Dem considered letting Gero and Juni in on his plan, then decided against it. The manajewels weren't their burden. As long as he could secure their release, his obligation to them would be fulfilled.
Gero led Dem outside and introduced the other conscripts. All could ride. A few claimed skill with a bow. None stood out. They were men and women pressed into service, not volunteers.
Nobles could conscript locals within limits. As long as skirmishes didn't escalate into open war, the crowns tended to look the other way when border lords feuded.
But this wasn't that.
Manajewels were a different matter—valuable enough that even the crowns might intervene. Whatever was happening had to remain quiet, and it had to end quickly. Rego's father intended a double-cross; Dem would lean into that. First, he needed to contact Chava and ensure cooperation.
"There are twelve of you," Dem said. "Break into groups of four and select a leader for each."
He pulled a folding table from his storage ring and spread a tactical map across it. "Scout the forest from the high ground all the way to the coast. I'll cover the remaining area myself."
"That's a lot of ground, sir," Gero said carefully. "You could take Juni."
Dem shook his head. "Stick to your sectors. Do not engage. If you're spotted, retreat. I want reports only—numbers, equipment, and activity."
"And then?" one of the older men asked.
"Leave your reports here and get some rest," Dem replied. "We'll likely see movement in the next few days."
He answered a handful of questions, reviewed routes with the three group leaders, and sent them off.
A moment later, he felt movement inside his storage ring.
Dem withdrew Nephira. The tatzelwurm lay limp in his hands, purring softly as waves of motion rippled along her serpentine body. Loose skin slowly gathered toward her tail.
"You're shedding," Dem murmured, stroking her feline head. "Stay hidden."
Dem left camp shortly after sunset, his courser holding a steady canter as he rode toward the forest's edge. From Rego's map, he had a rough sense of where the manajewel deposit lay.
He skirted the forest where his scouts were working, tied his horse near the foothills, and continued on foot.
Clouds veiled the night sky. Though the moon was full, it cast only a weak glow—enough for silhouettes and shadows. For most, visibility would have been poor. For Dem, it might as well have been midday.
The foothills rolled gently, broken by scattered boulders and shallow gullies. Recent rain had washed sand and pebbles loose, turning the ground slick underfoot. Humidity clung to the air, collecting in low pockets of fog.
Dem crouched, focusing. The air around him thickened until scent took form—ribbons drifting and twisting. A doe and her fawn hid to the north. An owl watched from behind, patient and still.
And then—something else.
It wasn't a smell.
It hovered in the air like a persistent fly, just out of reach. When Dem tried to focus on it, pain bloomed behind his eyes, his head throbbing in protest.
With no better option, he followed it.
"Shit…"
Minutes later, Dem stopped. Cold sweat slicked his skin, pain sharpening with each step forward.
He didn't push it.
Dem stripped quickly, stowing his clothes in his ring, then shifted.
The pain vanished.
In its place came warmth—a gentle pulse in the air, pleasant and inviting. A faint, high-pitched whine accompanied it, barely audible, vibrating through his small body as he scurried ahead.
The sound grew stronger, sweeter. What began as a hum became a call—soft, coaxing, almost loving.
A siren.
Dem slowed, forcing himself to pay attention.
The land was wrong.
Too quiet.
No large animals. No predators. Just small creatures and the muted sounds of night, as if everything else had learned to stay away.
He advanced cautiously, hugging the ground until he reached a rock formation jutting from the hillside like a blunt nose. Near its base yawned a deep crack, wider than a man's head.
The warmth.
The vibration.
The call.
All of it flowed from the darkness within.
Squeezing through the opening, Dem flattened himself and pushed forward. Solid rock pressed in from all sides, the space narrowing until each step met heavy resistance. He paused, considering retreat—
Clink.
The faint sound of metal striking stone.
Dem dug his claws deep, forcing himself flatter as his powerful forelegs dragged him forward. Minutes later, the pressure eased—then vanished as he slid onto the floor of a cavern lit by a single lantern.
His black eyes took in the space.
The chamber was large enough to hold crates, a handcart, and two white tents. Three men and a woman worked diligently—not with mining picks, but with delicate tools of gold-colored metal. Small hammers tapped precise chisels, each less than a foot long.
Dem stared in quiet wonder—not at them.
The stone itself was ivory-white, luminous, casting soft shadows across the cavern walls. Above a shallow bed of manajewels hovered a presence—haughty, scolding—its whispers audible only to him.
"Stop. What are you doing? You're being bad… bad…"
The voice trailed off as the form condensed, resolving into flowing hair and feminine curves. It turned sharply, eyes widening when it saw him.
"A beastkin?"
The face solidified further. "How delightful."
Dem stayed in the shadows, inching closer.
"Ohhh…" Her voice softened, warm as a caress. "The King's line. I see threads of power and destiny woven around you like a tapestry. Would you help me?"
He stopped at the edge of the light. The scent and hum of the manajewels were distractingly pleasant.
"I've been here long enough to form sentience," she continued. "Eons, by your reckoning. If you help me, I can teach you things."
The miners never paused—unable to see or hear her.
"I am the essence of magic given thought and will. Derobi Nascul. Focus carefully. Sound the words."
Dem felt the phrase resonate in his mind—beastkin magic, or something adjacent. It echoed like Escadomai.
He moved deeper into shadow and changed form as the presence clapped silently. He mouthed the words once, twice—then crouched, hands near his daggers.
"Derobi Nascul."
The sound rippled through the cavern like a stone dropped into still water. All four miners collapsed forward, eyes closed, faint smiles on their lips.
Dem straightened, releasing his weapons. The pain that had plagued him earlier was gone.
"What are you?" he asked.
"These people," she said, wagging a finger at the sleepers. "Breaking me into pieces. How rude."
"You're sentient," Dem said, stepping between them. "Do you have a name?"
"No," she replied. "My consciousness is young—barely a few hundred years. I've been learning, extending my senses."
"A name? How about Mana?"
"No."
"Jewel?"
"You can't be serious."
Dem scratched his head. "You glow like moonlight."
"Moon!"
She clapped like a delighted child. "Perfect."
"Fine." Dem rested his hand against the glowing stone. "I'm Dem."
"Dem," Moon repeated, tasting the name. She nodded. "Yes. That's a good one too."
Dem bent and opened one of the leather bags. Inside, manajewels gleamed softly.
"Does mining hurt you?"
"Only my feelings," Moon replied lightly. "I have not been diminished, since none of me has been truly separated."
Dem lifted a single stone. "This has."
"Only physically. It remains close enough that our bond is unbroken."
"What happens if it's moved farther away?"
Moon drifted closer. "Then I must choose."
"Choose?"
"If half were taken," she said, "I could remain here… or go. Either way, I would be diminished."
"And if the manajewels were scattered across the continent?"
"I would cease."
Dem exhaled slowly. "The problem is that manajewels are considered priceless. Two powerful factions are already vying for them."
Moon hesitated. "Would you help me?"
"I could kill these miners—and the one who brought them here—but that would only delay things. More would come."
"No." Moon moved sharply closer. "Do not shed blood here. This place is sacred."
She softened. "Perhaps my fate was always meant to end here. But… may I ask something else?"
Dem nodded.
"Behind the bed of manajewels is something important."
Dem stepped carefully over the stones, scanning the far corner. "What?"
He cleared the remaining jewels with a single leap, landing lightly.
Curled against the stone was a small skeleton—bleached white. The clothes had long since vanished to time.
Dem touched the ribs.
The cavern vanished.
A girl—barely into her teens—crawled forward, blood on her lips, one hand clutching her side. Dem felt her pain, heard her ragged breaths.
Leather armor. A small pack. Dark skin, unmarred. Beastkin.
She leaned against the manajewels, eyes filled with resolve… or regret.
The vision faded.
Dem stepped back. "Who was she?"
Moon spun slowly. "Her name was Clara. We could not speak, but she rested here at the end."
Dem gently moved the skeleton into his storage ring. He crouched again.
The backpack remained—untouched by time.
Inside: a beaded necklace and a small doll.
He returned them carefully and stowed the pack.
"She was beautiful," Moon said softly. "I became more when she passed."
"More?" Dem looked at her face—and saw it. "You took her form."
Moon nodded. "Yes."
She drifted closer. "There may be a solution."
"I'm listening."
"Beneath the manajewel bed lies a single jewel—the first formed. The most concentrated. You might call it my mana-heart."
"You could survive with just that?"
"I believe so. If you took it—and a small portion besides—I would endure. But I would be diminished. I would forget some things."
Dem nodded once. "I'll see what I can do."
Moon's voice softened. "Please, Dem. Don't kill anyone here."