Argolaith moved with quiet footsteps, deeper into the earth than most dared to go.
The air was hot and dry, but not suffocating—yet.
His hand trailed lightly against the wall, tracing ancient grooves as he walked.
The tunnel slowly began to widen.
What had once been a tight corridor of stone gradually opened with each step, until the ceiling arched above him like the inside of a cathedral long buried.
Every sound echoed now.
His footsteps.
His breath.
Even the slight scrape of cloth against stone.
The air had a rhythm to it.
Not wind, not movent—but sothing older.
Like the beat of a slow, massive heart.
Or the breath of sothing sleeping.
It wasn't just sound.
He could feel it now.
A pressure that ebbed and flowed faintly through the soles of his boots.
Glancing ahead, his eyes caught a soft blue glow.
Clusters of mushrooms dotted the base of the walls, their caps glowing like moonlight through mist.
He hadn't seen anything like them before.
He crouched.
Each mushroom had a glassy skin, slightly translucent, with thin stalks that pulsed gently with mana.
They weren't like any magical fungi in the academy's catalogs.
Carefully, he harvested a few, using a soft blade to sever their roots without disturbing the others.
He stored them in an enchanted container from his ring.
There'd be ti to study them later.
Standing again, he pressed forward.
The tunnel curved slightly, winding deeper, the walls glistening faintly with condensation.
Cracks ford veins along the stone, many of them glowing faintly, like magma just out of sight.
He touched one, and it was warm.
Not enough to burn, but enough to remind him that he was far from the surface.
The deeper he went, the more the air pulsed.
It was no longer ignorable.
It wasn't wind or echo—it was sothing alive.
Old. Asleep. And vast.
He didn't quicken his pace.
There was no reason to run.
If sothing was down here, it had known he was coming long before he arrived.
The silence beca sacred.
He passed another outcropping of glowing mushrooms, this ti in pale gold.
He left them alone.
The chamber widened again.
Not by design, but nature.
The walls opened like the inside of a hollowed mountain.
Stalagmites jutted upward, glowing faintly, and high above, the ceiling was lost in shadow.
He paused and listened.
That sound—like a heartbeat—was louder now.
Steady.
Slow.
And close.
The cave floor was smooth here.
Worn by ti, or sothing larger.
He adjusted his cloak and stepped forward, eyes sharp, senses wide.
A gust of warm air passed through the chamber, not from any draft.
It was exhaled.
Argolaith stood very still.
Sothing old was beneath the world.
And he was getting closer with every step.
Argolaith squinted ahead.
A bright, white-gold light was forming at the far end of the tunnel—gentle but firm, like the end of a long dream.
The air around him pulsed again.
He steadied his breathing, hand near his ring, preparing to summon a cube or weapon if needed.
The closer he got, the more magic pressed against his skin, thick and real.
When he stepped through the end of the tunnel, he froze.
Before him, the cave didn't end.
It opened.
A vast underground landscape spread out in all directions.
The ceiling above glittered like a midnight sky—only it wasn't stars.
It was glowing stones, huge and ancient, embedded into the rock like celestial runes.
Below his feet, far beneath the tunnel's ledge, a massive forest shimred.
The trees weren't wood.
They were made of magic—blue, green, violet—pure magical force in the shape of leaves and trunks.
It took him a mont to realize how far down the forest floor was.
At least fifty feet.
But the moss growing down there looked thick and soft.
He jumped.
His body moved with ease, the descent slow and controlled.
He landed on both feet, moss cushioning his fall like a cloud.
He looked up.
The tunnel he'd co from now seed impossibly small, distant.
Its mouth was tucked high above, like a forgotten door in the side of a mountain.
Turning around, his eyes widened further.
There were structures among the magical trees.
Hos—built from glowing wood and vine—nestled in the branches.
Tree houses, perfectly blended into the living forest.
And they weren't abandoned.
He saw movent.
Figures dancing between the platforms.
Elves.
They were tall and graceful, skin glowing faintly under the stones above, their hair catching the light as they moved with practiced ease.
They hadn't noticed him yet.
He took a slow step forward, his foot sinking slightly into the moss.
Everything felt alive here.
Old, untouched by the surface world.
And then, he heard it.
The breathing.
He followed the sound past the trees.
Beyond the shimr of the magical forest, resting atop a bed of stone and vine…
A dragon.
It was imnse.
Larger than any creature he had ever seen.
Scales like tempered starlight, wings folded but stretching far across the chamber's floor.
It was asleep.
Breathing slowly.
The rhythm he had followed all the way here ca from it.
Argolaith didn't move.
Not out of fear—but respect.
This place wasn't just a hidden cave.
It was a forgotten sanctuary.
The elves continued moving in the distance, unaware of the stranger who now stood at the edge of their realm.
And the dragon slept on.
Argolaith slowly sat on a nearby root, one that glowed softly beneath him.
He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't reach for his magic.
He just observed.
And in that silence, surrounded by life, he whispered—
"This isn't Morgoth's surface."
He smiled.
"It's sothing… older."
Argolaith remained seated on the glowing root, eyes tracing the distant outlines of the elven hos above.
Faint voices carried on the wind—gentle, lodic, speaking a language he didn't know.
None had noticed him yet, or if they had, none approached.
He stood slowly, careful not to disturb the forest floor beneath his boots.
Even the moss felt sacred here, pulsing softly with magic.
The trees around him didn't creak or sway, yet they were alive—breathing, watching.
As he stepped further beneath the forest canopy, he heard it again.
The dragon's breath. Slow, deep, ancient.
Each exhale stirred the glowing spores in the air, casting a faint shimr through the clearing.
Argolaith didn't approach it. Not yet.
Instead, he walked to one of the nearby trees and placed his palm against its surface.
Warm. Buzzing. It humd with the sa resonance as the lifeblood trees he'd encountered before.
But this one wasn't calling him.
It was rely existing—aware of him, perhaps, but uninterested in conflict or communion.
He whispered to it anyway.
"I'm not here to disturb. Just to understand."
The tree made no sound, but its magic swirled faintly around his fingers.
He took that as permission to remain.
A rustle above.
He looked up and saw one of the elves gazing down at him.
A young woman with silver hair that shimred like moonlight, her bow slung casually over her shoulder.
Their eyes t for a long mont.
She tilted her head—not hostile, but cautious—then vanished into the higher branches with barely a sound.
He didn't chase. Just nodded to himself.
"They know I'm here."
He resud walking slowly, following the direction of the dragon's breathing.
Not to provoke it, but to learn what he could.
The trees parted gradually, like they understood where he was going.
A gentle slope carried him downward, deeper into the hollow beneath the world.
Eventually, he reached the dragon's resting place.
It lay coiled beside a smooth pool of light-blue water, its wings half-draped across moss and stone.
Even asleep, the pressure it gave off was staggering.
Argolaith knelt, keeping a respectful distance.
"I won't wake you. I don't think I could, even if I tried."
He smiled faintly, though the dragon didn't stir.
Then, he placed a hand to the ground.
Closed his eyes.
Let the realm speak.
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