Returning to the shared cell felt anticlimactic after the brutal intensity of the battle and the strategic tension of the debriefing. The heavy door hissed shut, plunging them back into the familiar quiet hum and dim yellow light. Eryndor was gone, moved to a separate location for 'assessment', leaving just Lunrik and Kaelith alone again in the slightly larger, still starkly metallic space.
Exhaustion hit Lunrik like a physical blow now that the adrenaline had fully subsided. He sank onto his metal slab, every muscle aching, the throb in his ankle returning with vengeance. Kaelith, too, moved with a weary stiffness, carefully checking the dwarven crossbow before setting it aside, her movements precise but lacking their usual fluid energy.
For a while, they simply existed in the shared silence, processing the events of the past cycles. The violence in the canyon, the calculated dwarven ambush, Grakkus's fall, the chilling efficiency of the Iron Guard, the lingering mystery of the hunters – it swirled in Lunrik's mind, a chaotic vortex threatening to pull him under. Alaric's ghost was strangely subdued, perhaps sated by the recent combat or simply recognizing the current stalemate.
"They trust us a little more, perhaps," Kaelith said finally, breaking the silence, her voice low. "Allowing us to share this cell again. Giving us dwarven weapons, however basic."
"Trust?" Lunrik scoffed weakly, rubbing his aching temples. "Or calculation? We proved useful against the Ashfang. Gyra sees me as a research subject for the hunter tech. Borin sees us as potential assets for surface reconnaissance. Thrain sees us as pawns in his game against Magdra and the unknowns." He sighed. "We're tools, Kaelith, convenient ones for now. Nothing more."
"Perhaps," Kaelith conceded, stretching carefully. "But even tools can have leverage. They need our knowledge of the surface, of werewolves, of these hunters. And we need their sanctuary, their resources, if we're ever going to understand what's truly happening, or help Eryndor." She looked towards the sealed door. "Speaking of Eryndor… 'recuperation and assessment'? That sounds ominous."
"Thrain wants the knowledge of the Whispering Ice Pass," Lunrik agreed grimly. "He won't let Magdra get it, but he won't ignore its existence either. They'll question Eryndor once he's stable. Gently, perhaps, given Thrain's cautious nature, but persistently." He worried about the fragile Frostmane heir breaking under dwarven pressure, revealing information that could have unforeseen consequences.
"We need to find a way to speak with him," Kaelith murmured, thinking aloud. "Warn him? Guide him? I don't know. But leaving him alone to face their interrogators feels wrong."
"Impossible while we're locked in here," Lunrik stated the obvious. "Unless…" An idea sparked, prompted perhaps by Alaric's ingrained habit of seeking weaknesses in any confinement. "The guards. The routine. They bring food, water. Perhaps a moment's distraction? A message passed?" It felt flimsy, risky.
Before they could explore the thought further, the cell door hissed open yet again. Lunrik and Kaelith instinctively tensed, expecting wardens or perhaps Gyra returning for more 'tests'. But it was neither.
Standing in the doorway was Forgemaster Borin. Alone. He wasn't clad in his heavy Gate Warden armour now, but in simpler, practical dwarven work leathers, though his stern expression remained unchanged. He held a steaming mug in one hand and a rolled-up schematic under his other arm.
"Surface dwellers," he grunted, stepping just inside the cell, letting the door hiss shut behind him. The gesture felt significant – entering their confinement alone, without guards. A sign of slightly lessened suspicion? Or just arrogance? "The High Loremaster requires a more detailed account of the 'phasing distortion' entrance used by the unknown hunters. Master Gyra's theoretical models lack sufficient observational data."
He unrolled the schematic on the small metal table bolted between their slabs. It wasn't a map, but a complex diagram of energy fields and potential dimensional stress points, filled with dwarven runes and equations Lunrik couldn't comprehend.
"Describe the visual effect again," Borin demanded, pointing to a section of the diagram. "The texture of the distortion? The energy colour? Any accompanying sound beyond the 'shimmering'?"
Kaelith, being the primary witness to the entrance effect, answered carefully, describing the static-like dissolution of the rock, the faint ozone smell, the lack of sound until the hunters emerged. Borin listened intently, making small marks on the schematic with a stylus, occasionally asking sharp, clarifying questions.
Lunrik watched the exchange, intrigued. Borin, the stern military commander, was also clearly a high-ranking engineer or scientist himself, deeply involved in understanding the technological threat. His questions weren't just about tactics, but about the fundamental physics or mechanics of the hunters' abilities.
As Kaelith finished her description, Borin nodded slowly, rolling up the schematic. "Consistent with localized spatial warping," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Requires immense, focused power projection. More advanced than predicted." He took a sip from his steaming mug – it smelled strong, earthy, definitely not water.
He then looked directly at Lunrik, his gaze sharp. "The energy rifle you retrieved. Artifact RX-7. Master Gyra informs me of its… incompatibility with your Banehallow signature."
Lunrik tensed again. "Yes. It seemed to overload when I attempted activation."
Borin stroked his beard. "Indeed. Gyra believes it's a bio-lock or frequency opposition." He paused, then seemed to arrive at a decision. "There are… old legends. Deep legends, usually dismissed by the pragmatists of the Guild Council." He lowered his voice slightly, conspiratorially almost. "Legends predating the Great Schism, speaking of conflicts not just between dwarves and surface dwellers, but between factions within the mountain. Conflicts involving… energy manipulation far beyond standard kinetics. Some texts hint at technologies designed specifically to counter certain 'bloodline resonances' deemed dangerous or unstable."
Lunrik stared at him. Was Borin suggesting the hunters' technology might have ancient, possibly even dwarven-related origins? Or that it was designed to counter something like the Banehallow curse based on ancient conflicts?
"These legends," Borin continued, his voice a low rumble, "speak of factions who delved too deep into powers best left undisturbed. Powers tied to the mountain's core, perhaps even to celestial alignments. Factions that were… exiled. Or destroyed. Their knowledge supposedly lost." He looked pointedly at Lunrik. "Could these 'hunters' be descendants of such a lost faction? Wielding forbidden, ancient arts disguised as new technology?"
The idea was staggering. Hunters wielding ancient, forbidden dwarven tech designed to counter specific bloodlines? It didn't fit the Solaris theory, nor the Argent Imperium rumor. It suggested a threat with roots far deeper, far closer to Grimfang Deep itself.
"I… I don't know," Lunrik admitted honestly. "Alaric's – the memories I possess – hold nothing of such ancient dwarven conflicts or technologies."
Borin grunted, seeming unsurprised. "Few do. Most such records were purged or sealed after the Schism." He took another sip from his mug. "But the resonance incompatibility… it echoes these old warnings. Master Gyra focuses on the 'how' – the mechanics, the energy signatures. I find myself wondering about the 'why'. The origin. The intent."
He leaned forward slightly. "Magdra Ashgrim seeks power, territory – predictable surface greed. These hunters… their motives feel different. Colder. More specific. Targeting your lineage, wielding technology inimical to it…" He met Lunrik's eyes. "Perhaps they seek not to exploit the curse, werewolf, but to eradicate it. And anyone who carries it."
The word hung in the air. Eradicate. Not capture, not study, but destroy. If Borin's theory, based on ancient legends and resonance incompatibility, was correct, then Lunrik, Eryndor, and any other marked heir were not just targets of opportunity, but subjects of a potentially ancient, technologically advanced extermination campaign.
Borin seemed to realize he had perhaps revealed more than intended, or perhaps he had achieved his purpose – planting seeds of doubt, gauging Lunrik's reaction. He straightened up abruptly. "Pure speculation, of course," he said gruffly, his stern mask returning. "Insufficient data. Focus on the known threat: the Ashfang. Rest. You may be required again soon."
Without further word, he turned and exited the cell, the door hissing shut behind him, leaving Lunrik and Kaelith reeling in the silence. Borin's 'speculation' had opened up a terrifying new dimension to their predicament. Were they caught not just between Ashfang ambition and dwarven suspicion, but also targeted for annihilation by the ghost of some ancient, technologically advanced dwarven civil war? The whispers in the stone heart of Grimfang Deep spoke not just of gears and forges, but potentially of far older, darker, and more personal threats than Lunrik could have ever imagined.