The Zenoite mine loomed at Opeka's edge, its stone mouth a dusty maw swallowing light and dreams. Killyaen stood before it, his twin swords—light, curved blades forged in Marko's smithy—glinting at his hips. N'Nazmuz's curse pressed thirty kilograms against his bones, each step a trudge through invisible mire, but Killy's grin was sharper than Zenoite ore. Rotting Blind Mice skittered within, their stench a promise of chaos, and Killyaen was ready—or too stubborn to admit otherwise.Marko leaned against a fence, tossing a horseshoe crafted for a Zeltar, its silver-blue fur pulsing under Opeka's sun, horns crackling with faint sparks. "March into that reeking pit, Supreme Elf," he called, smirking. "If you come back smelling like mice, Bera'll bolt the tavern door.""Marko, my friend," Killyaen replied, sweeping into a theatrical bow, "my charm outshines a Zeltar's hide. This is just a warm-up for those ancient ruins!" He winked, gold-flecked eyes flashing, but Vuk's tale of glowing ruins near Solspire, Solaria's gleaming capital, burned in his mind, a spark of destiny he couldn't douse.Bera emerged from the Black Stone Tavern, brandishing a wooden spoon like a warrior's blade. "If those mice chew your swords, don't beg me to stitch your pride," she teased, dark curls bouncing, eyes dancing with mischief. Since their kitchen kiss, their spark was alive—pure banter, no love, just jabs and spoon-swats. "And don't hum that 'Plumed Cat' nonsense down there. Janko's still scraping Moonflower-soaked Flaevyn feathers from his beard."Killyaen leaned close, whispering, "Bet a kiss I'll return a hero, Bera. Those crystal-flecked Flaevyn feathers—iridescent, humming with a disorienting buzz—can't outshine the Supreme Elf." Bera swatted his shoulder, laughing. "Win first, you pervert, then we'll talk."Goran loomed at the tavern door, beard bristling like a storm cloud. "Focus, fool," he growled, tossing Killyaen a leather satchel with bread and a torch. "Rotting Blind Mice bite, stink, and swarm. Your Wind's Rebuke and Thunder's Edge better sing, or you'll be mouse chow. And don't wreck the mine—Zenoite's our lifeline."Killyaen saluted, slinging the satchel over his shoulder, and strode into the mine's maw.The air was a rancid stew of rot and damp earth, laced with the sour reek of Rotting Blind Mice, like the oil of a Gromble's iron-gray quills, those boar-like beasts with jagged tusks and six amber eyes rooting in Opeka's fields. His torch cast flickering shadows on Zenoite veins, their silvery ore etched with faint carvings—waves, perhaps Azurion's, stirring a pulse from the split-leaf amulet at his neck. Killyaen gripped his swords, the curse grinding his bones, but its stamina kept his senses razor-sharp.A skittering broke the silence. A melon-sized Rotting Blind Mouse, eyeless with decayed fur and glowing red eyes, lunged, teeth snapping. Killyaen spun into Wind's Rebuke, the curse's weight anchoring his low arc, slicing the mouse with a wet squelch. "One down, Supreme Elf style!" he muttered. A rustle echoed—dozens, maybe hundreds, of mice swarmed from the tunnels, their hisses a stinking chorus.Killyaen danced, swords flashing—Wind's Rebuke carving low, Thunder's Edge slashing upward, bursting mice like rotten fruit. He hummed a tweaked "Plumed Cat" ballad: "Oh, Rotting Mice, crawling in the gloom, the Supreme Elf hacks with a blade of doom!" The curse made each swing heavy, but its healing knitted scrapes as fast as they appeared.Then the ground trembled, deep and angry. The mice froze, twitching, then scattered like leaves in a storm. Killyaen's torch flickered, revealing a hulking Zenoite Krovar lumbering from the mine's depths. Its hide was crusted with jagged Zenoite shards, glinting like a shattered mirror. Six legs, thick as tavern beams, ended in claws that sparked against stone. Its maw gaped, dripping sizzling ichor, and four gem-like eyes burned with Level 3 Peak ferocity—a beast born from the mine's depths, far beyond Killyaen's unawakened strength."By Azurion's waves," Killyaen whispered, his grin half-thrill, half-dread. "You're a sparkly nightmare, aren't you?"The Krovar roared, a sound like a collapsing forge, and charged, claws gouging the floor. Killyaen dove, the curse slowing his roll but not his nerve. He chained Wind's Rebuke, both swords slashing a foreleg, chipping Zenoite scales. The beast barely flinched, its eyes flaring brighter. Killyaen dodged a claw swipe that shattered a stalactite, taunting, "Come on, sparkles, dance with the Supreme Elf!"A shadow moved near the tunnel's mouth—Janko, skulking with a sack of Moonflower sap, likely plotting a sticky trap to humiliate Killyaen. "Oh, Plumed Cat, worst timing!" Killyaen shouted, dodging another claw. Janko froze, eyes wide as the Krovar sniffed the sap's glow. It roared, charging Janko, who yelped, dropped the sack, and bolted, the sap splattering the floor in a shimmering pool.Killyaen seized the chance, smearing Moonflower sap from the spill onto his blades, its illusory glow perfect for a prank-inspired strike. He darted forward, weaving through claw strikes, and slashed the Krovar's eyes with sap-coated swords, blinding it with flickering illusions. The beast howled, thrashing, and Killyaen spotted a loose Zenoite boulder above a narrow tunnel—too small for the Krovar but perfect for him.He bolted, the curse dragging his steps, and slid into the gap, the Krovar's claws scraping inches behind. Panting, he grinned in the dark, eyeing the boulder. "Time for a rock encore, sparkles," he whispered. His amulet pulsed stronger, as if echoing the mine's carved waves. Outside, villagers' chants—"Supreme Elf! Plumed Cat!"—drifted from Opeka's square, their festival spirit alive even in the mine's shadow. A faint scuttle nearby caught his ear—a luminescent fox, its teal fur glowing like starlight, tail flashing to disorient, darted past, a fleeting omen of Aeneria's wild depths.
