After their meeting with the council, Mihai, Cian, Elanor, and Raven followed Kronmud through the maze-like passages of Durm-Khazad. The stronghold lay at the heart of the mountain, a sprawling, self-contained world carved and built by the hands of countless dwarves over the centuries. Though the mountain enveloped them, the dwarves had found ingenious ways to bring light into their halls.

Mirrors, carefully placed and angled, channeled sunlight from the outside, casting beams of natural light into wide chambers where crops grew and livestock grazed. Every few paces, stone columns were engraved with scenes of ancient dwarven history, illuminated by the reflected sunlight, creating an ethereal glow. The halls were alive with the sounds of hammering, grinding, and the murmur of voices, each activity echoing with a timeless rhythm that made the mountain feel like a living entity.

Mihai marveled at the ingenuity. Vast fields of mushrooms and subterranean vegetables stretched out, irrigated by streams diverted from the mountain’s natural springs. Orchards of pale-leafed trees thrived under the dim, focused light, their roots burrowing deep into the rock. Above them, light danced off mirror panels set into the ceiling, casting a warm glow that mimicked the rise and fall of the sun.

“They’ve brought the light of the outside world down here,” Cian whispered, his voice filled with awe.

“Aye,” Kronmud replied with a grin. “Durm-Khazad’s a world of its own. We don’t just live in the mountain—we’re part of it. There’s a strength here ye won’t find anywhere else.”

Their path took them down a broad stone road lined with sturdy dwarven homes and workshops. As they ventured further, they passed through a series of forges, each one bustling with activity. The warm light from molten metal reflected off stone walls, casting a reddish glow that painted the surroundings with an almost mythical air. Finally, Kronmud led them toward a large, modest stone building marked with the emblem of two crossed hammers.

“This here’s one of our finest forges,” Kronmud explained, nodding toward the entrance. “Ye’ll find the master blacksmith, Thrain Ironbrow, inside. He’s got somethin’ special set aside fer ye.”

Inside, the forge was alive with the sounds of metal striking metal, the rhythmic clanging echoing off the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of hot iron and coal, and every inch of space was dedicated to the art of crafting. Weapons, tools, and armor lined the walls, each piece displaying the dwarves’ legendary skill and attention to detail.

At the center of the room, behind a massive stone workbench, stood a broad-shouldered dwarf with a dark, braided beard streaked with silver. His arms were thick and muscular, his hands blackened from years of work at the forge. He looked up as they entered, his intense gaze assessing each of them in turn.

“Kronmud,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “Ye’ve brought me our new recruits, then?”

“Aye, Thrain,” Kronmud replied. “This here’s Mihai, the lad with a knack for survivin’ trouble. The lass is Elanor, an’ the young one’s Cian. An’ that beast is Raven.”

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Thrain Ironbrow grunted in approval as he looked them over, lingering on Mihai’s armor. “So, ye’re the ones headin’ down tae the deep. Ye’ll need more than a few charms tae get ye through that darkness.”

He motioned for them to follow him to the far side of the forge, where a selection of supplies had been carefully laid out. There were bundles of torches, leather-bound water flasks, sturdy ropes, and dried rations wrapped in cloth. But at the center of it all lay a pair of swords, each one radiating a faint, almost ethereal glow.

Mihai stepped forward, drawn to the swords as if by instinct. The blades were crafted from a shimmering metal that seemed to catch every glint of light, giving them a slightly iridescent sheen. Intricate engravings traced the length of each blade, patterns of vines and stars that seemed to shift and move as he looked closer.

Thrain’s expression softened with a hint of pride. “These blades are a bit o’ me finest work. Crafted from starsteel—a rare metal found deep within the mountain. Light, yet strong as any steel. Aye, they’re enchanted, too—will help ye cut through the dark like a torch through shadows.”

Mihai picked up one of the swords, feeling the weight of it in his hand. Despite its size, it was surprisingly light, and he could feel a faint warmth radiating from the hilt. It felt like an extension of his arm, as if it had been crafted specifically for him.

“These are… incredible,” Mihai said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Aye, they’re beautiful, but don’t let that fool ye. They’re deadly sharp,” Thrain replied, his gaze hardening. “Keep ‘em close, lad. Down there, ye’ll need every advantage ye can get.”

Mihai nodded, sheathing the swords with a reverence he hadn’t felt for a weapon before. He could feel the connection to them, a sense that these blades were meant to walk this dark path by his side.

Next, Thrain handed him a small leather pouch. “This one’s enchanted. Looks small, but it’ll hold more than ye’d expect. Handy for supplies an’ anything ye might find on yer journey.”

As Mihai examined the pouch, Thrain turned to Elanor and Cian, nodding toward the supplies. “Help yerselves tae torches, water, an’ whatever ye need. The deep’s no place tae run dry on anything.”

Elanor gathered a few flasks and a bundle of torches, while Cian picked up extra rope and a bundle of dried food wrapped in cloth. Raven, who had been observing quietly, let out a low growl of approval, his amber eyes glinting in the forge’s light.

Thrain stepped back, folding his arms as he looked them over. “Listen tae me now. Durm-Khazad’s forges are silent without the Emberstone. We’re countin’ on ye tae bring it back, else there’s no tellin’ what’ll come of us. The stone wards off things darker than ye can imagine. Ye think the creatures down there are fierce? They’re just the ones that haven’t been fully awakened.”

Mihai felt the weight of Thrain’s words settle over him. This wasn’t just a mission—it was a responsibility. The lives of the dwarves, their heritage, their legacy, all rested on this one stone.

Kronmud, sensing the gravity of the moment, clapped Mihai on the shoulder with a rough but warm hand. “Ye’re ready, lad. We’ll set off at dawn, but fer now, rest well. Ye’ll need it.”

As they turned to leave, Thrain called after Mihai. “Lad, one last thing. Those swords… they’ve got a name. We call ‘em the Twin Flames. May they light yer path an’ keep ye safe.”

Mihai glanced down at the sheathed swords at his side, feeling a surge of confidence. “Thank you, Thrain. I’ll make sure they serve their purpose.”

With supplies in hand, the group left the forge, following Kronmud back through the mountain city. The last of the evening light had faded, and now the glow from the mirrors softened, casting everything in a silvery twilight. They walked in silence, each one lost in their own thoughts, the weight of the journey ahead pressing on them.

As they made their way back toward the rooms prepared for them, Mihai couldn’t shake the feeling of destiny settling over him. The mountains, the forge, the echoes of the ancient dwarven songs—all of it seemed to come together, pulling him deeper into this world and its troubles. He glanced at Elanor, who was quietly watching the city around her, and Cian, whose gaze was sharp and determined.

They were ready, as ready as they could be. And with the first light of dawn, they would descend into the heart of the mountain, where darkness waited for them.