The heavy iron door swung open with a soft creak. Three figures stepped into the room from nowhere, hooded figures clad in dark cloaks. Behind them floated crates through the air, guided by gentle currents of wind magic, the glimmer of lightly accumulated mana visible in the gloom.
Their eyes scanned the room, excessively sharp, thoroughly judging. One of them paused at the sight of Mira, bound with her head inclined and her posture all but defeated.
"What is this?" said the tallest of the cloaked men with a smooth yet cold voice. "Mira, we expected you, but... not this."
Arwin stepped forward with a calm, formal voice of his own. "Mira is no longer in charge. She is a prisoner of war. The mines now belong to... Alfrenzo."
At that name, the three figures turn as one and their views are amused by Luenor's cloaked body on the shoulders of Faren. Luenor remained quiet and kept his head bowed, the shadows from that cloak shielding his face even more from the figures.
The tallest of the cloaked figures looked at Luenor for a long moment before giving a small nod. "And this... Alfrenzo," he said thoughtfully, "does he wish to continue our trade?"
Hunter stepped forward in an easy motion a man exuded a quiet force like a magnet and all the men in the room felt the pull of it. "He does," Hunter said flatly. "The mines are his now. He took care of the bandits. But he is not stupid—he sees value in what you are going to give him."
The cloaked man's eyes returned to Luenor. "And you… Alfrenzo… you have no problem continuing our arrangement?"
Alfrenzo said nothing. The silent atmosphere surrounding him was as dark as night. All he did was tilt his head, in a short slow motion.
The silence had immediate effects, the cloaked-men were murmuring, there was a chill in the air. Everything that Hunter was saying became that much stronger with the arresting presence of the "new master".
Finally, the tallest of the cloaked men raised his hand. The crates that had been floating along the middle of the room settled easily and the wood creaked as it absorbed the weight of what was held within it. "Payment," he said simply. "As always."
One of the other hooded figures stepped up and pried open a crate. It was filled with neatly stacked gold coins, their surface glimmering under the flickering torchlight.
Hunter gestured to Arwin, who untied a tattered leather satchel and pulled out a roughly fist-sized mana stone, the color of pale blue light that flickered in the darkness.
The cloaked man's eyes widened minimally at the size and quality of the stone. "A good chunk," he said quietly.
Hunter handed it to him with practiced indifference, and in exchange, he nudged the crate of gold forward.
The air had frozen by then, and the transaction was done—no threats, no shouting. Just a simple exchange of goods and money.
The cloaked men backed up slightly, peering at Mira's binding once more before turning out of the warehouse with the crates of mana stones drifting after them on the night breezes.
They closed the door behind them, and the silence returned to the room.
Luenor took a slow breath, his heart pounding against his chest, but managed to keep his voice—still as Alfrenzo's—calm.
"This is just the first step," he said softly, unseen behind the cloak.
Hunter met his eyes, a rare respect in his expression. "Indeed," he said. "The first of many."
___
Once the cloaked men melted away into the darkness, the group did not waste any time. Arwin quietly waded through the narrow streets of Hallowridge, looking for any indication of smiths and carpenters. He darted from shop to shop, negotiating and arranging as only a young man who grew up knowing every coin counts can do—wood, bricks, iron, everything they needed to build back Eclion's ruined homes into something solid and secure.
Luenor had watched Arwin without judgement until he had faded into the night, then pulled his own cloak more closely to his shoulders and drifted into the busy main street. The mage guild—there was just the one in town, a tall, skinny grey stone building with a single wooden door. A weathered sign hung above, swinging slightly, with at least the last remnants of the rune of mana still clear.
Once inside, the air was filled with the scent of incense mixed with old paper. Shelves of dusty tomes jutted out from the grey stone of the walls, and mages were bent over their books, whispering to one another in hushed tones.
Luenor approached what he assumed was the front desk, a young receptionist gazing at him with bleary, half-lidded eyes. "Can I help you...?"
He leaned forward, speaking in an undertone, yet serious. "I would like to announce a job offer. For an earth mage? Below six-star—or just someone who can use the earth, and make it safe for miners."
The receptionist's brow raised lightly. "A contract? And the length?"
"Nothing long. A few months? But good pay. And..." Luenor pulled out a small purse of gold from the pouch at his side and slid it to the edge of the counter. "...I need you to keep my name out of it. Tell them, it is for Alfrenzo."
The receptionist's eyes brightened at the sight of the heavy purse while he thought fast. He nodded quickly, "Sure. And... I could... put it out there... to get the best mages to see it."
"Do it," Luenor said, just loud enough to be heard. "And I need you to do it today."
By evening, the group gathered again at the entrance to Hallowridge—carriages filled with planks of wood and heavy bricks, iron nails, and bolts of cloth. Satisfaction lingered among the group—all was quiet. There was no trouble, no betrayal. Just honest trade. And a promise of more.
They thundered down the twisting trot to Eclion, the sun dropping low behind the hills. Hunter rode next to Luenor, his broad shoulders taut.
"You are playing a dangerous game." He said, his voice low. "Hiring a mage from a town like this? We don't know them. They could be trouble."
Luenor looked up at him, his young face untroubled. "We need them, Hunter. The mines... they are more than just the way to get rich. If we are going to protect them, for the miners, in the mines, we have to shape the earth to our will. The right mage should be able to do this."
Hunter released a slow breath, sizing up the boy anew. "You are thinking further ahead than I hoped."
"I have to," Luenor said simply.
They reached Eclion at dusk, the village gates cracking open to the glow of watch fire flickering in the town square. Eclion was a bustling with the sounds of new life; children laughing, women stirring pots over the fires, elves busy and quiet with axes and hammers.
The carriages rolled in, the tired villagers and elves greeting the carts with relief and cautious smiles. Arwin jumped down carrying a load of fresh-cut planks, and was instantly surrounded by a knot of children who rushed forward to help.
Thalanar strode forward, his staff tapping on the packed earth. He studied the new supplies, the periard hunched over but hopeful, and the small children who held their mothers' skirts and laughed in the warmth of the firelight.
He opened his mouth to question Luenor's decision—to ask why introduce strangers, why risk everything again—but the sight of those children, with their bright happy eyes and innocent laughter, silenced his words.