Rise of Tyrus

Tyrus stared at Igneal for a moment, considering how to respond. Truth was, he had absolutely no interest in learning about the Lockharts beyond what was necessary and what he already knew. His experiences with that family had been most unpleasant, and the less he knew about their affairs, the better he felt about his own peace of mind.

The memories were still fresh. Igneal and Fiona's father had attacked him back at the guild in Valis, burning his favorite hat to ashes in a display of casual cruelty that still stung when he thought about it. That hat had been one of his few possessions, something he'd grown attached to during his time alone, and watching it reduced to nothing more than smoke and ash had felt like losing a piece of himself.

Then there was Selena, who had sent him off to fight a rock spider when he was barely qualified to call himself a sorcerer. He'd almost died because of her orders, facing a creature far beyond his capabilities with inadequate preparation and support.

Igneal himself had been insufferable for most of their acquaintance, too proud and annoying to be around, buzzing about like an angry fly that wouldn't leave him alone. The noble's attitude had improved over time ever since they left the palace, but those early interactions almost had Tyrus wanting to rip his ears out and stuff them down Igneal's throat.

And Fiona, despite being his friend now, had once described in vivid detail the scars etched into her feet by the family head, scars that fueled her hatred of her own blood. All in all, he couldn't care less about learning more about them. They sounded like a cruel family to be around, and he would rather remain ignorant of their affairs than subject himself to more knowledge that would only confirm his worst assumptions about noble behavior.

But the question about Lockhart territory hadn't been motivated by genuine curiosity, but rather the best excuse he could come up with on the spot to steer Igneal away from abusing his authority on the townspeople. Igneal hadn't displayed such tendencies in front of him for quite some time, and his attitude had become more favorable. Tyrus wanted to keep it that way.

It wasn't right for someone like Igneal to bully others just because he'd been born into favorable conditions, especially when those others were struggling to make ends meet under increasingly difficult circumstances. The miners and townspeople of Cliffview were clearly going through hard times, and the last thing they needed was a young noble throwing his weight around to prove some point about respect and authority.

Igneal, completely oblivious to Tyrus's actual motivations, just sighed and shook his head with obvious exasperation. "I can't believe you've been traveling through our territory all this time without even realizing it. What would you ever do without me?"

Tyrus rolled his eyes but didn't rise to the jab. He kept still beside him, listening. That was all Igneal needed to start talking.

"Just tell me about it," he grumbled. "Since I'm apparently so ignorant of the obvious."

Igneal's expression brightened considerably at the opportunity to display his knowledge. As they began walking through Cliffview's streets, he launched into what was clearly a well-rehearsed explanation of his family's regional importance and influence.

"The Lockhart holdings encompass most of the northern High Plateau. We control the major trade routes between the upper and lower plateau regions, one key route through the Northern Mountains, and of course, the most valuable mining operations in this part of the empire."

He gestured broadly at the town around them as they walked. "Cliffview is just one of our mining settlements, but it's representative of our broader operations. The Lockharts manage one of only two major mining businesses in the entire Lethos Empire, extracting valuable minerals from underground deposits that have been worked for generations."

"What kind of minerals?" Tyrus asked.

"We mine mostly iron and copper, along with some rare earth elements needed to make magical items. Most of our output goes to Ironworks, the empire's largest manufacturing hub."

The name sparked recognition. "Ironworks? I've heard of that place. Sounds familiar..."

"Of course you have. It's where the empire's best craftsmen and blacksmiths live. They take our raw materials and transform them into weapons, armor, pseudo-artifacts, magical items, and countless other valuable goods. The runic weapons and garments that the royal knights carry? All created at Ironworks."

That was… impressive. Tyrus had always thought the Lockharts were just another family clutching at wealth and authority, but to hear that they had such reach into the empire's foundation made him curious despite himself having no interest, especially Ironworks. If it was a place where craftsmen and blacksmiths resided to fashion the best gear they could offer, did that mean his enchanted coat came from that place, or somewhere else?

The explanation continued as they walked. Tyrus kept asking follow-up questions, and Igneal was more than happy to supply answer after answer, each dripping with pride. Tyrus tolerated it, partly because his curiosity itched for detail, and partly because it kept Igneal from brooding over the miners' words.

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As they walked, Tyrus noticed the way some townsfolk's eyes lingered on Igneal. A few faces hardened, anger flashing before they looked away. Igneal didn't notice, given he was too wrapped up in his monologue about his family's importance. The noble, however, remained focused on his explanations, apparently unaware that his very presence was stirring hostile reactions among the people he was describing as employees of his family's enterprise.

The conversation was cut short by a commotion that drew Tyrus's focus: the unmistakable sound of metal on stone, reverberating from the front. Tyrus looked up and saw where it was coming from.

They found themselves at the edge of Cliffview, following a dusty path to a small archway cut into the cliff. The shadows beyond it seemed to swallow the path, descending into the lower area of the High Plateau. A young guard stood watch, leaning on his spear with obvious boredom.

Igneal followed Tyrus's line of sight and smirked with obvious amusement. "Curious about what goes on in the mines?"

Tyrus was about to say no, that he'd seen enough and would prefer to head back to the tavern where the rest of their group was waiting. But before he could voice this preference, Igneal was already striding forward toward the guard.

"You," Igneal called out to the guard, his voice carrying the natural authority of noble birth. "Let us through. I want to show him the inside."

The young guard immediately stiffened, his bored expression replaced by nervous attention as he recognized the quality of Igneal's clothing and his fiery hair.

"L-Lord Igneal," the guard said respectfully but firmly, "it's dangerous to enter the mines without proper equipment. The air down there can be toxic, there's always a risk of cave-ins, and the working conditions aren't suitable for—"

"Those dangers apply to the unblessed," Igneal said. "Those without magical protection or enhancement. Don't lump me and my companion in with common laborers who lack such advantages."

Tyrus grimaced. "I wasn't interested in going underground, Igneal. Let's just go somewhere else."

Igneal glanced at him with raised eyebrows. "You were the one asking questions about Lockhart territory and our operations. I'm simply showing you what goes on down there—what we're mining for, why these operations are so important not just to my family but to the Lethos Empire as a whole."

The logic was irritatingly sound, even though Tyrus knew his original questions had been motivated by deflection rather than genuine interest. And now, refusing to enter would make him look like he'd been asking questions he didn't actually care about having answered.

Tyrus hesitated, then sighed. His excuse had cornered him into this. "Fine. Let's get it over with."

Igneal clapped him on the shoulder, his grin widening. "There's nothing to worry about. I've been in more mines than I can count with Father and my brother. You won't get hurt. Unless, of course, you're too scared of the underground. I wouldn't blame you."

Tyrus scowled, brushing past him. "I'm not scared. I've spent more time underground than you ever have. Probably longer than the miners themselves."

The guard called after them nervously. "Sirs, you really shouldn't—"

He faltered, half raising his hand, then lowering it again. Should he abandon his post? The thought lingered on his face, but he never moved. By then, Igneal and Tyrus were already swallowed by the archway.

Inside, the shift was immediate. One step they were in sunlight, the glare bouncing off pale rock; the next, the heat faded into the cool breath of stone. Lanterns hung from cracked pillars, their flames weak against the growing gloom.

Tyrus's steps echoed, carrying down the tunnel. The walls pressed close, lined with tool marks, the stone raw from constant work. He glanced back once, catching Igneal running a practiced eye along the supports.

"These pillars need replacing soon," Igneal muttered, frowning. "If Father saw them, he'd have the workers fired and hire new ones on the same day."

The thought of the whole place collapsing made a shiver crawl down Tyrus's spine. He quickened his pace, the air damp and heavy against his skin, as the two of them descended deeper into the earth.

The tunnel continued ahead of them, sloping gradually downward. The sound of metal striking stone grew louder as they walked, at first a distant clink, then building into a relentless tune. Voices overlapped, sometimes barking orders, sometimes groaning with strain. The creak of wooden frames and the grind of cart wheels over uneven ground carried through the stone. Dust prickled the air, making each breath feel heavy. Sweat, burning oil from lanterns, and the raw scent of broken rock mingled together until the air itself felt worn down by labor.

A few minutes later, they rounded a last bend, and the world widened.

The tunnel opened into a vast cavern, its ceiling lost in gloom save for the lanterns and crystal lamps hung from precarious scaffolds. Dozens of workers moved across the chamber floor. Some swung pickaxes into the veins, sparks dancing as metal bit stone. Others wielded metal rods inscribed with glowing runes along the surface. One of the workers waved the rod at one of the cavern walls, and the runes grew brighter until a beeping noise erupted. A few more workers with pickaxes ran forward and struck away as the one with the rod moved elsewhere.

Tyrus flinched and brought his hands to his ears. The sound slammed into him, sharper and louder to his hearing than it would have been to anyone else. Every clang, every scrape, every shouted order cut through him. His teeth ached with the vibration.

Even through the noise, details stood out. Wooden platforms creaked as they rose and fell on pulleys, carrying miners up and down sheer faces of rock. Some platforms swayed with unnerving violence, the ropes fraying in spots, their knots dark with sweat and grime. Buckets of rock were hauled upward, spilling fragments that clattered to the cavern floor. Down below, lines of miners heaved carts next to a secluded section where a dark pit lay.

This... can't be safe, right? There's not even a railing or a fence around that pit! And some sections of the rope seem to be on their last legs. I can't be the only one who sees this!

Beside him, Igneal's eyes gleamed. He didn't flinch at the noise or notice the dangers that leapt out to Tyrus at every glance. Instead, he folded his arms, smirking as if presenting an inheritance.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Igneal said, his voice loud enough to carry over the clamor. "This is Lockhart strength at work. Let's head down. You'll want to see it up close. That, and I am sure my presence will invigorate these miners to work harder."

Tyrus lowered his hands from his ears slowly, his frown deepening. The sound still roared around him, and he was just barely hanging on by a thread. And yet Igneal, utterly blind to it all, had already started toward the nearest platform.