The Stonemason Clan's Council Hall.
The firelight was dim, casting a pallid glow over Imaer's wrinkled face. He looked as though he had aged ten years in an instant.
The clan chief sat on the ancestral Black Rock Throne, both hands gripping its armrests. Before him, a kneeling scout reported in a trembling, halting voice: another main tunnel had been completely sealed off, burying thirty-seven clan members alive. The exit had collapsed, and groundwater had flooded into the lower tunnels.
The humans had even destroyed the "Ancestor's Vein"—the ancient passage that had never suffered damage since the mountain was first opened.
The Council Hall fell utterly silent.
To the Stonemason Clan, the tunnels were far more than military fortifications. They were the backbone of their civilization, lifelines that countless generations of dwarves had carved inch by inch through solid rock with hammers, chisels, and blood and sweat. Every branch and every staircase was engraved with the names of families and the legends of their ancestors.
Ever since the dwarves' ancestors had put down roots in the Rocky Mountains, this colossal project had continued, consuming thousands of years before finally forming a labyrinthine refuge.
These tunnels had once allowed them to escape human slaughter and evade orc raids. They had also sheltered them and preserved their bloodline through years of famine.
Yet now, in a mere few weeks, the humans had turned it all into ruins with a power they could not comprehend.
"Waaah, it wasn't an earthquake... nor a landslide..." A surviving dwarf broke down sobbing. "It must have been human magic—a vile sorcery capable of tearing rock apart from within."
Imaer slowly closed his eyes. He recalled the shattered stones that had been carried back—their edges charred black, some of the rock smooth as glass. Those were traces that