Hearn steps out of the corridor and into the wide, bright space. He waves a hand, inviting us to follow, like he's presenting the view to us.

"Welcome to Jonun," he says, raspy voice thick with emotion.

The corridor ends in a cavern. A real cavern, not another black stone room. The corridor doesn't end cleanly. It looks sheared or cleaved. The black stone has snapped, leaving a smooth, gleaming surface with razor-sharp edges jutting into the natural cavern. It's like opaque glass. I suppress the urge to stop and watch what the motes of light around the broken section.

The cavern is a large, open space. Walking to the other side would take hours. There's a lake in the middle that shines with deep blue light. The cavern swims in swirling reflections of light sieving and reflecting through water. The cavern floor is littered with buildings, small and large, surrounding the lake.

A lost city. Exactly like in the stories. The buildings look to be from another age. They look half built, half carved out of the stone of the cavern. The buildings taper toward the top, like tall pyramids. They reach high toward the ceiling of the cavern, floors stacked on each other. Moss grows thickly on them.

The only thing I can compare the buildings to is the Ride Hall in Tenorsbridge. Our village did not have stone buildings, and especially not stone buildings of this size.

Jonungaard move on the streets between the buildings, their white faces and hands clearly visible even from afar. There are fewer people than I'd think a city of this size should have. I saw more people on the streets of Tenorsbridge, and back then the streets were supposed to be empty compared to normal.

"There are even fewer lights than when I left," Hearn says. "I went further than usual." He grimaces and drops from the edge of the corridor onto the cavern floor. It slopes sharply, and he starts to stumble down. I worry he's going to fall and break a hip or something, but he keeps his balance well.

Outside the end of the corridor, the cavern forms a massive bowl where the city stands in the middle. Hearn slides down the slope, setting small rocks rolling down. The sounds echo, mixing into the quiet bustle coming from the city.

"This guy rushes almost as much as Rworg," Finna says, watching Hearn slide, his form shrinking.

"I approve. Olds should not waste time," Rworg says.

Finna lowers herself to sit at the edge of the corridor, legs hanging out. She glances at Rworg with an incredulous look on her face. "Olds?"

"It is a fun word," Rworg says, then jumps off from the edge of the corridor. He lands and starts sliding down, stumbling on rocks and cracks on the cavern floor.

Finna scoffs, then drops as well. She lands softly and stays low, arms spread wide. Her slide is slower than Rworg's but also much more controlled.

I make sure my bow is secure and move the quiver on my hip out of the way. I don't want to trip and have to spend an hour climbing around a hill, collecting arrows. Especially as Lictor brought me such a fine collection. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with the fancy and colorful arrows meant for shooting waterfowl fowl, but the arrows must have been packed by the same wizard who packed the white napkins. Or maybe they just had no idea what we were walking into and packed everything.

I have time to think as I slide down the hill. I chuckle as Rworg jumps and nearly falls over multiple times, tripping on rocks and crevices, swinging his arms wildly.

"Keep your balance low!" Finna shouts at him, then starts to mutter. "With all the dunes, you'd think he'd be used to hills."

I slide to a stop next to her, just in time to catch the last words. "He's obviously less of a hillbilly than I am."

Finna turns to me slowly. She raises a finger up to my face, pressing her lips together so hard her face turns lumpy. The finger shakes before my eyes.

Rworg stumbles to a stop next to us. With all the tripping, it took him longer to get down at the end. He leans to rest his hands on his knees, shaking his head. The ponytail swishes from side to side. "You two look like he made a joke. I want to hear, too."

"Absolutely not," Finna says. "The old guy has already found friends. Shut up, and let's catch up."

Hearn embraces a jonungaard man. They let go of each other, and another jonungaard steps up to him. They press their palms together in greeting. Hearn waves at us as we approach, explaining something to the others.

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"Greetings, friends!" Rworg shouts as we get closer. He raises the backs of his hands at them, like Hearn did to us.

With Hearn, there are three other jonungaard, two men and a woman. The white skin and lack of facial hair make them all look alike. All wear their hair long. The voices are the main reason why I can tell the men and the women apart from each other. None have weapons, as far as I can see. Their clothes are similar to Hearn, made mostly of leather, their colors dark and natural.

"Please, strangers. Meet my son Hourn and his family. They've come to welcome us into Jonun," Hearn says, presenting the city and the others to us with a wave of his hand.

He told us they've been down here for centuries. When have these people last seen anyone who isn't white? They watch us warily, waiting. Seen up close, all of them are thin, with dark bags under their eyes. It makes them look a bit like ghosts.

Finna bumps me with her shoulder. "Go on," she hisses.

"Uhm, thank you for your welcome," I say. If she and Rworg are the other options, I guess it's better if I take the lead. I bow, holding my hands on my knees, the backs of my hands pointed at the jonungaard. "We are looking to solve a problem that... is happening up there."

I haven't had to talk to anyone except the three of us and Lictor for so long that it feels like I'm as rusty as the hinges on the doors we found. Mandollel should have been the one to handle this, but he's not here. I focus on the jonungaard before me, hoping to avoid thinking about him so as not to start tearing up.

The jonungaard wait for me to continue, their faces flickering between confusion, wariness, and perhaps hope.

"Hearn told us that your city is facing problems as well. I don't know how the problems are related, but perhaps we can help each other," I say.

"The travelers come from above. Perhaps something happened that finally opened a route down here," Hearn says.

Finna and Rworg shuffle behind me. There's a thud, and Rworg grunts. If I had to guess, he tried to start talking, and Finna elbowed him in the ribs. Probably a good idea.

"We found a route through the Monolith," I say quickly. "We have been traveling for a week. Would you have a place for us to rest?"

"Nice one," Finna whispers.

Up close, the buildings are even higher. They dwarf the tallest trees I've seen, rising impossibly tall and wide and massive directly from the stone floor of the cavern. The moss carpeting the bases of the buildings is so thick you could lose someone in it. Entrances have been carved into the moss, a tunnel through the dark green. Some buildings stand dark, their bases completely enveloped by moss creeping up their walls.

People stop and watch as we pass by, led by Hearn and his son. People come to greet Hearn. Some press their palms against his, and some look like they are about to cry. Hearn looks the same. The ones who come to meet him are all old, older than him.

"He is really popular with the olds," Finna whispers to me.

"Yeah," I whisper back, then turn to talk to Hearn as he finishes chatting with someone. "Have you been gone long?"

"You mean this?" he asks, looking around the streets and waving a hand back at someone waving at him from a window above us. "Five years, I hear. I can't wait to see how the little one has grown."

"Coming home after such a long time is..." Rworg says. His voice becomes thick and trails off. His eyes are moist as he blinks and takes a deep breath.

Finna pats his arms.

Hearn notices the change as well. He inclines his head at Rworg and presents the backs of his hands again at him. "I'm sorry. Have you been gone long yourself, perhaps?"

Rworg shakes his head, looking down. I can't see his face.

"Not yet," Finna says, still patting his arm.

"Ah?" Hearn says. It's not actually a question, but the rising pitch makes it sound like one. When the jonungaard spoke with him, they all sounded like him. Their voices rising and lowering in a way that sounds like a bad singer improvising a song.

We walk in silence after that, Hearn nodding and waving at more people as we approach the center of the city.

Maybe we'll explain things to Hearn at some point. Maybe not. They live in their lost city, a subterranean lake illuminating everything blue, overgrown by moss, but they've had centuries to get used to it. Even if everything here seems outlandish to us, it doesn't mean they would just accept a story about stopping time for a whole nation or disturbing the magic of the whole world.

Especially if they put together that what we did was probably the reason for their troubles that began decades ago, at this point. Turning this adventure into a coherent story is going to be one hell of a challenge.

We're approaching the shining lake. The light washes over everything, painting the buildings blue. There's a circle of light directly above the lake. Elsewhere, the buildings carve dark wedges of shadow into the roof of the cavern. The light ripples, making it look like the buildings around the lake are underwater.

"I'm taking you to a guest house. Later, we can meet the elders. Some have seen things change for much longer than I have and can tell you more of our blight."

"Thank you," Rworg says. The grime on his face is streaked, clean lines running down from his eyes.

"I can't wait to sleep in a bed," Finna says. "You do have beds, do you?"

Hearn smiles, nodding. "We do. Maybe even some food. I will share my returning dinner with you."

"How is the situation with food?" I ask. Everyone who we have seen so far has been thin. There have been no massive figures like Rworg or ones stocky like the merchant in Tenorsbridge. Jonungaard could have just been built like that, but it probably isn't the whole reason.

"Always meager," Hearn says. "That's why we take pilgrimages up. Maybe we find something useful or spot a danger we can warn the city of, but the main reason is to save resources."

"Five years..." Rworg says, looking up at the ceiling. "How long was the trip for you, Hearn?"

"A bit more than a week. That's as long as I could push my supplies," he says, shrugging.

Finna stumbles. Rworg opens his mouth, then closes it again. They both look at me.

I shrug. What can you say to that? At least we're not in a hurry anymore.

Not down here.

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