2412, Crescin 10, Daleth

Elred craned her neck up at a gaping slab of rock blocking their way. Beside her, Argyll's frown matched the dour creases of her cloak. "That doesn't make any sense," the banshee tapped his chin, glancing from his hand-drawn map, courtesy of their resident earth sprite and maze expert, Gurye. "The opening should be right here."

She glanced at their small party of five, composed of one renegade, one from the Entobern clans, and lastly, a former Synketrian soldier named Kodra. The days-old council of underground groups had maintained the scouting teams to be composed of an equal number of representatives—an allusion to their unity what-not she might have been responsible for.

"Do you say we go back?" she prompted.

"And waste the time it took for us to get here?" the renegade challenged. She propped her hands on her hips, her dark hair swaying behind her. "We could just blast through. I'm fairly versed in rysteme explosions."

That's wrong on so many levels, but Elred didn't have the heart to tell her. "We need to be discreet," she said. "Especially when we don't know for sure what's behind the fluctuations."

The news came a few days ago, in the middle of another impromptu conference about what they should do with their temporary truce. The Ionarai were surprisingly adept at handling negotiations and making sure no one leaped across the table and decapitated each other. Even Tarmis, the elusive leader of the Peltran renegades, managed to attend and agreed with most of the council's decisions. Then, one of the scouts returned with the intel.

Wild disturbances in the magic fields were occuring in what the Ionarai referred to as the Detached Region. When Elred asked why it has that name, Argyll shrugged and answered with nonchalance to rival a sleepy pelgar. "It's a point in the underground we can't get into, no matter how hard we try," the banshee explained. "We simply gave up when none of our scouts could figure a way in."

Which went to say that the Ionarai had explored almost all of the underground structures and even managed to create a semi-detailed map of it. The renegades weren't happy when they realized their existence might not have been as hidden as they thought. What's more, the map also betrayed to Elred the existence of illegal mines, active cartels, and most of the Synketros' sleeper troops' activities. So, that's where they're hiding all along?

"Which territory is directly above the Detached Region?" Elred remembered asking the Ionarai at some point of her stay with them.

One of the half-bloods in charge of whittling pretty flutes from pink stalks looked up with a shrug. "Penleth."

Penleth. The Brownies' livelihood territory. Elred always wondered how come the peaceful inventors got to have two territories for themselves, but she had a hunch which latched itself at the back of her mind since then. There might be something more hiding in Penleth, or more precisely, below it.

When none of her companions offered any brilliant ideas on how to go around this literal barricade, she chewed on her lip. She was about to suggest they look at the map again, to see if there were any parallel ways in, when her periphery caught the boulder's surface and stayed there. Something about her instincts—they weren't meant to be ignored.

Slowly, she reached up, her fingers hovering near the slab of rock. "Elred? What's wrong?" Argyll's concerned voice rang in her ears.

"Did you say the fluctuations are in the Detached Region?" she asked aloud. It was just a way to buy time as she drew closer and examined the slab further. One of her companions blabbed about things she already knew, making it harder to tune out and help them feel important to the mission. Her eyes traced the surface. She had seen countless illusions in place. Made enough of them too. She would know one when she saw it.

To confirm her suspicions, she forced her senses to lower into the trail dimension. The explosion of color and magic almost sent her mind adrift. This trail. This...power. She had spent enough time around those things to know which ones were their doing and which were not.

"A throne," the words bled out of her lips along with a bemused breath. "What's a throne doing in this place?"

"Are you saying something?" Korda asked, stopping the Entobern fairy in his explanation. "What did you find?"

Elred chuckled, finally understanding it. The detached region didn't contain a mere collection of displaced people who learned to camouflage. They had a throne, which could only mean...

There's an entire race of fairies in it. And if they wanted to stay hidden, with a throne capable of creating impenetrable illusions, it's better to not barge in without thought. She turned to her companions. "We'll find another way," she decided. Despite not being the most credible leader of a group, much less an entire army, after her speech, she found others looking to her for decisions more and more. Annoying, but she'd be able to live with it.

Without another word, they traced their steps away from the fake stone wall and followed Argyll's map to a parallel road. There were many charted tunnels leading to the Detached Region, but with the throne's power, it's expected they're going to be blocked. A bend showed itself and they tackled it. According to the map, another supposed entrance would be at the end.

Elred gritted her teeth, keeping her attention on bringing one foot in front of the other. After some time, the prickles against her skin were nigh intolerable. She rubbed her hands against her forearms. Cold. It was cold, as if she was back in Abshire during the rage of winter.

"Am I breaking into a fever or has the air gone colder?" she asked her companions.

Argyll started sniffing when just a few minutes ago, he was fine. When Elred glanced at him, he shook his head. "Sorry, I'm not very good with the cold," he said. "Part of the reason I left Carleon."

If he disliked the fresh mountain air in the banshee territory, he wouldn't survive Abshire. Elred exhaled. Her breath crystalized in front of her. What the—

"Multiple people coming," the renegade called. "I can hear them."

Elred and the others crouched into a stance. She summoned her magic to the surface, relishing in the comfort of the soft warmth it gave her to fight against the cold. "How many?"

The renegade strained her head to the side, muttering under her breath. Then, her features scrunched in confusion. "I don't know," she cursed. "Too many for us."

"Let's hope they're friendly, then," Elred said.

They dared not take another step forward. Instead, they stood. And waited.

By the time the footsteps became audible for Elred, there were already silhouettes against the darkness starting to appear. Some of them carried columnar lanterns, explaining the growing fiery glow pushing through the corridor. The approaching army halted upon casting the light upon Elred and her companions. She raised her sword, ready to swing.

Someone stepped towards the front. Elred traced sand brown hair and amber eyes crystalised by the lights from the lanterns. A tool belt looped around the boy's waist, its pockets brimming to the point of bulging. Their gazes locked and he smiled and ducked his head at her.

"I'm Cyrdel Sonasson," the boy placed a hand on his chest. "You are?"

Sonasson, huh? The Alkaran prince? What was he doing all the way down here? "Elred," she said after clearing her throat and dispelling her sword. Seeing her tension ebb, her companions followed suit. "Elred Valkalin."

If he knew who she was or what territory she was associated with, he didn't seem to care. He glanced at the flock of people behind him. "What brings you to the Ice Capital?"

Ice Capital. No wonder it's cold. Elred tilted her head to one side. "What are you doing running away from it?" she asked.

Some of the corridor's darkness passed across Cyrdel's face. Then, it was replaced by a bright smile. That's...strange. Almost like the prince was trying to be anyone but himself. "Synketros and Cardovia," he said. "They're aiming to take over."

Elred's saliva almost went down the wrong path down her throat. "What?"

Cyrdel blew a breath and pushed his hair off his forehead. She noticed how disheveled it was and how rumpled his tunic was when the right beam of lantern light hit them. "They're after the ice sprites' throne as well as the other thrones present inside," his eyebrows scrunched together and he looked at a blank spot behind Elred. Nothing but darkness there. "I can't remember which throne, though."

That's more strange. Elred didn't have the time to think about it, though. "And what of these people?" Then, what he said clicked. "Sorry, did you say ice sprites? There hasn't been one since the Cardinic Wars."

The brownie shrugged. "Well, now they're here," he said. "I've been tasked to lead the people who can't fight to safety. If you're coming our way, it means you're from somewhere else?"

Good reasoning. She turned to Argyll. "Do you think the Ionarai can take on an entire race?" she asked. "They're displaced too."

The banshee didn't need to think twice. "Follow me," he said. "We'll get you somewhere safe."

Elred jerked her chin to her other companions. "Go with them," the renegade looked like she was about to protest, so Elred beat her to it. "I'll report to the council after I have a firm grasp of what's going on. We'll find each other again. Avraja."

"Avraja," came the united well-wishes.

She waited until the rest of the ice sprites had disappeared into the darkness and only she and the brownie were left in the glow of a single lantern. "You've got to tell me what's really going on," she said. "What are you doing here? It's a long way from Alkara."

The prince blew a breath. "It's my duty to make sure the ice sprites are protected," he said. "I'm only fulfilling that."

"As for what's going on," he continued when Elred started walking towards where they came from and him jogging slightly to keep in stride with her. "All I know is that Synketros and Cardovia have turned their eyes towards the Ice Capital and now, they want to enslave the ice sprites. And of course, it concerns the thrones. June and the others have been doing their best to hold back the combined forces but—"

Elred screeched to a halt and faced the prince. "June?" she asked. "You met him?"

The memory of her escapades in Cardina flashed in her mind. That boy was still alive and kicking? She always thought there was something fishy about him as to how he constantly stuck around Xanthy like a slug. Or maybe he was just fascinated by her. That girl has that effect on people.

Cyrdel raised his eyebrows as if he couldn't make up his mind about why they're talking about something else. "He's a friend. They visited Alkara some time ago."

"Wait a second," Elred massaged her temples. "If you met June, that means you know Xanthy too?"

"Yeah," the northern drawl had crept out of his tone to which he immediately tamped down with a cough. "Do you know her?"

"Is she down there?" came Elred's next question.

The brownie scratched his head. "Yeah. Along with Rhys and Reeca," he narrowed his eyes at Elred, no doubt seeing the shock painting her expression. "You knew each other?"

Her fists clenched. "You can say that," she said. "I know why Cardovia and Synketros are here."

She inclined her head towards the darkness. "Follow the ice sprites while Argyll tucks them somewhere safe," she said. "I'll check something out first before going back."

Cyrdel didn't argue and ran towards where the rest of her companions went. He'd find his way. He didn't have a good head on his shoulders for nothing. Elred, on the other hand, has another mission to do. If those four were here, it would follow that something big was bound to happen. The fact that they had managed to gather both the Sovereign and the Heiress' forces and got them to work together for a split second was enough indication—they have something the tyrant witches needed.

And Elred was willing to bet her marbles it had something to do with the Virtakios.

So, she quickened her pace to the point of running. This time, she fed her soul straight into the devil's maw in search of answers.