[Leif's POV—Dwarven Village—Later]
As we entered the dwarves' village, our footsteps echoed along the tunnel walls, swallowed by the cold stone. The farther we walked, the colder the air became—like the mountain itself was holding its breath. Lanterns dangled from black iron hooks, swaying in a faint, unsettling breeze. Their light stretched shadows long and thin… shadows that twitched like frightened hands.
Alvar stayed close at my side, his arm brushing my back—steady, protective. Zephyy, now in his smaller cat-like form, padded behind us… a tiny creature of scales and wings who made the ground tremble with every step.
Then the scent of iron hit.
Then the whispers.
Then the coughing.
We emerged into the village square—a cluster of stone homes carved into the mountain's ribs—just as Grendur turned to us, grim. "Please… follow me."
We stepped inside one of the homes.
And froze.
