The next morning came too swiftly, it always does.


    We made our final preparations and set out, descending into the depths of the Smeltfire Deeps—boots heavy on the stone steps, packs slung tight, the air growing thick with each descent. Alythiel checked her daggers'' runes, Torglel swung his hammer in lazy arcs, and I flexed my grip on Celerius and Mors, their weight a steady anchor.


    The Smeltfire Deeps lay in the fourth tier, far beneath the rest of Thoringard—a realm of shadow and flame few dared to tread. Few dwarves had ever gone this deep, and fewer still had returned, their tales swallowed by the dark. This was where the Deepfire Drake made its lair, a beast woven into Thoringard''s whispered fears.


    None of us spoke as we walked—the silence a rare shroud over Torglel''s usual bluster, his grin absent, his steps measured. The weight of the mission ahead hung heavy over us, pressing down like the stone above. Every step we took down the winding, carved stone path felt heavier—each turn steeper, the air thickening with sulfur and ash. The heat intensified the deeper we went, thick and stifling, wrapping around us like a cloak of fire—like we were walking into the depths of the Abyss itself, the walls pulsing faintly with trapped warmth.


    When we reached the entrance to the Smeltfire, we stopped—breath catching, eyes tracing the threshold. The doorway towered before us—massive stone doors with an arched frame that reached up into shadow, swallowing the dim torchlight from the tunnel above. The doors were molten black, glimmering faintly in the heat, their surface rippling like liquid obsidian—and carved with ancient Dwarven runes that glowed faintly along the arch, red embers pulsing in the dark script.


    Alythiel stepped closer, her silver hair catching the rune-glow, tracing the edge of one with her fingers—delicate yet steady. "Abandon hope, all who dare to enter beyond these doors," she read softly, her voice a quiet thread in the oppressive air.


    I blinked, turning toward her, caught between surprise and admiration—her calm cracking open a spark of wonder. "You can read Dwarven?" I asked, voice lifting despite the weight around us.


    She smiled brightly—one of those rare smiles of pure joy, lighting her face like dawn after a long night, pride shining through her usual reserve. "I can read a few languages. Elvish, Dwarvish, Orcish... even Draconic." Her eyes gleamed, a scholar''s delight breaking through the warrior''s poise.


    Torglel let out a low chuckle, flexing his fingers as fire sparked along his knuckles—crackling faintly, a flicker of his usual bravado returning. "Then you can translate my insults when we kick this dragon''s arsati," he said, a grin spreading a little too eagerly across his face, blue eyes glinting with mischief.


    I exhaled slowly, the sound lost in the heat, placed both hands against the door—stone searing under my palms—and pushed. The ancient stone and iron groaned, a deep rumble shaking the floor as the doors parted, and an intense wave of heat blasted out to meet us—raw, unyielding, slamming into my chest. It was like standing in front of an open forge... no, hotter—a furnace''s maw unleashed, making Torglel''s flames feel like a warm summer breeze by comparison, sweat beading on my brow instantly.


    We stepped inside, prepared to face the dangers of the Smeltfire Deeps—blades drawn, senses sharp, the threshold a line we couldn''t uncross. There was no turning back now. And looking back... I wished I''d learned water magic—something to douse the fire already licking at my nerves.


    The air shimmered with heat, distorting the path ahead—waves rippling like a mirage, bending stone into liquid shadows. This place was once a thriving mining hub, its veins rich with ore that fueled Thoringard''s might. Now it was a tomb—silent, scorched, a graveyard for anyone foolhardy enough to enter unprepared, the echoes of picks long faded into dust.


    We made our way through the collapsed hall—broken into jagged sections, stone shattered by time and heat, edges glinting faintly. Rivers of molten lava flowed between them, sluggish and glowing, sending up clouds of shimmering heat that stung my eyes—red-orange streams hissing faintly, a constant threat.


    Unstable beams of stone spanned the gaps—cracked, precarious, groaning under their own weight. Geysers of flame erupted without warning—jets of fire bursting from fissures, roaring upward with a crackle that drowned out our steps. Every step was a gamble—one misstep and it was the last mistake we''d ever make, the lava below waiting like an eager maw.


    Torglel, naturally, showed off—his bravado breaking through the tension. He conjured wings of fire—blazing crimson and gold, flaring bright—and soared over the gaps like he was strolling down a street, boots barely grazing stone as he landed with a smug grin.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Not to be outdone, I surged forward in a burst of lightning—crackling energy sparking at my heels, skipping across the beams before they could even groan beneath me, speed outpacing the danger, my pulse a steady thunder in my ears.


    Even Alythiel made it look easy—gracefully flipping over a chasm just as a jet of flame roared up behind her, silver hair trailing like a comet, landing light as a whisper, daggers glinting in her hands.


    The hall eventually opened into a wide cavern, glittering with veins of untouched ore—silver and gold threading the walls, catching the firelight in a shimmer that dazzled the eye. The heat made everything shimmer—like walking through a dream on fire, reality bending under the furnace''s breath.


    Magma flies swarmed in the dark—large, sluggish, glowing faintly, their wings buzzing like a low hum. Easy to swat away with a flick of steel or flame, more of an annoyance than a threat—yet their constant drone grated, a nagging itch under the skin. The echoes of our footfalls and the buzzing magma flies mingled—relentless, maddening, a chorus of the deep that set my teeth on edge.


    At the far end of the cavern, a narrow stone bridge spanned a deep chasm—barely wide enough for us to walk two abreast, its edges crumbling into shadow below. We''d have to tread carefully—each step a test of balance and nerve.


    We crossed single file, boots scraping on ancient stone—rough, worn, flecked with ash. The bridge groaned beneath us, a low creak that tightened my gut.


    Then it started to shake—vibrations rumbling up through my legs, dust sifting from the cracks.


    I sighed, a flicker of exasperation cutting through the tension. Please tell me this isn''t another golem.


    The sound came first—a deep grinding, metal scraping on stone, a growl from the earth itself. Something massive stirred beyond the far side of the bridge—slow, deliberate, shaking the cavern.


    And then it stepped into view—a dwarven sentinel, looming from the dark like a relic of forgotten wars.


    It was old—ancient by the look of it, its stone-and-iron frame pitted with age, yet intact, moving with heavy purpose—each step a thud that echoed. Runes glowed red-hot across its chest, pulsing like a slow heartbeat—faint, erratic, alive with some unnatural spark.


    I glanced at Torglel, his fire dimming slightly as he stared. "Aren''t those things supposed to be guarding the palace?"


    "Aye," he muttered, voice low, brows knitting. "But Dad said they stationed a few down here, back when miners were working these veins. They were supposed to protect them." He frowned, scratching his beard. "It should be dead as stone. I''ve no idea how it''s moving without a power source."


    The sentinel clutched a hammer twice my size in one hand—jagged, blackened, its head gleaming with heat. Its other arm bore a shield large enough to wall off a tunnel—towering, solid, a slab of iron etched with faded runes.


    "Pr...rotec...t. All... intru—threat... destroy." The words ground out of it, deep and broken—a mechanical chant, voice scraping like rusted gears.


    Alythiel''s gaze sharpened, her fingers twitching toward her daggers—eyes narrowing as she studied it. "There''s wild magic radiating off it," she murmured, voice taut with focus. "Most likely what''s powering it."


    I flexed my grip on my swords, the leather creaking under my palms—lightning tingling faintly in my veins. "Torglel... any bright ideas?"


    He grinned wide, flames dancing along his hammer—blazing brighter, eager. "Hit it really hard. Together."


    "Operation high and low?" I asked, flashing a grin—adrenaline spiking, a familiar thrill cutting through the heat.


    He nodded, fire flaring in his eyes.


    We charged—boots pounding, the bridge trembling beneath us. "Don''t be reckless," Alythiel called out after us.


    The sentinel''s head tracked us in eerie silence—stone eyes glowing faintly, unblinking. "Threat... identified," it rumbled, voice a low quake.


    The hammer came down hard—slamming into the bridge with a deafening crack, stone splintering as we dove to either side—chunks plummeting into the chasm below, swallowed by shadow with a distant crash.


    Torglel darted toward its legs—hammer blazing, swinging low with a roar. Flames exploded on impact—crimson and gold bursting against stone, the sentinel staggering as one knee buckled beneath its weight, a groan of metal echoing.


    I sprinted up its shield—lightning crackling along my arms, boots scraping the iron as I climbed, heat searing through my soles. At the top, I leapt high—air rushing past—and brought both blades down in a cross-slash, surging with power—black and white steel flashing, energy arcing wild.


    The impact exploded in a blinding flash—lightning meeting stone, a shockwave flinging Torglel and me backwards across the bridge—my back slamming into stone, breath punched out.


    The sentinel jerked—sparks spitting from its joints, runes flickering erratically. Stone groaned, and the bridge gave way beneath it—a jagged hole tearing open. And it fell through—limbs flailing, hammer slipping from its grip—plunging into the dark abyss below, its runes flickering out as it vanished into shadow, a fading echo of grinding metal trailing after.


    The rest of the bridge shuddered beneath us—but held, dust settling in the dim light.


    Torglel exhaled, rolling his shoulders—fire dimming as he grinned. "Alright," he said, voice rough with exertion, "that went well."


    Alythiel shot him a flat look—brows arched, daggers still in hand. "That''s your idea of things going well? Look at that huge gap we have to get across now."


    Torglel shrugged—unfazed, brushing ash from his beard. "We can clear it no problem."


    Alythiel groaned and shook her head irritably—her sigh sharp, cutting through the heat.


    "You could''ve ended that thing with one blow if you tapped into your power," the voice hissed in my mind—low, insidious, curling like smoke. I clenched my jaw and shoved it aside—teeth grinding, a flicker of anger drowning it out.


    Deep down, I knew the worst was yet to come—the sentinel a mere shadow of the Deepfire Drake lurking deeper still, its fire waiting to test us beyond breaking.