Zeveron and Kael approached the bar, the rich scent of roasted meats and ale thick in the air. The bar itself was a masterpiece of Dwarven craftsmanship, carved from a single slab of dark stone, polished to a mirror-like sheen and inlaid with glowing runes. Behind it stood a stocky dwarf with a bushy brown beard and a no-nonsense demeanor.

  Zeveron’s face lit up as he slapped the bar with a hearty laugh. “Torgon, you old codger! Still slinging ale in this glorified cave?”

  Torgon looked up from polishing a tankard and broke into a grin. “Well, I’ll be damned. Zeveron Ironstride. Thought you were too rich and important for a place like this!”

  “Never too rich for the Gilded Tankard,” Zeveron replied with a wink. He pulled a small pouch from his belt and dumped a handful of gleaming Dwarven gold coins onto the bar. “Bring up the good stuff from the cellar. None of that watered-down swill you serve to the rabble.”

  Torgon chuckled, shaking his head as he scooped up the coins. “You always did have expensive tastes. Wait here—I’ll fetch the finest barrel we’ve got.” He disappeared through a door at the back, leaving Kael and Zeveron alone at the bar.

  Zeveron turned to Kael, his grin widening. “So, what’s it been, Kael? A couple of decades? Tell me, what have you been up to all this time? Same old business?”

  Kael leaned against the bar, his crimson eyes glinting faintly in the warm glow of the runes. “Nothing’s changed. I hunt monsters. I get paid. Rinse and repeat.” His voice was calm, almost detached, but Zeveron caught the faintest trace of weariness beneath it. “And you? What have you been doing, other than throwing your coin around like a king?”

  Zeveron laughed, the sound booming through the tavern. “Oh, let me tell you, it’s been a busy few decades. Got myself married to a fiery lass—Ingrid’s her name. Smart as a whip and tougher than iron. Had a few babes, too. Three boys and a girl. The lads are taking after their old man, already showing an interest in the trade, and the lass—well, she’s a whirlwind of trouble, that one.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t think you’d settle down, Zeveron. You always said you’d never tie yourself to one spot—or one person.”

  “Aye, I said a lot of things,” Zeveron admitted, his grin softening. “But Ingrid, she’s…different. Made me see there’s more to life than chasing coin and dodging goblin arrows.”

  He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “Speaking of chasing coin, my business has grown like a beard in winter. I’ve got five stores in each of the eight kingdoms down here, plus a few up on the surface. I’m a top member of the Merchant’s Guild now, and my name carries weight from the Deep Roads to the surface markets. If it’s worth trading, chances are I’ve got a hand in it.”

  Kael nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

  “That I have,” Zeveron said with a satisfied smirk. “But it’s not all gold and glory. The more successful you are, the more eyes are on you—and not all of them friendly. That’s part of why I’m glad I ran into you, Kael. I might have a job for you. Dangerous, but lucrative.”

  Before Kael could respond, Torgon returned, lugging a barrel nearly as wide as he was tall. “Here it is, boys—the finest ale in Ironswill. Brewed with glowroot and aged in stone casks. You won’t find anything better.”

  Zeveron clapped his hands together. “Perfect! Pour us a couple, Torgon, and leave the barrel. Kael and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

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  Torgon obliged, filling two heavy stone mugs with frothy, golden ale. Kael accepted his with a nod, the cold stone cool against his gloved hand. As they clinked their mugs together, Zeveron’s grin widened.

  “To old friends and new adventures,” Zeveron declared.

  Kael took a sip, the rich, earthy flavor of the ale washing over his tongue. He didn’t say it aloud, but he appreciated the sentiment. For a man like him, friends—and moments like this—were few and far between.

  Kael set his mug down, the faint clink of stone against stone slicing through the lively chatter of the tavern like a knife. His crimson eyes locked onto Zeveron with quiet intensity. "So," he began, his voice low and steady, "what’s the job?”

  Zeveron leaned back in his chair, the warm tavern light gleaming off his bald head and catching in the gray of his beard. He stroked it thoughtfully before letting out a heavy sigh. “I’ve got a shipment—valuable goods that need delivering to Dwellershollow. Should be simple enough, right? But these days, nothing is.” His eyes darkened, his usual jovial tone dipping into something bitter. “The kingdoms are restless, Kael. Old grudges are bubbling up, and it feels like we’re one spark away from war. My last shipment?” He shook his head. “Thieves took one. The next? Soldiers seized it, claiming it was for ‘war relief.’ Didn’t even bother with the courtesy of an I.O.U.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. “Sounds like you’ve had a streak of bad luck. And knowing you, I’m sure you’ve already hired some muscle. What do you need me for?”

  Zeveron leaned forward, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips, but there was a glint of something sharper in his eyes—something desperate. “Aye, I’ve got a few mercenaries. Strong lads. Reliable. But this time...” His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. He glanced around the room, ensuring no prying ears lingered nearby. “This time, we’re not taking the usual route.”

  Kael’s gaze sharpened, his instincts pricking. “Go on,” he prompted, though his tone carried the weight of caution.

  “We’re going through the Dulgal pass,” Zeveron said, his words heavy as stone dropping into a still pond.

  The air between them grew thick and oppressive. Kael’s expression didn’t shift immediately, but there was a subtle tension in the set of his jaw. “Dulgal,” he said, the word dripping with disdain and warning. “You’ve lost your damn mind.”

  “Aye, I know how it sounds,” Zeveron admitted, his grin faltering. “But it’s the fastest way to Dwellershollow, and if I keep losing shipments, I’m done for. Reputation is everything down here, Kael. If I can’t deliver, I might as well shut up shop and crawl into a hole.”

  Kael leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “Dulgal isn’t just another shortcut, Zeveron. It’s a death sentence. You know the stories. Hell, everyone knows the stories.”

  Zeveron nodded grimly. “Aye, I’ve heard them. Things worse than any nightmare. But stories are just that—stories. Exaggerations meant to keep people scared.”

  Kael’s eyes narrowed. “Stories don’t seal off entire cities, Zeveron. Dulgal wasn’t abandoned; it was condemned. Once the pride of the Underworld, its walls lined with gemstones brighter than the stars. Then something happened—something no one could explain. An entire kingdom swallowed by darkness. The streets ran red, the dead wouldn’t stay buried, and those who tried to reclaim it never came back. It’s not a shortcut; it’s a graveyard.”

  Zeveron swallowed hard, his bravado faltering under Kael’s glare. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t thought about the risks?” His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “But what choice do I have? The usual roads are swarming with thieves and soldiers. I need this shipment to get through, Kael. Dulgal is the only way.”

  Kael leaned in, his voice a quiet growl. “And what happens when you and your caravan disappear into that cursed place? You think a few hired swords are enough to stop what lives there?”

  “That’s why I came to you,” Zeveron said, his voice tinged with desperation. “You’re not just muscle, Kael. You’ve faced horrors the rest of us can’t even imagine. You’ve survived what should’ve killed you a dozen times over. If anyone can get us through, it’s you.”

  “You know what that place holds,” Kael said finally, his tone cold. “Ghosts. Wraiths. Undead that don’t fall no matter how many times you cut them down. Golems that don’t stop until you’re crushed beneath their stone fists. And the Qwell.”

  At the name, Zeveron flinched, his bravado cracking as a shadow of fear crossed his face.

  Kael’s crimson eyes bore into him. “You weren’t even born when the kingdoms sent their armies to retake Dulgal. Tens of thousands of soldiers. The best of the best. And not a single one came back. Whatever’s in that city isn’t just dangerous—it’s hungry.”

  Zeveron took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I know the risks, Kael. But this isn’t just about me. It’s about my family, my legacy. If I don’t do this, I lose everything. Please... will you help me?”

  Kael exhaled slowly, the weight of the decision settling on his shoulders. “It won’t be cheap,” he said, his voice low. “Going there is as good as signing a death warrant.”

  Zeveron managed a weak smile. “Kael, I’ve never been stingy with coin. Name your price, and I’ll pay it. Hell, if it’s as bad as you say, I’ll pay you double.”

  Kael’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smirk. “Double, huh? You might regret that offer.”

  Zeveron chuckled nervously. “If we make it back alive, I won’t regret a damn thing.”

  Kael stared at him for a moment longer before nodding. “Fine. I’ll do it. But if we go through Dulgal, you’d better be prepared for the worst.”

  “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Zeveron said, his grin returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  Kael raised his mug, but the thought of Dulgal lingered in his mind like a dark shadow.