Chapter Text
The tunnels screamed behind her with the sound of clawed feet slapping stone. Goblins. Ogres. Something far worse. Their fear shrieked through the caverns like a pulse, growing louder with every step she took.
Her lungs burned. Every breath tasted of rot and blood. She’d seen what they did to the scouts. To the stone. To the light.
And Kima. Gods, Kima…
She had to move faster.
Ahead, the dwarven miners were still working the edge of the mithril vein—oblivious, hammering away at silver that would be soaked in their blood if they didn’t flee now.
She skidded to a halt on loose gravel and roared, “Run! Get out of here!”
They stared—just long enough for the first wave of goblin shrieks to reach their ears. That did it. Picks hit the ground. Shouts in Dwarvish. One of them tripped trying to grab a lantern. She hauled him up by the collar, shoved him toward the entrance.
Behind her, the air turned cold—wrong. The magic warped before she felt it.
The naga hissed.
She turned. It was slithering after them, its bloated body gliding over stone like oil, skin shimmering with the mark of corruption. Its eyes locked onto her with the weight of death.
No time.
She threw her hand behind her, whispered a word older than stone, and fire erupted in the narrow tunnel—a wall of living heat, blocking the naga’s path. It howled and recoiled, thrashing in rage, but she knew it wouldn’t hold for long. Still, it bought seconds. That was all she needed.
She ran again, lungs searing. Up through the old cart paths. Past rusted rails and spilled ore. She could feel them gaining—goblins at her heels, ogres loping up the side passages, the naga screaming murder through the flames.
The light of the surface was near.
She didn’t hesitate.
As she burst through the final archway, she let go of herself—invited the flame in. Her body split apart, fire pouring through her veins like rivers of magma. Flesh became heat, form became fury. Bones of flame, hands of ash, eyes like forge glass.
She erupted into the open air—a firestorm reborn—and the goblins who followed faced the wrath of wildfire.
One unlucky dwarf was hacked down by a particularly fast goblin, but before she could react…
It shattered the air.
Not like thunder—thunder rolls, growls, warns. This sound cracked sharp and violent, like the sky itself had been pierced by a spike of iron and fury. It was too fast to dodge, too loud to ignore. It echoed through the stone like a scream with no breath behind it.
A wolf’s bark, maybe—but colder. Less alive.
She flinched, instinct dragging her body low. Not from fear, but confusion. No bowstring. No ripple of magic. Just—
BANG!
And the goblin died.
Her ears rang, and for a heartbeat she thought the mountain had caved in. But then she saw him—the pale man with the glinting weapon and the steady hands. Smoke curled from the mouth of his… device.
She didn’t know what it was.
But she knew this: it was unnatural.
Not in the way of rot or ruin—but of cleverness. Of things that do not grow, but are shaped. Of steel trying to do what fire was born for.
The dwarves scattered. The warriors—seven of them—readied for combat instantly. Swords were drawn. Bows knocked. The strange metal wand leveled at her.
She couldn’t blame them.
To them, she looked like one more nightmare erupting from the deep.
The ranger fired an arrow. The assassin threw a dagger. Two more goblins fell dead.
She took a step forward, trying to gesture—not enemy, not here to fight you—but her limbs were flame and fury, and all they saw was heat. One of the adventurers, a red-robed dragonborn, lifted his hands, and she felt the magic crackle.
Power coiled at his fingertips, unstable and overfed. Her body knew it before her mind did:
Fireball.
It burst from his hand, a sphere of pure detonation streaking toward the battlefield. Toward the goblins, yes—but also toward the dwarves, still clustered too close, still scrambling for cover.
They wouldn’t survive it.
They wouldn’t burn clean—they’d break.
She moved.
No words. No warning. Just motion.
She threw herself into the blast’s path, molten limbs stretching wide. Her form swelled, shifting, not to absorb—but to shape. She bent the heat around her like wind through trees, gathering the blaze into her chest, curling it into arcs that wrapped around the stunned dwarves.
The fire obeyed. It knew her.
Her body roared with heat—no pain, only oneness. The Fireball collided. The world bloomed white-orange, a storm of magic and flame.
And yet—within the circle she’d formed—stillness. The dwarves, eyes wide beneath soot-streaked helms, crouched untouched behind a wall of flickering flame that did not burn them.
It licked at their armor, warm as a forge but harmless. Controlled. Tamed.
Her form quivered from the impact, fire shedding in strips, dancing back into place. One dwarf looked up at her through the wall of flame. His eyes weren’t afraid.
He nodded.
He saw her—not as a monster, not as a spell gone wrong—but as a guardian.
She said nothing. She could not speak words they’d understand.
But the fire answered for her. It protected the miners as they ran back to the safety of their city.
The fireball caster blinked in confusion.
The gnome bard ducked behind a cart.
The pale human, the dark-haired twins, and the tall girl in antlers all paused.
Still unsure. Still ready to strike.
She turned back to the tunnel mouth. She could feel it coming.
The ground trembled under the naga’s weight. The ogres—driven ahead by the monster’s shrieking voice—charged forward, mad with fear and fury. She intercepted one, driving molten fists into its side, then another. Her flames poured over them, giving the warriors time to regroup.
She could see them hesitating.
Watching her.
And then she saw him.
The towering one, all muscles and warpaint, paused mid-swing. His eyes met hers—somehow, despite the fire—and locked.
He wasn’t afraid.
He was… thinking.
The antler-crowned girl acted fast, slamming her staff into the ground. The earth near the mine mouth twisted, green vines erupting and curling skyward. The Entangle spell caught several goblins, halting their advance.
Another deafening crack pierced the air, similar to the pale man’s contraption but much louder. A streaking, heated projectile, reddish, white hot, went cascading past her, plunging into the side of an ogre's shoulder with a smattering of blood splattering against the cave behind it. It actually moved back a step and had to catch itself, slamming its club into the ground.
The red-scaled sorcerer advanced, sending another Fireball arcing toward the crowd. It exploded again — five goblins disintegrated in red mist, while both ogres reeled from the heat. With a gesture, he followed up with a Telekinesis spell, lifting the more injured ogre and hurling it into the other. They slammed together in a brutal collision, both collapsing in the dirt.
The ranger ran forward, marking the bloodied ogre with a glowing Hunter’s Mark. Her next arrow shimmered with lightning — when it struck, the ogre convulsed and fell dead. The electric charge leapt to the second ogre, scorching it in a cascade of sparks.
The goblins continued to run — not charging to attack, but running in blind panic.
The goliath narrowed his eyes.
“They’re runnin’ from something.”
His voice was a growl. Rage filled his chest and he surged forward, cleaving through two goblins with terrifying ease. One was sliced clean in half. The other hung limply from the blade of his axe before he flicked it off like meat from a skewer.
Ash blazed through the rest of the goblins, incinerating the last of them in a storm of fire.
Only one ogre remained. It broke free of the Entangle spell and charged — not in aggression, but in fear. Its wide eyes scanned the cave behind it.
The assassin darted forward before it could reach his sibling. He plunged both daggers deep into its gut in a single fluid motion. With a twist and a wrench, he carved out a chunk of the ogre’s abdomen. Its intestines spilled out, and the dark-haired elven male kicked it back. The creature collapsed in a stinking heap.
Silence fell for only a moment.
“What's coming?! Tell us! You know what's coming. What's coming?!” The ginger elf asked the dwarves. Unfortunately, her panic was clearly evident on her face. “We are about to die. It is in your best interest to tell us.”
“We don't know,” one of the guards answered. “It's been different things. Strange abominations. It's hard to describe. They're put together. Something's making things down there.”
BOOM!
The naga began pounding on the stone wall.
BOOM!
A crack splintered up through the rock.
“Get Balgus!” someone yelled. The group of adventurers moved in, closer to where the goliath and the elemental stood ready to face the monster.
BOOM!
The crack expanded, a large piece tumbling off the top of the wall.
“Who?” the guards asked. They set up with crossbows, keeping back with the white-haired man.
Keyleth and Tiberius cast Stoneskin in preparation, their skin hardening to near-stone as they braced for the next wave. Scanlan stepped forward, voice rising in arcane cadence to inspire Vex, Vax, and Grog with bardic magic.
The stone wall exploded outward as a massive, unnatural naga slithered into view — larger than any they’d faced before. Its bloated, scaled body undulated with muscle, and five mismatched naga heads hissed in concert, each stitched grotesquely to the original serpent’s torso.
Vex quickly moved her Hunter’s Mark to the creature. Percy raised his pepperbox.
Tiberius unleashed a volley of Scorching Rays — two found their mark, one a critical blast of searing flame. Vex followed up with fire arrows from her blazing bowstring, both sinking into the naga’s hide with a roar of flame.
Grog hurled his axe. The weapon spun end over end, burying itself in the naga’s side before returning to his hand via the Chain of Returning.
With a burst of electric speed, the naga blurred forward, heads snapping. It struck twice at Tiberius, once landing, once missing. The other three heads lashed at Keyleth. Two of the hits sank deep, venom dripping into her wounds. She gasped as the poison surged through her. Her limbs began to shake as the venom took hold.
Ash darted in, slamming into the naga with elemental force, flames licking up its sides.
Vax’s daggers were next — one sank straight through a naga head, piercing both eyes. Black ichor spilled from the wound as the body began to twitch erratically. Seams in the stitched heads started to come undone.
In desperation, Keyleth cast Thunderwave, blasting the naga — and Ash — backward. Both took a bit of damage, and Keyleth transformed into a giant eagle to retreat to higher ground.
Scanlan, summoning everything he had left, sang out a final spell.
A bolt of lightning arced from his hands, crawling up the naga’s twisted body. Each head spasmed violently as the arcane bolt exploded every stitched joint. One by one, the heads tore away, until only the original shrieked skyward — just in time for its eyes to explode in a final burst of magical energy. The body collapsed in a smoking heap.
Branded on its chest, still sizzling with magic, was an S-shaped lightning bolt.
The battlefield fell quiet.
“So that's the kind of thing that's been coming out of there,” one of the guards said as they approached, still cautious of the fire.
The battle quieted, the true monster finally defeated.
Around them, scorched stone steamed, and goblin corpses smoked in heaps. The dwarves coughed, faces blackened with soot, but alive.
She didn’t know how much longer she could hold that form. Her body was unraveling. Magic strained under the weight of her exhaustion. Every step had been agony. Every spell, a scream.
The fire inside her faltered.
Her form collapsed in on itself—not in violence, but like embers cooling in the hearth.
With a soft whoosh, the flames died down, leaving only a crumpled figure in their place: a young woman, ash-smeared and bruised, hunched on the ground, panting.
Her skin shimmered faintly, like sunlit coals under the soot. Her hair had dulled to a deep ember-red, flickering in places, as if it couldn’t decide whether to burn or lie still. Her eyes glowed dimly beneath heavy lids, the kind of glow not born of spellwork, but something older.
She braced her hands on the stone floor and forced herself upright. She heard weapons shift, felt tension ripple through the group.
“I’m not your enemy,” she rasped, her voice raw from smoke and spellcasting. “I swear it.”
A pause.
Then, a soft, familiar growl—deep and confused.
The goliath stepped closer.
“You’re the fire thing.”
“Was. Now I’m just tired.” She managed a crooked smile, still hunched.
Another voice, high and curious: “Your hair… it’s glowing.” A half-elf with antlers crouched near her, wide-eyed.
She blinked at her.
“I didn’t mean to frighten anyone. But I—” she swayed, catching herself on one hand. “I ran. From the tunnels. From… the naga. I tried to warn the miners.”
The gnome in the ridiculous hat gave a low whistle.
“Well, you succeeded in scaring the pants off the goblins. And us.”
The half-elf woman with the bow stepped forward, arms still tense.
“Why should we believe you?”
She met her eyes, the glow in her own gaze dimming.
“Because if I’d wanted to burn you alive, I had plenty of chances.”
A pause.
Then the goliath let out a laugh.
“She’s got guts. I like her.”
She blinked.
“You’re… not mad?”
“You helped. And you didn’t explode.” He shrugged.
“A low bar, but a real one.” The gnome nodded sagely.
She let out a breath—half-relief, half-disbelief. Her muscles trembled from fatigue. She’d never pushed herself this far.
Still, something inside her steadied.
She looked at them all—this strange, disjointed, powerful group—and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel alone.
“Thank you for not killing me,” she said, voice soft but sure.
The one with the white hair cocked his head.
“You’re welcome…” A beat. “You’ll explain everything soon, I hope.”
As the group of dwarven miners and guards continued to talk about the battle, patting each other on the back, six Carvers came trudging over with Lord Nostoc Greyspine.
"All right, so you've certainly proven yourselves in battle." Anger immediately overtook his features as he noticed the fiery elf. “You,” he growled. “You trespassed. You brought that chaos. You endangered my men. You—druid—nearly burned my godsdamned mine to the ground.”
She stood with her shoulders square, still streaked with ash. She didn’t bow. Didn’t blink.
“I saved your men.”
“You endangered them first!” he barked.
“Because you wouldn’t listen,” she snapped back, voice sharp as a brand.
Silence fell. The goliath let out a low “oooh.” The other druid glanced sideways, half-concerned.
“The goblins were running from the naga creature. The trolls, too. The duergar are gathering in the dark, deeper than your tunnels reach, intent on unleashing more of those abominations on your city. Kima and I found their warcamp; they’re preparing to lay siege to Kraghammer from below.”
“You don’t think we know the Underdark’s dangers?” Greyspine barked.
“No. I think you’re used to fighting them on your terms. But this isn’t your fight anymore. It’s bigger. It’s coming.”
Greyspine narrowed his eyes.
“You want me to just trust the word of a vagabond druid who strolled into my mine without asking?”
“I didn’t come here for your mine,” her voice drew lower now, steady. “I came for Lady Kima of Vord. We went down to stop what’s coming. She was captured by the duergar. I won’t leave her there to rot.”
“And if I say no?”
The flame in her chest surged, golden light flickering in her eyes. She didn’t threaten—but the heat in her presence rose just enough to make even the guards sweat.
“I’ll go back in anyway.”
Greyspine stared. She didn’t look away.
But then—the ranger stepped forward.
“She’s not asking to go alone,” she said smoothly. “She’s going with us.”
“And if she hadn’t held back that naga,” the rogue added, stepping beside her, “a lot more of your men would be dead.”
Keyleth nodded, saying, “If there’s anyone who can navigate heat and shadow and flame down there, it’s her.”
Greyspine looked over them— half-charred and still standing. He huffed through his beard, and finally muttered, “You lot are more trouble than a cave-in.”
“Then you’ll let me finish this.”
“Fine…” he relented. “The lot of you, come. I would like to continue this conversation that we had back in my office if you don't mind.” He began walking off, leaving the Carvers to help tend to the miners.
She followed the group of adventurers to Nostoc’s office. The dwarf lord paced behind his desk for a moment or two.
“Lord Greyspine, why have you summoned us here? Is it to tell us information about what just came out of your mine, I hope,” the gnome bard asked.
"Well let's be clear. We dwarves don't need help from outsiders. We can handle our own business just fine,” Nostoc said, defensively before a hint of sheepish annoyance flashed across his face. “You see these small intrusions have been bad for meeting our quotas with the Bronzegrip metal warehouse and export shipments. Employees have been forced to collapse a non-negotiable portion of our tunnels to prevent incursions like this. Without my approval. And this is a pattern I wish to stop at once.
“Thus, I have a proposition for you. Now, I will give you free reign to our mines. I shall get the proper approvals to make sure no Carvers bother you as you wander the city's lower ring. And I will contract you to delve past our tunnels and investigate the source of these creatures, where they come from, where they live, and if there is some sort of a leader who gives them their commands. Eliminate them.
“For this, I will reward you with not a trifle sum. 25,000 gold pieces. Plus 250 gold per beast scalp you provide upon returning."
“Money is wonderful. We like money. But we've been charged to find Lady Kima. We need assurances that we will find her or at least some evidence of her in the mines,” the gnome insisted.
"The brazen halfling bitch went in there with this one,” he pointed at the Wildfire Druid, “without my approval and wandered into the mines, not to be seen. So if she is down there, I hope she's in one piece. I can't guarantee it. But if there's any place to find her, that's probably it."
“Last I saw, she was alive, captured by the duergar in the Underdark,” she said.
“Captured?” The gnome echoed, his voice taking a higher pitch than previously.
“We were scouting near the warcamp. We thought it was abandoned, but it was a trap. They were waiting. I barely escaped.” She clenched her fists, small licks of flame curling between her fingers. “I should’ve stayed. I should’ve fought, but she made me run. Told me to find help.”
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then the goliath slapped one heavy fist into his palm, a wide, vicious grin splitting his face.
“Well, what’re we waitin’ for? Let’s go crack some skulls.”
“Lucky for you,” the rogue clapped her lightly on the shoulder. “You found the most stubborn bastards on this side of Exandria.” He turned back to Nostoc. “We're the group of adventurers for you. I don't know if you've heard of the heroes of Emon, who just recently- I'm sure you've heard something. Word travels fast.”
"Not beneath this mountain, it doesn't, not of human closures."
“We've just done a lot of good to the ruler of Emon,” the male elf said.
"Great. How does that help us dwarves?"
“We're saying we are going to help you, too. And everything will be fine, and we'll all be happy,” the dragonborn piped up.
“Well, we've discovered, in our past adventures, however, is that every realm seems to be having trouble with the same sort of creatures, coming up from the Underdark perhaps?” the ranger said.
“All we're saying is, help us help you. What exactly have you seen before this day? More of the same? Or other creatures?” the assassin asked.
"The types of creatures, I do not know. I mostly deal with the business and just know that there's some bullshite going on down in the mines. You could ask our foreman, Hieris. He's dealt with the cleanup each time we've had an incursion like this, so if anyone has information on what these creatures are, he'd be the one to talk to."
“It is customary in our culture to seal a deal with a drink,” the white-haired human spoke up. “And since we are about to risk our lives…”
"Huh, but a sip, as it was a gift." Nostoc begrudgingly allowed as he pulled out a fancy barrel embellished with gold and flowering vines.
The rogue began pouring glasses for everybody, taking longer than expected. The bard began playing a bit of music with his flute, much to Nostoc’s annoyance. As the glasses were passed around, the wildfire Druid was surprised to be included in the toast. The wine was decadent and rich.
As we left the office, the ranger turned to her with arms crossed and an armored grizzly bear at her back.
“Alright, fire girl. You gonna tell us what you are, now?”
“Oh, yeah! We should probably introduce ourselves,” the druid came over, sweet, awkward, and trying so hard. “I’m Keyleth, of the Air Ashari.”
Her head snapped up at that, her heart stuttering. Another Ashari?
Before she could say anything, Keyleth kept going.
“That’s Vex’ahlia and Trinket, and her brother Vax’ildan. Don’t trust him if he smiles like that,” she added with a small smirk, nodding to the ranger, the bear, and the rogue. “Grog Strongjaw, our, uh…”
“Brains!” the goliath boomed proudly, earning a laugh from the group.
“Good day, my lady,” the white-haired human male strode up with all the confidence of a royal. “My name is Percival Frederickstein Von Mussel Klossowski De Rolo III-”
“You can call him Percy,” the others said in unison.
“That’s Tiberius Stormwind,” Keyleth pointed at the dragonborn sorcerer. “He’s a bit much, but he means well. Our gnome bard is Scanlan Shorthalt. Don’t encourage him.”
She blinked, turning the names over in her mind, affixing them to their faces, to the moments of fire and blood. After a beat, Vex cocked her head.
“And you?” she asked. “You’ve got a name, firestarter?”
The newcomer turned her full attention back to Keyleth.
“Kaitiakè, Keyleth. I’m Ash, of the Fire Ashari.”
“Oh, wow!” Keyleth gushed. “You’re Ashari, too? That’s amazing! Are you on your Aramente? How far have you gone? Have you been to the Water Ashari yet?” She began firing off question after question, barely stopping for breath.
Ash froze, her body stiffening under the sudden barrage.
The others quieted, sensing her discomfort.
She rubbed the back of her neck, her ember-hued skin flickering slightly brighter under the attention.
“Actually, I’m not on an Aramente,” she said finally, her voice low.
“Oh. I thought…” Keyleth blinked, her excitement faltering.
“I’m not like you, or the others,” she continued, looking down at her hands. “The Fire Ashari found me when I was a baby. Abandoned in the forest. I don’t know who left me, or why. They raised me. Taught me to control my fire. But… I’m not one of them by blood.”
Keyleth’s face softened instantly, her earlier giddy energy folding into something warmer, more careful.
”I’m travelling because I’m trying to find out where I came from,” Ash finished, glancing up at the group. “Who I am.”
A heavy silence hung over the group. Not judgemental, but understanding.
“Are you some kind of elf?” Vex asked carefully, as if afraid the wrong word might crack something fragile.
“Based on the pointy ears, I think so,” she conceded. “But I’ve never met another who looks like me. My appearance shifts and changes like the seasons when I’m struck with strong emotions, but I always come back to a blazing summer fire. No one I’ve met has ever seen another like me. The Flamespeaker thought maybe I was touched by the Elemental Planes somehow. Or cursed. Or gifted.”
“A being of elemental fire…” Tiberius wondered aloud, stroking his chin. “Or perhaps something more ancient.”
“All I know is I don’t belong anywhere yet. So, I’m looking.” She huffed a small breath, something between a laugh and a sigh.
Keyleth’s face twisted into something fierce and kind all at once.
“You do belong… at least, with us, perhaps you could belong. And if not, we’ll help you find what you’re looking for.”
The others nodded, accepting it without fuss or ceremony.
For the first time in a while, Ash felt a little of the terror in her gut ease. She wasn’t alone anymore.