, never the night, the haze, nor the beasts that lurked within.

Standing up with another long stretch, Rust hastily threw on the closest britches and top he could find. Both were scuffed, with patches here and there. Good enough, he thought.

Just as his boots were on, he heard his sister calling again.

"I'm coming!" God's help me. This will be a long day.

Pulling back his cloth door, the smell of freshly baked bread filled his lungs. He climbed up through the narrow tunnel which led into the central kitchen chamber.

"Where is Pa?" He sat along a bench beside the table, still lacing his worn leather boots. Rust would usually share a drink with his father before leaving the hovel, it was strange to not see him sitting in his usual spot.

"I haven't seen him today, but I'm sure he's gone to the gates!" His sister spoke while packing bits of bread into her delivery satchel. She turned to offer one to Rust.

He nodded a thanks, and quickly stuffed his mouth. It was supremely soft, but with a thin perfect crust around, and buttered just enough to make him ask for another. She'll be the best baker in the city soon enough.

"What about ma?" He asked, knowing his sister could decipher his bread speak.

"You know she's working for Durzal today, and she wanted you to go with her." Every word was coated in judgment.

"I've told her, and I've told you, I don't like that man, and certainly don't want to work for him." Bits of bread fell along his beard as he spoke.

"Hmph, you know I don't always get along with Newa; but, i'll work my way up, and maybe she'll pass the bakery on to me when she's too old to work." His sister fastened the satchel shut and turned to face him, bread hanging from her mouth.

"You don't want to go to the mines, remember what happened to grandpa?" She said, in their bread tongue.

Rust grunted with a nod.

"And you know Ma would never let you go to Hook town, so you'd better rethink the tailor job... besides, Durzal will be made an Underlord soon, surely he'll pay you well." She wiped a few bits of bread from her apron and walked to the door.

The idea of working in a tailor's shop for the rest of his life made Rust's skin crawl. He had wanted to work at the smithy or for the city guard when he was small, but eventually his mind wandered to the outside, someplace away from the mountain.

Hook town would be perfect, I could hunt, fish, or cut trees. The fog wouldn't bother me, I could handle it.

All who lived outside the mountain were known as Hazelings. They wore strange leather masks to help them breathe in the fog, and long thick gambesons to cover their body. Hazelings were said to develop queer pale skin and carry an aura of sickness around them.

Rust had also heard tales of horrors that lurked within the Haze, hunting those who lived above ground.

At least I would be useful, not some merchant's slave. I could handle it. He told himself again.

Mariza tapped along the circle of crimson runes etched into the wall; with two knocks left, four knocks right, and one knock below, the wall shifted, and they were swept into the rushing stream of people.

Before they could be separated, Rust grabbed his sister's arm.

"You'd have us walk with the herd, but I know a much better spot to see from." He said as they dodged and shoved their way across the packed hall.

The primary inner ring of Gazmöd was quite large, near six men could stand shoulder to shoulder across- and unlike some deeper halls, there was never any fear of one's head slamming into stone here.

It was called "The Belt." Connecting all of the great halls within the mountain, it was certainly the easiest way to traverse the city, however there were plenty of smaller tunnels and alleys which served as shortcuts for those brave enough to venture in.

Rust awkwardly shimmied along the smooth wall, attempting to avoid contact with the waves of passing shoulders. With his sister in tow, they slowly made their way along the belt and into the Merchant's Hall.

The Merchant's Hall was by far the oldest and largest of the four great halls of Gazmöd. Massive silver braziers hung above from chains which draped between the columns of titanic pillars that supported the hall. Though well lit below, one could not see the top of the grand chamber, Rust often wondered what it was like up there, in all of the darkness above.

Rows of shops lined the walls, with carts and crates stacked here and there. The hall was always loud with voices of trade, the ringing song of hammer to anvil, or banter from the pubs, yet today all were absent; instead, there was only the swelling roar of the sea of faces which had flooded in.

At the end of the hall, facing the gate was the colossal statue of God-King Thyrn, founder of the city. It was surrounded by a grand stair, which led high above into the heart chamber. The stone was said to have been carved in his likeness, wearing his heavy iron armor, and wielding his wickedly curved battle-axe. In the other hand he held the great horn to his lips, which once called to the Gods, nearly a millennium ago.

Thyrn's statue was the pride of the city, the armor was adorned with thousands of shimmering gems along its edges, and his eyes were a fiery red. They were made of cytramite, the most prized stone within the mountain. This was where royalty mixed with the common folk, where friends would meet, or some would simply come to look upon a God.

The statue had been tended to by Jinvatt for as long as anyone could remember, he polished the gems and kept the dirt swept away from stone; however he was also entrusted to sound Thyrn's horn if the city was ever threatened.

Rust pulled his sister into an alley behind the cobbler's shop.

"Where are we going?" His sister finally asked. "It's too dark to see through here, there might be some holes around and we'll fall through!"

Actually there are more than a few pits in this little hall, but she doesn't need to know.

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"Just follow me, and turn the other way, facing the shop." He said, finally letting go of her arm.

There were stories over the years of children falling into these holes, only to be found in some old mine below. Even recently, there was talk of a missing boy who was thought to have fallen down to an abandoned tunnel, though it had been sealed years ago, and none brave enough could manage to squeeze down the hole.

They never deterred Rust though, curiosity had always gotten the better of him.

The smaller and darker halls of the city were mostly avoided, typically only occupied by drunkards or those partaking in some shady business. Nearly every main hall, including the belt, held candle alcoves along their walls, which lit the way, but there was no light here behind the shops.

Rust kept a hand above him, feeling along the wall behind as they shimmied down the alley. Finally he stopped.

"Here it is." There was a very small opening in the wall above. He nudged his sister's arm. "Feel the wall behind, over here above me."

She laughed nervously. "There is no way we're getting up there."

"Just trust me and listen, put your back against this wall, and your feet to the other. Then walk up like this." He had done this more than a few times before, though it had been quite some time.

"You're taller than me, there's no way."

"I used to come through here years ago, just trust me you'll reach."

Mariza scoffed. "When? Ma would lose her mind if she knew you were coming back here climbing through tunnels."

Rust put his feet up on the wall, and slowly climbed high enough to get his arms and head into the tunnel. He remembered there was a lip further in, which could be used to pull yourself up. He explained every move to his sister as he went.

"After you pull up, there is a bend, it's best to breathe in and make yourself smaller." He could hear her struggling below.

"Here, take the bread!" She tossed the satchel, just high enough for Rust to catch it with the tip of his boot.

"It gets a lot easier after the bend." That was no lie, the tunnel took on a stair shape above them, making it easy to climb. He tucked in his legs and retrieved the bread bag before climbing up the expanding tunnel, which led to the top of the cobblers shop, a place he had come to often in his younger years.

Mariza was closer behind than he had thought, she wormed her way out of the tunnel, panting and brushing dirt from her gown.

"Damn you, it tore a hole in my apron." Just as she snatched the bread away, she jumped back with a squeal, her eyes locked to something behind him.

"I figured you'd show up." A voice came from the darkened corner of the rooftop.

"Didn't think you would bring your sister though, this place was sacred!" Rust felt a smile from the shadows.

"Gurdy! How long's it been?" He reached for a shake of hands, but an arm jolted from the dark, locking around his shoulders.

"Too damned long!" Gurdwyn pulled him close with a chuckle, then turned to Mariza. "Come on, you too!"

Memories of a childhood spent along the rooftops, back alleys, and abandoned tunnels came flooding back to Rust in an instant. He and Gurdwyn were inseparable in those times, the only way anyone could tell them apart was through the color of their hair.

"Rusty brown and coal black." Mariza said. "Still identical, apart from that and the garb... the uniform looks good on you, Gurdy, a lot cleaner than the rags my brother chooses to wear."

"Nothing wrong with these." Rust said, inspecting his patchy top, noticing that a few new holes had been acquired.

"If you weren't my brother, I'd think you were a drunkard who lived in an al-" Her words were halted by a sudden shockwave. The horn was thundering once more, and all three covered their ears in a panic. Clouds of dirt and dust rained down from the high halls, and Rust could feel his bones begin to rattle.

After the rumbling had stopped, a ringing permeated over the great Merchants Hall. The entire city was crowded below and not one sound came from that sea of faces. Though, perhaps there were sounds; thought Rust, a whisper, ringing and roaring.

"Get down." Gurdy repeated, gesturing for the other two to lay flat upon the roof.

"So what's this all about?" Rust could half hear, and half feel himself ask as he dropped to his belly.

"No one knows, the few that I spoke to claimed that a Hazeling had run in asking for Jinvatt."

Jinvatt "the long winded" he was called, a title fit for horn blowing though it had been given instead for his usually drunken ramblings. He was by all accounts the oldest within the city, even older than the King. It was a wonder that he could still sound the horn at all, let alone twice in a single day.

Heads began to turn below, as the earthen doors of the heart chamber shifted open above the God-King.

Three royal guards marched in first, their dark amethyst armor glimmering beneath the braziers above. Coupled with rounded tower shields, they each held spears of cytramite, which shined like flames along the end of gilded shafts.

Behind the first three guards entered Korston, voice of the King. Wielding the scepter of Thyrn and draped in thick green robes that trailed behind him as he walked.

Finally three more guards followed the others as they descended the stair that circled the God-King's statue. They stopped at his feet, just above the crowd.

The hall was truly silent now, no whispering, no coughing, nor the crying of babes could be heard.

Korston stood between two shields, raising the scepter high above his head before striking it down upon the stone. Sparks flew from the blow, and an echo rang through the hall.

City guards charged through the crowd, many in their path were knocked down or trampled.

"I should be down there." Gurdwyn whispered, rising to a knee.

"There are too many." Mariza insisted. "You'll never make it to the gate."

Gurdwyn grunted and settled back down between the other two atop the roof.

When several guards had reached the gate, they splintered off into groups. There were two massive chain wheels, each required four men to turn, and there were two smaller wheels which took two men each.

All heads within the mass below had turned once more to the titanic gate which guarded their city for countless years.

Commands were yelled between the guards of when to push and when to stop, eventually joining together to steadily move along.

The gigantic chains wrenched slowly, each turn of the wheels raining clouds of rusted iron down upon the crowd below. The smaller chains moved quicker, the men who pushed those seemed to be running; though suddenly a yelp came from one who had tripped, the other halted and cried out to the other pair across the hall. He braced himself and held long enough for the other to get back to his feet- but lost his grip and the wheel turned loose.

In an instant their bodies warped and were slung away. They soared high above the hall, as if they were made of sticks and straw; however the blood that rained behind left no doubts of their make.

The smaller wheels became whirlwinds, as the other two guards leapt away. Chains rattled and wrenched furiously, creating a tortuous sound that forced the crowd to move further and further away.

A wicked snap of iron rang from below as the chain broke apart with a cloud of rust. It swept back and lashed into the fleeing crowd. The sound was unlike anything Rust had ever heard, and one he'd soon not forget. A dozen lay dead or broken in an arc of pooling crimson along the stone. The rest of the chain slunk lazily to the floor, and screams soon followed.

However, the gate had continued to rise, the guards on the larger wheels seemed oblivious to the horror happening on either side of them.

"What was the point of that damned chain?" Rust heard himself say.

He looked to his sister, she held a hand over her mouth and tears ran down her cheeks. Gurdwyn lay still, his head in his hands.

"Pa could be down there." Her words were choked.

He had not thought of that yet, his parents were surely down there somewhere.

"I'm sure he's around the pubs." Rust took his sister's hand. "He's alright, and Ma too." The uncertainty was painful, but he dared not let that show.

"Look." Gurdwyn nodded toward the gate.

The gate clanked and clammered, soon it locked in place.

There was only darkness beyond, but soon tendrils of fog twisted in. It looked like two gray hands reaching into the city, and they seemed as though they would stretch the gateway open.

"Flames!" Korston called, his voice was strong and loud, it carried over the grieving few that looked over their dead. Guards fetched torches from the fire pits, waving them, almost slashing back the haze.

"Clear the way!" A guard yelled, others moved through the crowd to divide them and create a path.

From the fog came an old creaking wagon, pulled by three Hazelings.

Is that really it? They could have used the regular gate. The thought made his skin crawl, the wagon was smaller than the usual used for shipments of wood or game from above. Something wasn't right.

"Make way!" The guard yelled again, he gestured at the bodies that lay between the divided crowd. The cries of mourning soon faded as the bodies were pulled away and into a shop along the far wall.

The wagon slowly rolled its way down the hall, gasps and whispers keeping it's pace.

There were four odd looking men within the wagon, three sat near the front, and one lay between, his feet hanging off behind the wagon.

"Who are they?" Rust asked but neither his old friend nor sister replied.

They were much taller than the average man, and none of them bearded.

"Maybe they're women." Gurdwyn jested, nudging Mariza.

She cleared her throat to reply. "They're not women, you fool."

The distance made it hard to tell. Their clothing was odd as well, Rust could see strange symbols on their coats. They were all drenched.

Finally the wagon stopped, and the guards who had followed grabbed each of the tall men by an arm, two guards on either side. They dropped them to their knees in front of Thyrn's statue, where Korston still stood between the royal shields.

Six fiery spears fell in unison, aimed directly at the heads of the strange men.

"I am Korston, voice of Dugvar, King of Gazmöd and ruler of all beneath the earth. Tell me strangers, from where do you hail?"

The men exchanged looks before one replied.

His voice was much deeper than Rust had expected, and his words were hard to follow, only every few were decipherable. "North, sea, dark, fog." were clear.

Korston let the echoing words of the man fade away, weighing them intently.

"Bring them to the heart chamber, and fetch the scribes."

The guards lifted the men to their feet and led them to the stair. Everyone watched intently as they walked around the God-King, and into the chamber above.

"Jinvatt! Show yourself." Korstons voice had turned to a fury.

"I'm here." The old man stood far above, wobbling upon the shoulder of Thyrn.

Korston looked up, along with everyone else.

"Jinvatt, the blood of these people stains your hands."

"It's my duty to sound the horn when invaders threaten our city, ask the King, he knows." His words were jumbled and slurred.

"Damned fool, you are no longer fit to tend our beloved Thyrn. You are hereby relieved of your service, return to whatever back-alley hole you belong to, and I forbid you to return to this hall ever again."

"Ask the King, go tell him I want to see him, I served his father!" He cried.

"Be happy that I do not have you thrown in the flame pits, old man. Now, begone. The rest of you, back to your business." Korston and his guard returned to the stair as gasps came from below.

The sickening clunk that echoed through the chamber proved to be yet another sound Rust would soon not forget, though not one soul below cried for Jinvatt.