Far from the heroes’ seat of power lay a kingdom once known for its wealth.

  The Mining Kingdom.

  Dense cities built around silver veins and gold-rich mountains had long stood as symbols of prosperity. Trade flowed constantly. Life was orderly. Predictable.

  That ended quietly.

  Mutated beasts erupted from underground tunnels and fractured caverns, overturning settlements from below. Streets collapsed. Mines became death traps. Entire districts were swallowed before alarms could spread.

  The kingdom was sealed.

  Evacuation came too late.

  When the kings demanded answers from the heroes’ representatives, they were given reports—thick, sealed documents stamped with authority.

  The explanation was calm.

  Delaying the seal, the heroes’ underlings stated, would have allowed the ferocious beasts to spread further. Worse, the system had detected a massive concentration of darkness within the region.

  “If containment failed,” the report concluded, “casualties would multiply across neighboring territories.”

  Some lines were underlined.

  Necessary elimination.

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  Regional stability.

  The words settled heavily.

  To support the claim, divine artifacts recently unearthed by oracles were displayed. Their readings aligned with the reports. Darkness had been present. The threat had been real.

  The decision, they insisted, was correct.

  Publicly, the kings agreed.

  Privately, something cracked.

  Among the people, anger flickered—but never ignited. Local forces silenced discussions before they spread. Not brutally. Efficiently. Gatherings were dispersed. Questions redirected.

  Rebellion was not crushed.

  It was prevented from forming.

  Refugees poured into neighboring lands carrying fragments of truth.

  Around fires and broken carts, whispers spread.

  “There was an explorer,” someone said quietly. “From Ruby. They say he cleared the forest alone.”

  “I heard that too,” another replied. “If he had been there… maybe fewer would’ve died.”

  No one said it loudly.

  Hope was dangerous.

  In Ruby itself, the guild and the mayor met in closed rooms.

  They discussed reinforcing patrols. Strengthening defenses. Not sending their best people to the capital despite official requests.

  Ruby was smaller. Less important.

  But it was dense. Vulnerable.

  They missed the presence of the man who had once solved problems without reports or delays.

  Still, they understood something important.

  Depending on one person—no matter how reliable—was not salvation.

  Across the world, the same question lingered unspoken.

  Would they be saved?

  Or would they be labeled acceptable loss when the time came?

  No one trusted the answer anymore.

  What unsettled them most was not the heroes’ power—but the growing sense that something else was rising.

  Something even the heroes might not be able to control.

  Far away, the ancient ruins trembled again.

  The land that had once been barren began to darken, scorched by periodic surges of heat. Lush greenery receded, replaced by blackened stone and fissures glowing faintly beneath the surface.

  Fire salamanders fled the inner caverns—an occurrence so rare it was recorded only in forgotten texts.

  Something deep below continued to change.

  Time moved forward.

  The world did not rest.