The messenger rune flared to life on the polished surface of Ebonheim's simple worktable, not with the usual cheerful, steady pulse of a routine report, but with a frantic, stuttering light that spoke of urgency and distress, like a trapped bird beating against glass. It cast flickering, distorted shadows across the cabin walls, making the familiar patterns of the Ebonwood grain seem to writhe and twist.

Ebonheim, who had been deep in concentration, attempting to decipher a particularly dense and frustrating passage in one of Th'maine's borrowed treatises on the unpredictable dynamics of raw mana flow (a task that felt increasingly like trying to untangle smoke with clumsy fingers), looked up sharply, her own internal calm instantly shattered by the rune's agitated, almost panicked energy.

She reached out, her fingers brushing the cool, smooth surface of the communication stone, and Brevin Stoneshield's voice echoed not just in her ears, but deep within her mind, tight with strain and barely suppressed anger, layered over the distant, muffled clang of mining tools.

"Goddess… urgent report from Tunnel Seven-Gamma. Deep workings. We've breached into… contact… with Corinthian miners. Unexpected. They claim the Vespera vein—the rich one, Goddess—under Xellos's personal guidance, they say. Aggressive stance from the start. Deliberate provocation, damaged our new supports near the breach. Lilin senses… instability in the rock near their tunnel. Worse, she feels a cold energy… unnatural, she called it. Not Vespera's heat. Something else bleeding through. Situation is tense, Goddess. Could turn ugly fast. Requesting guidance. They refuse to withdraw."

The message ended abruptly, cutting off with a final flicker of the rune's light, leaving a residue of worry hanging heavy and palpable in the quiet cabin air, thick as unshed rock dust.

Ebonheim withdrew her hand slowly, her knuckles showing white where she gripped the edge of the table.

Corinthian miners. Claiming the vein under Xellos's guidance. Deliberate provocation. Cold energy.

The words echoed Roderick's earlier, troubling report from the trading post at Three-Rivers, forming a pattern too clear, too sharp, too deliberate to ignore. This wasn't a simple misunderstanding between jumpy miners.

This was a push, a calculated test of boundaries deep beneath the earth where sunlight never reached, where disputes could fester unseen.

She stood abruptly, the heavy treatise sliding unheeded to the floor with a soft thud. Her first instinct, sharp and immediate, was to stride directly to the mine entrance, to descend into the depths and confront the situation herself, to impose her will, her divine authority, on the brewing conflict.

Her hand reached for the door latch, the cool metal familiar under her fingertips, ready to stride towards the northern mountains, towards the trouble.

But she paused.

A decade's worth of unforeseen consequences, of well-intentioned actions spiraling into complex problems, stayed her step. Ten years had taught her, sometimes painfully, the precarious value of counsel, the quiet strength found not just in raw divine power, but in shared wisdom, in differing perspectives.

Counsel first. Action second.

Her steps led her not towards the looming northern mountains, but towards the quiet, sun-dappled grove behind the now-vast Feast Hall, a place where Kelzryn often spent his afternoons. He claimed to be observing the intricate, often baffling dance of mortal life from a contemplative distance, though Ebonheim suspected he simply enjoyed the warmth of the sun.

She found him seated beneath the ancient, sprawling Ebonwood tree near her shrine, his humanoid form seemingly carved from moonlight and solidified shadow, the strange, glowing fissures on his alabaster skin pulsing with a faint, rhythmic azure light, like dormant power breathing softly.

He looked up as she approached, his ancient, unnervingly blue eyes holding a depth that always seemed to see more than she intended, peeling back layers she hadn't even realized were there.

"Kelzryn," she began without preamble, the usual pleasantries feeling thin, inadequate for the gravity tightening her chest. "Trouble brews in the deep mines. Brevin just sent word. A confrontation with Corinthian miners over a new Vespera vein, right near the agreed border. They claim Xellos himself guided them there."

Kelzryn's expression remained impassive, sculpted and serene, yet Ebonheim detected a subtle shift within him, a sharpening of his ancient gaze, like clouds momentarily parting to reveal the cold, unforgiving peaks beyond.

"Xellos," he murmured, the name leaving a faint, chilling resonance in the warm afternoon air, like frost forming on summer leaves. "His reach extends quickly, like shadow at dusk. Does Brevin report violence having broken out?"

"Not yet. Provocation, yes. Deliberate acts—damaged supports near the breach, scattered ore. Threats implied, Brevin said." Ebonheim paced a few steps on the soft moss beneath the tree, unable to stand still, the agitated energy from the rune still buzzing beneath her skin. "Worse, Lilin senses instability in the rock near their tunnel, near where the Corinthians are digging. And a… cold energy. Unnatural, she called it. Not the heat of Vespera, but something… else."

"Vespera veins often form near points where the veil between realms is thin, stretched taut by ancient forces, or where potent, sometimes volatile energies lie dormant, sleeping uneasily." His gaze became distant, looking through the trees towards the mountains. "Such places can be… temperamental. Easily disturbed. And the presence of a god like Xellos, one whose very essence seems focused on control, on imposing order… it could amplify such instability, draw things unintended towards the breach."

He paused, his gaze returning to her, sharp and direct. "Or perhaps, the instability is entirely his design. A tool to achieve another end."

"You truly suspect him of causing it?" Ebonheim asked, though the question felt redundant. Kelzryn's distrust of Xellos had been a quiet but constant undercurrent since the vagrant god's arrival, a low growl beneath the surface of their interactions.

"Suspect?" Kelzryn tilted his head slightly. "One does not merely suspect a viper coiled in the sun-warmed grass; one knows its nature, respects its potential venom." His eyes met hers, the azure depths holding no warmth now, only the cold, hard certainty of ages. "Xellos weaves illusions not just with magic, casting shadows and doubts, but with circumstance itself. He engineers the crisis, fans the flames of fear or greed, then steps forward to offer the solution—his solution, always leading towards his advantage. This dispute over glittering rock… believe me, it serves a purpose beyond mere resources."

"What purpose then?" Ebonheim frowned, trying to follow the intricate, sometimes labyrinthine paths of his draconic logic. "To secure the Vespera for Corinth?"

"Perhaps partly. Resources are power, after all. But I think it deeper than that." Kelzryn considered, tapping a long, elegant finger against his chin. "To test you. To gauge your response, the strength of your borders, the loyalty of your miners when faced with intimidation. To sow discord between your people and his, creating friction that he can later exploit. Or," his voice dropped slightly, becoming almost a whisper despite the quiet grove, "to mask a deeper intrusion. To distract you while something else slips through the cracks he creates."

"The cold energy Lilin felt?" Ebonheim felt a chill despite the afternoon sun.

"Possibly. A byproduct of his magic? Or the presence of something he has intentionally drawn or allowed near the breach? Something from the Underrealm, perhaps, given the depth?"

Kelzryn rose gracefully to his feet, his shifting, dark blue robes swirling around him like captured night sky, the golden threads catching the light. "What guidance did Brevin request from you?"

"He waits for my word. His miners are ready to defend the claim—they are Gorgandale Deep Miners, after all, stubborn as the rock they work—but he fears escalation, fears a pointless conflict deep underground where accidents happen easily."

"A wise fear," Kelzryn stated, his voice regaining its resonant calm. "Direct confrontation, a miners' brawl escalating into something worse, plays directly into Xellos's likely strategy. He thrives on chaos he can then step in to reshape into his preferred, rigid order."

He considered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the distant mountain peaks. "What of the Artificers? Evelyne and Orin? Can their intricate devices analyze this 'cold energy' Lilin senses? Discern its nature, its source, perhaps, without provoking the Corinthians further?"

Ebonheim nodded slowly, the idea taking root. "Evelyne and Orin… yes. Their guilds have instruments… spectral analyzers, Orin mentioned. They might be able to." She hesitated, the image of the tense standoff described by Brevin flashing in her mind. "But sending them down there, into that… that powder keg…"

"Knowledge is a shield, Ebonheim," Kelzryn said firmly, his gaze meeting hers again, unwavering. "Often a stronger shield than ignorance or blind faith. Better to understand the potential weapon aimed at you before deciding how best to block the blow, or whether to strike first. Send the Artificers, but with a strong, reliable escort. Let them gather truth while diplomacy runs its inevitably slow, perhaps fruitless, course."

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"Diplomacy?" Ebonheim echoed wryly, the memory of Roderick's report from the trading post still fresh. "After the games at Three-Rivers, I doubt a polite message asking them to please stop encroaching will achieve much beyond a condescending reply."

"Perhaps not," Kelzryn conceded with a slight inclination of his head. "But the forms must be observed, especially when dealing with a creature like Xellos who hides behind propriety. Send your query to Corinth's council. Let Xellos weave his pretty denials and justifications. While he is occupied with that, your Artificers gather truth beneath the mountain." His lips quirked in a rare, fleeting smile, sharp and predatory. "Let his own game, his own manufactured crisis, work against him for a change."

The advice felt sound, practical, grounded.

Less reactive than her own initial impulse to rush down and impose order, less passive than simply hoping Xellos would behave reasonably. Information first, confrontation later, armed with facts.

Yes, that felt right.

She nodded again, her resolve solidifying, the path forward clarifying. "Alright. I'll speak with Engin and Roderick about the message immediately. And then… I'll visit the workshops."

"Go carefully, Ebonheim," Kelzryn murmured as she turned to leave the quiet sanctuary of the grove, stepping back towards the bustling city. "The shadows in this valley deepen, and sometimes, they wear familiar faces."

Engin's office smelled comfortingly of old parchment, drying ink, woodsmoke from the nearby Feast Hall hearth, and the faint, ever-present scent of worry. The old leader listened intently as Ebonheim relayed Brevin's urgent report and Kelzryn's chilling assessment, his fingers drumming a slow, troubled rhythm on the worn, map-scarred surface of his desk.

Roderick, summoned hastily from his exchange house, leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his peacock-blue coat, his usual flamboyant cheer entirely absent, replaced by a grim, focused attentiveness.

"Deliberate provocation deep underground?" Engin rubbed his temples wearily, the lines around his eyes seeming deeper than they had that morning. "It fits the pattern Roderick observed at Three-Rivers exactly. Xellos isn't just testing trade regulations; he's testing our resolve, pushing at our territorial claims, seeing how far he can intrude before we react."

"And Lilin's report of cold energy and instability…" Roderick pushed off the doorframe, beginning to pace the small, cluttered office like a caged wolf. "That worries me more than boastful miners arguing over a glittering rock. What if Kelzryn is right? What if Xellos isn't just after the Vespera itself? What if he's trying to unearth something else down there? Something dangerous the Vespera vein merely marks the location of?"

"Kelzryn suggested the same possibility," Ebonheim confirmed, the thought sending another shiver down her spine. "He advised we send Artificers to investigate the energy signature while we pursue diplomacy, to gather information before acting rashly."

Engin nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. "Information is crucial, yes. Knowledge is indeed a shield, as the dragon says. But sending Evelyne or Orin down there… Brevin said the situation was tense. Miners are proud, territorial folk. A single misplaced word, an accidental bump… a single spark could ignite that powder keg."

"We send them with a strong guard," Ebonheim stated firmly, meeting Engin's worried gaze. "Someone level-headed but undeniably capable. Thorsten, perhaps. He has experience dealing with the Deep Miners, and they respect his strength. Or perhaps some of Lorne's Silverguards, if they can be spared from the Keep's final construction phases. Their task won't be to engage, merely to observe and protect the Artificers while they deploy their instruments."

"And the message to Corinth?" Roderick asked, pausing his pacing, his merchant mind already calculating diplomatic angles. "What should its tone be? A firm demand? A polite inquiry hinting at consequences? We don't want to appear weak, but we also don't want to provoke Xellos unnecessarily before we know more."

"Polite," Engin decided after a moment's thought, his voice regaining its usual measured authority. "Formal, precise. We express our grave concern over the reported incident, citing the potential structural instability noted by our certified geomancer. We request an immediate halt to all Corinthian excavation activities in that specific contested area pending a joint council survey to clarify the boundary lines definitively."

He met Roderick's eyes. "We frame it entirely as a matter of mutual safety, of preventing a potential mining disaster that could endanger miners from both settlements. Let him deny that if he dares."

"Clever," Roderick conceded with a grudging nod. "Harder for him to twist concerns about safety into accusations of aggression. And if they refuse? Or simply ignore the request?"

"Then we know Xellos isn't interested in misunderstandings or mutual safety," Engin said grimly, the lines around his mouth tightening. "We'll cross that bridge when, and if, we come to it. For now, we follow the proper channels. We give him the chance to reveal his hand through his response, or lack thereof." He looked towards Ebonheim, seeking her divine assent. "Do you approve this course, Goddess?"

Ebonheim nodded, feeling a measure of control return amidst the uncertainty. "Yes. Send the message, Engin. Make it clear but courteous." She stood. "And I will speak with the Artificers immediately."

The air in La Salle de Mécanique crackled with a different kind of energy altogether—the focused, almost humming intensity of creation and intricate problem-solving. Sparks showered briefly from a welding tool in one corner, the sharp scent of ozone momentarily overwhelming the smell of machine oil and heated metal.

Evelyne Blaise stood before the partially reassembled, gleaming chassis of Cepheid, her usual elegant attire protected by a sturdy leather apron, her brow furrowed in deep concentration as she directed two junior Artificers adjusting a complex power conduit snaking into the Aetherframe's core.

Diagrams and complex, multi-layered schematics lay scattered across nearby worktables amidst specialized tools that gleamed unnaturally bright under the focused beams of overhead Magelight orbs.

Orin Webb worked at an adjacent table, head bent low, meticulously calibrating a delicate, crystal-tipped sensor array, occasionally exchanging a clipped technical comment or a challenging, competitive glance with Evelyne across the workshop floor. Their old rivalry seemed to have settled into a grudging, surprisingly productive collaboration, at least where the mysteries of the ancient Aetherframe were concerned.

Ebonheim approached, the ambient hum and clatter of the workshop momentarily quieting as heads turned, recognizing their goddess's presence.

"Evelyne, Orin," she greeted, dispensing with pleasantries, her tone conveying the urgency of her visit. "I need your expertise, urgently. There's been an incident in the Vespera mines."

She quickly, concisely explained the situation—the boundary dispute near Tunnel Seven-Gamma, the deliberate Corinthian aggression, and, most critically, Lilin's report of unnatural cold energy and worrying structural instability near the Corinthians' tunnel.

Evelyne set down her plasma wrench with a soft, precise click, her entire focus shifting instantly to Ebonheim, her green eyes sharp with analytical interest.

"Cold energy? Unnatural? Near a Vespera deposit?" Her brow furrowed, mirroring Ebonheim's earlier worry. "That's… anomalous. Highly irregular. Vespera radiates heat, latent geothermal energy signatures are its defining characteristic. Cold… cold suggests an external influence overriding the natural state, or a reaction, perhaps a phase transition, we don't yet understand."

Orin set down his delicate calibration tool, carefully placing it on a velvet cloth, pushing his specialized monocle higher on his nose. "Lilin is a reliable, meticulous geomancer. If she sensed instability directly linked to their digging and this cold signature… it warrants immediate, thorough investigation. What do the Corinthians claim?"

"They claim Xellos guided them there and refuse to withdraw from the vein," Ebonheim replied, watching their reactions closely.

A flicker of disdain, sharp and undisguised, crossed Evelyne's usually composed face at the mention of Xellos. "Of course. Divine guidance conveniently leading them straight to the richest, most contested vein on the very border."

She crossed her arms, tapping a finger against her leather-clad bicep. "What do you need from us, ma déesse? Instruments? Analysis? Or perhaps a demonstration of superior Artificer firepower?" The last held a dangerous edge.

"Information," Ebonheim said firmly, meeting Evelyne's gaze. "I need you to go down there. Both of you, if you can coordinate. Take your most sensitive instruments—scanners, atmospheric samplers, resonance detectors, whatever you deem necessary. Analyze the energy signature Lilin detected. Assess the structural instability near their tunnel. Gather data, discreetly. Avoid confrontation at all costs." She looked pointedly at Evelyne, knowing her temper could sometimes override her caution. "No engaging with the Corinthians unless absolutely necessary for your own safety."

Evelyne flushed slightly at the implied warning but nodded sharply. "Understood. Discretion and observation. Data acquisition is the priority."

Orin tapped his mechanical fingers—a prosthetic replacing the hand lost years ago in an experiment gone wrong—thoughtfully on the table. "My Enclave has recently developed new spectral analyzers specifically sensitive to residual arcane signatures and minor planar fluctuations. They might be able to identify the source of this cold energy, determine if it's natural geothermal variance, demonic residue, Underrealm leakage, or something… else entirely."

His gaze held a spark of intense scientific curiosity mixed with a healthy dose of professional caution. "When do we leave? And what level of escort?"

"As soon as you can gather your equipment and the escort is assembled," Ebonheim replied. "I'm asking Thorsten to lead a small contingent—perhaps himself, Reo for his tracking skills and sharp senses, and two reliable, steady Hrafnsteinn warriors like Halvar and Sten. Enough to deter trouble from opportunistic miners, not enough to provoke a battle with Corinth's official guard."

"Thorsten?" Evelyne raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow again, a faint, knowing smirk playing on her lips. "An interesting choice indeed for a mission requiring subtlety and delicate instrument handling."

Ebonheim sighed, a small smile touching her own lips despite the situation's gravity. "He's loyal, undeniably strong, and Brevin trusts his judgment in the tunnels. He'll keep you safe. And hopefully," she added with a wry glance towards the workshop door, "Serrandyl won't somehow hear about this and insist on tagging along this time. That's the last complication we need."

"We'll be ready within the hour," Orin stated decisively, already turning back to his table, carefully packing his delicate analyzers into protective cases.

Evelyne nodded, her earlier pique completely replaced by crisp, professional focus. "Les Artisanats will provide compact sensor drones for remote tunnel mapping and atmospheric sampling ahead of the main party. We'll coordinate our findings en route."

She met Ebonheim's gaze again, the earlier flicker of concern returning to her emerald eyes, deeper this time. "Be careful sending Thorsten down there, ma déesse. Tempers run hot underground, especially when rare minerals and pride are involved. And Xellos… he plays for keeps."

"I know," Ebonheim acknowledged quietly, the weight of the decision settling upon her. "But I trust Thorsten. And I trust you both to bring back answers."

She watched them turn back to their work, the familiar hum and clatter of the workshop resuming, a sound of creation and progress amidst a spreading shadow.

Answers, yes.

But she had a sinking feeling, cold as the energy Lilin described, that the answers they found might only lead to more dangerous, more complicated questions, pulling Ebonheim further into the ominous current of this escalating conflict.

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