Chapter 97: Zyra

The passage eventually opens into a sprawling cavern, dimly illuminated by patches of faintly glowing moss. Stone platforms rise at uneven heights, connected by rope bridges and narrow paths carved into the walls. Dozens of Umbral figures move about — some sharpening weapons, others tending to fires or stacking supplies. The moment Grell and Tarven step out into the open, the atmosphere shifts. They stop mid-conversation, their heads turning sharply. The tension in the air eases as recognition sets in. "Lord Grell!" one calls out, bowing his head respectfully. "Lord Tarven," another greets with a fist over his chest. Several more follow suit, murmuring greetings with clear respect. Despite their rough appearance, these Umbral carry themselves with discipline. Alix notices the confusion in their eyes when they glance his way — Grixx, and Berko. Whispers stir among them. "Who are they?" one voice murmurs. "They must be the ones who captured Captain Vyrin's squad," another guesses. "Careful," someone else warns. "If the lords brought them here, there's a reason." No one dares to challenge Grell or Tarven directly, but the suspicion is clear. As they press on, Alix quietly observes the settlement. The Umbral's dwellings are carved directly into the cavern walls, reinforced with bones, dark iron, and thick woven vines. Despite their primitive design, there's a sense of structure — a culture that thrives on discipline and strength. They finally reach the jagged fortress at the cavern's far end. Two guards stiffen at the sight of Alix and Berko but lower their daggers when Grell steps forward. "We're here to see the chieftain," Grell says firmly. The guards exchange uneasy glances. "She's... not in the best mood," one mutters. "When is she ever?" Tarven grunts. Alix already knows their chieftain is a woman by the time they enter, but seeing her still surprises him. She doesn't have the hardened, battle-scarred look he expected — instead, her sharp features and piercing eyes. She is hunched over a table covered in various dried herbs, vials of thick liquid, and delicate glass instruments. Strange fumes waft in the air, mixing into an acrid, bitter scent. Her dark chitinous form is sleek, her sensory pits shifting slightly as she sorts through the collection with practiced movements. Without looking up, she speaks. "So, what happened? Did you take Vyrin back?" Her voice is smooth but firm. Vyrin steps forward, lowering his head slightly. "I am back, Chief." The chieftain's hands pause over a bundle of dried roots. Slowly, she turns to face them, and the moment her gaze lands on Alix and Berko, her entire body tenses. Her sensory pits flare as she processes the sight of three strangers in her domain. The atmosphere in the chamber shifts instantly—what was once a casual inquiry becomes cold. Her voice is sharper this time. "Who are they?" Grell speaks before Alix can answer. "Outsiders... but not enemies." The chieftain's head tilts slightly, her clawed fingers tapping against the wooden table. "You brought outsiders here," she repeats, as if testing how the words feel. "To our sanctuary." Her gaze flicks to Tarven. "And you allowed this?" Tarven's jaw tightens, but he doesn't look away. "We had no choice." The chieftain exhales, stepping forward. Unlike the Umbrals outside, she carries no visible weapons, no armor—only a simple, tattered cloak draped over her shoulders. And yet, the weight of her presence is undeniable. She stops a few feet away from Alix, tilting her head slightly. "You don't smell like prey," she murmurs. "And you don't move like a fool." Alix meets her gaze steadily. "I wouldn't have made it here if I was either of those." A slow, deliberate silence follows. Then, unexpectedly, the chieftain chuckles. "Interesting," she says. "Tell me, outsider... what exactly do you want from the Umbral?" Grell steps forward before Alix can respond, his voice steady but firm. "His Majesty wants to take all of us to his kingdom," he says. "The two of us have already pledged our loyalty." The chieftain's fingers still against the table. Her sensory pits flare slightly, processing his words. Then she exhales, slow and measured. "You speak as if it's already decided," she murmurs, her voice unreadable. "And yet, I don't recall making that decision for my people." Tarven crosses his arms, his posture tense but unwavering. "We aren't asking for permission, Chief. We need this." The chieftain's gaze snaps to him, sharp as a blade. "You presume to tell me what our people need?" Grell doesn't waver. "Yes." Silence settles over the room like a thick fog. The tension between them is palpable. The chieftain slowly straightens, studying them both as if seeing them for the first time. Then, she shifts her focus to Alix. "And you," she says. "King of the Surface, was it?" Alix nods. "It is." Her fingers tap against the table again, thoughtful. "You come here offering to take my people. To uproot us, to claim us under your rule." Her head tilts. "And why would I allow that?" Alix meets her gaze without hesitation. "Because under me, you'll reach heights you've never even dreamed of." The chieftain exhales a quiet laugh, though there's no humor in it. "Bold words. But power alone isn't enough to earn our loyalty." Alix smirks. "Then tell me—what will?" Instead of answering immediately, the chieftain studies him. Her sensory pits flare subtly, taking in more than just his words. Then, she crosses her arms. "Start with your name, Surface King." "Alix." His voice is steady, firm. "And you?" She inclines her head slightly. "Zyra." Alix nods, as if considering something. Then he speaks again, his tone carrying a knowing edge. "Aren't you already at the peak of Tier 4 as a mage? And a Tier 3 alchemist on top of that?" Zyra stiffens, her sharp features betraying a flicker of surprise. Alix presses on, his gaze unwavering. "Considering you managed to reach Tier 3 in alchemy entirely on your own, that's impressive. More than impressive, really." For the first time, she seems truly caught off guard. Her clawed fingers tap against the wooden surface in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. "You can see that?" Instead of answering, Alix lifts his hand. Suddenly, with a faint shimmer, a large, ancient-looking tome materializes in his grasp—a Tier 5 spellbook. The air around it hums with latent magic, its presence undeniable. As if that wasn't enough, another object appears—a delicate scroll, tied with dark silk. A Tier 4 alchemy recipe. Zyra's breath catches. Her sensory pits flare wide as she locks onto the items, eyes gleaming as if she's staring at the most precious treasure she's ever seen. Then, to Alix's surprise, she throws her head back and laughs—a deep, genuine sound that echoes through the chamber. "Hahaha! Your Majesty," she says, grinning now, "you didn't tell me you were this generous." She steps forward, unable to hide her excitement as she examines the spellbook from a distance. "With gifts like these, you think anyone in my tribe would refuse to serve you?" She looks up at him again, but this time, her expression has shifted—not just interest, but something closer to admiration. "Our tribe would be honored to follow a being as strong as you." Alix thinks to himself, That was easier than I expected. Mages truly crave knowledge, and considering Zyra is also an alchemist, her reaction makes perfect sense. Zyra straightens, her entire demeanor shifting. There's no hesitation now, only determination. She steps aside and gestures toward the cavern's entrance with an unexpected level of respect. "Your Majesty, allow me to properly introduce you to our people." Zyra leads Alix outside, her movements now purposeful, as if she's already embraced the change in leadership. As they step out into the main cavern, the murmurs begin. "Why the Chief so respectfull to that stranger?" "What's going on?" Zyra doesn't leave room for doubt. She walks forward, her voice ringing through the cavern with absolute authority. "Gather everyone. Now." The Umbral don't question her. Shadows flicker as assassins dart away to spread the command. Within minutes, hundreds of figures emerge from the tunnels and dwellings, forming a massive crowd before the fortress. There are at least a thousand Umbral here, all clad in dark armor or light, flexible garments suited for stealth. Their glowing eyes flick between Zyra and Alix, uncertain but curious. Alix observes them carefully. Half of them are assassins trained to strike from the shadows. The other half consists of elders, non-combatants, and children, but even they move with the silent grace of their kin. These people were born to be killers, yet there is discipline here, a structure. Zyra steps forward, raising a hand. "Listen well, my kin! Today marks the beginning of a new future!" A hush falls over the gathering. Every Umbral focuses entirely on her. "I have chosen to pledge myself, Grell, and Tarven, —and all of you—to His Majesty, King Alix," Zyra declares, her voice steady and firm. "He is strong. Generous. And he offers us a future beyond these caves. A future of growth, power, and knowledge." A ripple of uncertainty spreads through the crowd. A few exchange glances, some nodding subtly, but others remain tense. Then, one Umbral steps forward—a man with sharp eyes and a scar across his cheek. His voice is steady but laced with doubt. Continue reading at My Virtual Library Empire "Chief Zyra, we all respect you. No one has done more to protect us from the beasts outside, from the dangers that would wipe us out. But..." He hesitates for a moment before pushing on. "Is it really okay to place ourselves in someone else's hands? To surrender the freedom we've fought so hard to keep?" Silence follows his words. Alix chuckles, a deep, amused sound that carries through the cavern. He steps forward, every movement confident, controlled.