Rise of Tyrus

They found the lift landing: a wide shelf of wood with two platforms set into rectangular shafts. Each was guided by rails and held aloft by a web of ropes that ran up into the dark like strings. The topside and bottom both had levers.

A pair of miners waited with a cart, their leather aprons blackened. A man in a stained jerkin waved to the operator below, who turned a long iron lever. The nearer platform rose out of the shaft with a stiff creak, ropes singing. It shuddered to a halt level with the shelf. Miners rolled carts aboard, wedged wheel holders in place, and climbed on themselves, faces set.

Igneal stepped onto the platform without so much as a glance for permission, then jerked his chin to Tyrus. He followed, setting his posture wide, palms damp. The operator hesitated, squinted, recognized Igneal, and went paler by degrees. He bowed and threw the lever. The platform shuddered and descended.

The lift looked considerably less reassuring up close than it had from a distance. The platform itself was sturdy enough, but the groaning complaints it made as it began lowering them had Tyrus grip the safety railing until his knuckles turned white.

A loud creak echoed through the shaft, the sound sharp enough to make Tyrus's instincts flare with alarm. Without conscious thought, augmentation flooded through his body, muscles tensing in preparation to catch himself or leap clear if one of those fraying ropes snapped.

When the platform finally settled onto solid ground with a gentle thump, Tyrus released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His heart continued pounding in his ears for several seconds afterward, fear draining from his system as he confirmed they were, in fact, safe.

Looking around the main excavation chamber, the reality of the mining operation became immediately apparent in ways that Igneal's surface-level descriptions had completely failed to capture.

The metal rods in the miners' hands showed obvious signs of damage, with deep scratches along the runes etched on the instruments. Tyrus watched as one miner attempted to activate his tool, the runes flickering weakly before dying out entirely. The man cursed under his breath, then gave the rod a sharp smack against his palm. The runes flared back to life, though their glow remained weak.

The hand tools used for digging were just as bad. The metal heads of the picks were heavily chipped, which made them less effective and the already exhausting work even harder. Any safety gear available seemed equally worn down. Helmets had cracks, harnesses had frayed straps, and protective gloves were so thin they offered little to no protection.

Lines of lamps hung from cross-beams slung between columns of stone, throwing yellow cones on the floor and leaving the upper dark like a shadowed sea. The sound was a hammering mixture—tens, scores of iron picks striking, rasping, chopping. Calls for tools, orders to back the cart, simple things like that. The sharp ping of a bar wedged into rock cracked a seam.

Tyrus's ears rang. Every strike multiplied here; the cavern took noise and gave back twice. He flinched at a savage clang, and his fingers twitched toward his ears, then he made his hands stay down. No one else here was covering their ears. Then again, no one else had a beast's hearing, either.

"They're going to kill someone with those weak tools," Tyrus said before he could stop himself.

Igneal either didn't hear through the din or chose not to. His attention had fixed on a man in a light brown jerkin standing at the edge of a dyed grid. The jerkin had a faded white X running across the chest. He had a book in one hand and a quill in the other, and he was writing while he watched one line at a time.

Igneal raised a hand. "You over there with the hideous jerkin!"

The man looked over, blinked fast, and straightened. He set the book aside, wiped dust from his face with the back of his wrist, and picked his way across the clutter.

"Lord Igneal," the chief said, bowing. He was in his forties, maybe older, with a stooped posture. The corners of his eyes were etched fine from squinting. "Didn't expect you below. Is there a problem with the production quotas? I assure you, we're doing everything possible to meet the increased demands."

"I'm not here officially," Igneal said. "I'm showing a companion the operation."

"I see," he said carefully. "Well, if there's anything specific you'd like to see or any questions I can answer..."

"These conditions seem substandard," Igneal interrupted. "The equipment appears degraded, and the support structures show concerning wear patterns. Is this typical for Lockhart operations?"

The chief's face brightened. "My lord, if I may speak plainly, we've been requesting new materials and equipment for months now. The magical mining tools are failing with increasing frequency. We need replacement support beams for several tunnel sections, and new iron and timber."

He gestured around the excavation chamber with a scowl. "We've submitted formal requests through the proper channels, but nothing has come through. If you could perhaps speak to Lord Elwin about authorizing the resources, it would make an enormous difference to both productivity and safety."

"So you've sent your requests where they should go," Igneal said. "I don't own these shafts. I don't set budgets for this district. Why stand here telling me what my brother must handle?"

The chief stared at him as if Igneal had spoken another language. Then he dropped his gaze, shoulders sagging. "Because you're here. Sometimes voices are heard if they carry the right name. If Lord Igneal were to mention it... As a member of the family, you could add your voice..."

Igneal's mouth flattened. He looked away across the cavern, past the pulleys and the swaying stages, like the answer might be carved in the rock face if he stared long enough. For a second, Tyrus thought Igneal would give in. Then Igneal shrugged one shoulder.

"Elwin's business is Elwin's," he said. "If he refuses, he has a reason. It isn't my place to undo my brother's decisions."

The chief blinked once. The corners of his eyes creased. He bowed again, but it was the kind of bow a man performed because his body remembered the motion. "Understood, Lord Igneal. Excuse me, for I am needed elsewhere."

He turned, and as he went, Tyrus heard what the man hadn't meant for him to hear: "These damn nobles."

Tyrus's jaw went hard. He followed the chief's retreat with his eyes and then looked back at Igneal.

"There's really nothing you can do?" he asked.

Igneal's brows rose. "I spoke plainly. My brother owns the operation around these parts. I'm not lying to you."

"That's not what I—" Tyrus cut himself off. He tried again. "Do you own anything? A mine, place, or a—"

Igneal lifted a hand to his chin and stared into the darkness above. Whatever he found in that thought didn't please him. His mouth pinched, and his answer came out smaller than he meant.

"No, I do not own anything," he said. Then Igneal straightened, chin tilting up, and the mask was back on. "I'm young. It would be irresponsible to hand me a vein and say 'try not to ruin it.'"

His lips twitched on the last word.

Tyrus opened his mouth to say something crude and honest until he felt a movement in his shadow. A familiar mind brushed his.

"Bearer, I am leaving your shadow."

Tyrus flinched so slightly no one could have seen. "You've been silent for days. Are you—"

"I am well," Eaubrus replied. "I was only contemplating, searching for answers now only fragments. Forgive my silence. I speak now because there is trouble; I smell vermin nearby."

Tyrus's eyes narrowed. "What kind?"

"A burrower," Eaubrus said. "A fast one, at that. I will flush it out."

His presence slid away, stretching thin, then thinner, until Tyrus felt him slip free like a fish through underwater weeds.

The connection between them remained intact, allowing Tyrus to sense the wolf's general location even as he moved out of direct visual range.

But that connection had limits. If Eaubrus moved too far, the bond would strain and eventually break, forcing the wolf to return whether he wanted to or not. Tyrus needed to follow, to stay within range while Eaubrus investigated whatever he'd detected.

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He tapped Igneal on the shoulder and leaned close to whisper. "I feel something off about this cave. We should move."

To Igneal's credit, he didn't ask how Tyrus knew or demand detailed explanations. His expression immediately turned serious, and he nodded once in acknowledgment. Despite their differences, the noble had learned to trust Tyrus's instincts when it came to detecting danger. That aspect was one of the few things Tyrus liked about Igneal.

They moved deeper into the excavation site, drawing curious stares from miners who paused in their work to watch these obvious outsiders navigate their workspace.

Whispered speculation followed in their wake, like what were a couple of kids doing down here, especially one dressed in noble finery. Tyrus ignored the commentary, his attention focused on maintaining his connection to Eaubrus.

They reached an area where heavy carts sat beside a deep pit used for depositing excavated rock and debris. Tyrus leaned over the edge and peered down into the darkness that swallowed the light from nearby lanterns. He cast Illumination, willing the orb of magical light to descend into the depths.

A chaotic pile of broken stone and discarded rubble that the miners had been using to make room for their expanding excavations came into view. Tyrus saw no sign of anything unusual, no obvious threat that would explain Eaubrus's alarm.

But the wolf had already left the pit, his presence moving through the surrounding stone itself in ways that made Tyrus's understanding of physical space feel inadequate.

Tyrus grimaced. Igneal watched the light with an impatient set to his jaw.

"Anything?" Igneal asked.

"I don't know yet," Tyrus said.

Igneal blew a small breath through his nose that might have been frustration. A short moment later, a low rumble cut through his words, vibrating up through the stone beneath their feet with enough force to make loose tools rattle against their resting places. Every miner in the vicinity froze, conversations dying as the ominous sound continued to build.

Then the cracks appeared.

They started near one of the chamber's walls, thin lines that snaked across the stone surface with terrifying speed. The cracks branched and multiplied, reaching upward toward the ceiling like grasping fingers, spreading outward until entire sections of wall showed spiderweb patterns.

"Out!" the chief's voice roared, huge with fear. "Protocol! Clear the area! Lift crews, on—"

Unfortunately, panic had already taken hold. Miners dropped their tools and ran for the lifts, all thoughts of orderly evacuation abandoned in the face of imminent cave-in. They pushed and shoved, fighting for position on platforms designed to carry maybe a dozen people at a time while thirty or more tried to crowd aboard simultaneously.

The chief ran toward one of the lifts, trying to restore some semblance of order. He reached the mechanism and began working the lever to raise the platform. But as it lifted off the ground, one of the supporting ropes snapped with a sound like a whip. The platform tilted violently, throwing everyone aboard into a tumbling heap.

While chaos erupted around him, Tyrus extended his mana sense, searching for whatever Eaubrus was tracking.

Although small, Tyrus felt a mana signature far beyond, as small as an egg. The presence was there, moving with purpose through solid rock as if it were swimming through a river. But its location made no sense... It seemed to be inside the walls themselves, occupying space that should have been filled with... well, rocks.

Arms clamped around his waist. Tyrus startled, instinctively beginning to resist before recognizing Igneal's voice shouting an incantation. Wind gathered beneath their feet, squeezed and released in a single explosive burst that launched them upward like a projectile fired from a cannon.

They soared up and over the high cliff that overlooked the excavation site, landing in a tumbling roll that left both of them groaning from the impact. Tyrus recovered first, scrambling to his feet and rushing back to the edge to peer down at the miners still trapped below.

Below, the chief was a streak of movement, hauling at shoulders, turning bodies outward with both hands. He had one fist sunk in the collar of a big man—Bul, the chief himself shouted—dragging him toward the last platform that operated through a crank instead of a lever. Dust began blowing up from the far wall in a sheet. Small pieces of stone pinged against helmets and leather, then bigger ones, then chunks.

"We have to help them," Tyrus said, turning to Igneal. "We can't just leave them down there."

Igneal brushed debris and dirt from his garments. "I figured you'd say that. And I wasn't planning on running off."

As if to emphasize the urgency of their situation, a slab of rock broke free from the ceiling and crashed down onto a pile of discarded pickaxes, sending metal tools flying like shrapnel. Seconds later, more rocks began falling in a deadly rain that threatened to bury everyone still trapped in the excavation chamber.

One particularly large boulder destroyed the lift with the snapped rope, sending splintered wood everywhere and eliminating one of their few evacuation routes. The miners below were running out of time and options at an alarming rate.

Tyrus racked his brain for solutions. "Do you have the earth element unlocked?" he asked Igneal, already knowing what the answer would be but desperate enough to hope otherwise.

Igneal shook his head. "Fire, air, and light. Nothing that can create solid structures."

Tyrus bit the corner of his lip, thinking. He could run back to find Fiona, have her use earth to construct a bridge or ramp. But even with Beast Transformation and augmentation pushing his speed, he wouldn't make it back with her in time. The miners would be buried alive before they could return.

And since neither he nor Igneal could utilize earth element, they had no reliable way of creating an escape route for the trapped miners. All Tyrus had were offensive spells, Illumination, and Healing Touch. Igneal's fire, air, and light elements were similarly unsuited to the task at hand. Neither of them had elements with solid enough forms to bridge the gap or create stable structures. Also, it was strange that the lifts were the sole means of ascent.

What could they possibly do in this situation?

More of the ceiling broke away in increasingly large chunks. Tyrus reacted on instinct, targeting a dangerous boulder that was falling directly toward a group of huddled miners. A Lightning Bolt screamed from his outstretched hand, striking the boulder mid-fall and shattering it into hundreds of smaller fragments.

The spray of rock shards was almost as dangerous as the original boulder would have been, but Igneal was ready with air magic. A powerful gust blew the debris away from the miners, scattering it harmlessly across the chamber floor.

When Tyrus looked down again, he saw the chief had calmed the remaining miners enough to organize a proper evacuation. The man was pointing repeatedly at Tyrus and Igneal, apparently using their protective efforts as evidence that help was coming and panic was counterproductive.

A group of miners crowded onto the last functional lift while the chief and Bul worked the hand-crank mechanism to raise them toward safety. Dust filled the cavern as more ceiling sections collapsed, making it difficult to see details, though Tyrus continued firing Lightning Bolts to destroy any boulders that threatened the ascending miners. Igneal contributed by blowing away the dust with concentrated bursts of air magic, briefly clearing the area before more debris fell to obscure visibility again.

The first group reached safety and ran past Tyrus and Igneal without stopping, heading for the surface as fast as their exhausted legs could carry them. The lift descended again, bringing up the second group, who paused only long enough to gasp hurried thanks before following the first group toward daylight and fresh air.

Only the chief and the other miner remained below. They were making their way on the lift, moving as quickly as the treacherous footing and poor visibility would allow. For a moment, relief washed over Tyrus, that everyone would escape and this would end without tragedy. He sprinted to the top crank, channeled mana into his arms, and started spinning it as quickly as possible.

Then the entire cavern shook with a rumble that dwarfed everything that had come before. The ceiling didn't just crack or shed pieces, but collapsed indiscriminately, tons of rock falling at once to fill the excavation site in a matter of seconds.

Tyrus watched in dread as the chief and Bul disappeared beneath the avalanche of stone, their last moments lost in clouds of choking dust. The sound was deafening, a continuous thunder that seemed to go on forever as the mine devoured itself.

He was already thinking about digging them out, hoping against hope that they'd found some pocket of air, some protected space that might keep them alive long enough for rescue. But more cracks were appearing in the tunnel ceiling above their own position, spreading with alarming speed through the entire mine system.

Igneal grabbed Tyrus by the arm and pulled him away from the edge, practically dragging him back toward the surface as the path behind them collapsed section by section. They ran through choking dust, stumbling over debris, lungs burning as they fought to stay ahead of the pursuing cave-in.

They burst out of the mine entrance just as the tunnel behind them gave a final groan and collapsed entirely, sealing off the underground chambers with what felt like brutal finality. Both of them bent over coughing, trying to clear the dust from their lungs. The hacking subsided, and Tyrus froze. Now that he was out of danger and could think clearly, an array of options burst into his mind.

He had augmentation and could've jumped down! Could he have reached them? And if he made it on time, could he have carried two grown men and still made it back? Maybe, maybe not... He always had a nagging inner voice, the part of him fixated on possibilities of events already passed, and that voice was incredibly irritating to hear.

Two people died because he hadn't been fast and clever enough. What good was being a sorcerer if he couldn't save people standing right in front of him? He should have used augmentation to carry both men up to safety. He'd never tried lifting and carrying two grown adults before, but surely it would have been possible if he'd committed everything to the attempt? Why hadn't he thought of that at the moment instead of wasting time on working a crank?

No... I need to stop thinking like that. While I couldn't save those two, but at least the others made it out on time. I'll just have to do better next time!

The surviving miners staggered into the same space by twos and threes, swaying as they came. Some were bleeding from scalp cuts where falling gravel had found them. A few fell to hands and knees and retched pure dust. A miner with a split lip and a gash along his cheek came up to them, wobbling. He looked at Igneal's fine garments and grimaced. He bowed awkwardly from the waist.

"Thank you," he whispered, then louder, "Thank you! Without your spells we—" His voice broke. He swallowed. "We would've been under there with... the chief and Bul."

Others joined, one after another. A woman with her braids turned gray with powder touched Tyrus's sleeve and muttered blessings from Sthito, like she meant it. A boy around the same age as Reo bowed until his forehead nearly smacked the floor. Another man gripped Igneal's wrist with both hands and said, "My brother—my brother's alive because of you—" until Igneal detached himself with a troubled look and murmured something that might have been thanks.

Throughout the show of gratitude, Igneal stood very statue-like, like a portrait of a noble someone had hung on a wall. Then his mouth went soft, uncertain, and tightened again into something Tyrus didn't know how to name. Tyrus was about to ask Igneal if he was alright when Eaubrus's voice cut through his thoughts.

"I have located the vermin responsible for the cave-in. It is attempting to flee, moving east toward Mevena's Scar."

Tyrus immediately perked up. Augmentation shivered down his legs and lit his muscles. He took two steps, then, without a word to Igneal or the others, he sprinted away. He followed the general direction of Eaubrus, as the wolf hunted whatever had brought about this disaster.