Maelor walked through the grand halls of the Steelheart Tree, the very heart of the House of Ironshard's domain. He had walked these corridors many times before, but each visit filled him with the same awe. This was the seat of power, the towering structure that held together the Ironshard domain. The uppermost levels of the Steelheart were reserved for the highest-ranking members of the House—Holders of the strongest authority and Fatewalkers whose influence could alter the course of history. Each step Maelor took echoed along the polished floors, a subtle reminder of the towering authority that resided here.
The vast halls were lined with banners of the Ironshard sigil, a tree wrapped in bands of iron, symbolizing the unyielding will of their House. Columns made of stone and metal rose to impossible heights, their roots entwined with the living wood of the tree, signifying the union of nature and earth—an embodiment of Terra's Grasp. The House of Ironshard was known for its resilience, an iron wall that stood immovable against any foe, and here, within the sacred halls of the Steelheart Tree, that strength was felt in every fiber of its construction.
Maelor was deep in thought as he approached the upper levels. This part of the tree, reserved for the leaders and generals of the House, was a place few ever saw. He had risen far in his years of service, climbing the ranks to become a Disciple, and yet he knew that his position was still far below the likes of the one he was about to meet. General Dathor, one of four generals that stood directly beneath Magnus, the Verdant Bastion himself, the leader of Ironshard. Dathor's name alone carried weight, but his presence—his aura—was said to be overwhelming. To a Challenger or a Prospect, standing in his presence was akin to facing an abyss. Even Acolytes often found themselves trembling in fear when near him. His authority over Terra's Grasp was so absolute that it felt as though the very air around him was suffocating.
For someone like Maelor, a Disciple, it was a bearable experience. The power still made him uneasy, but not nearly as crushing as it would be for those beneath him. And for Maelor, there was something else—something more that allowed him to withstand that presence without falling apart. His connection to Dathor wasn't just one of a subordinate to his superior. In many ways, it was far deeper than that, some better than the others.
As he approached the massive oak doors of General Dathor's office, two soldiers stationed outside stood to attention. They wore the dark steel armor of the Ironshard house, their visors covering their eyes, but the weight of their loyalty was palpable. They saluted in silence, their rigid stances echoing the discipline the House demanded of its soldiers. Without a word, they moved to open the grand doors, revealing the expansive room inside. Maelor gave them a curt nod as he entered.
The office was as grand as one might expect. A towering clerestory window at the far end of the room bathed the space in the early morning light, casting the hues of dawn through its stained glass. The colors washed over the room in rich tones of amber, green, and deep crimson, lighting the room in a way that seemed almost ethereal. The chamber was furnished with massive wooden desks and shelves lined with tomes—many of which contained knowledge of the Tower's ancient history, its secrets, and the inner workings of Ironshard itself.
At the far end of the room, directly beneath the grand window, sat a figure in a throne-like chair. General Dathor sat motionless, his eyes closed, as if deep in meditation. His dark, braided hair framed his chiseled face, his imposing frame leaned slightly forward in thought, though his presence dominated the entire room without him having to move a muscle. Even sitting in stillness, Dathor was a storm of authority, an unshakable pillar of iron. His armor, a mix of blackened steel and green metallic inlays, spoke of the immense power he wielded.
For a moment, Maelor hesitated, his eyes trailing over the figure before him. There was a reverence, a respect that came not just from General Dathor's rank or his position within the House, but from something far more personal.
"I have arrived as you requested, General Dathor," Maelor announced, his voice even, but there was a thread of tension woven into his words.
Dathor's lips curled into a faint smile, though his eyes remained closed.
"Please, Maelor. There's no need for such formalities when it's just the two of us. Haven't I told you that before?"
The general's eyes opened slowly, the deep green of his irises catching the morning light. There was a warmth there, but beneath it, an undeniable weight. Maelor's breath caught for a moment, feeling the intensity of Dathor's gaze, but he quickly composed himself.
"Yes… Father."
The word slipped out like a familiar melody, a reminder of the bond that tied them together. Maelor had grown up in the shadow of General Dathor, learning everything he knew under his adoptive father's stern but guiding hand. It had been a journey of both discipline and struggle, climbing the ranks of Fatewalkers and becoming a Disciple under his father's watchful eye. And though the two held positions of power in the House of Ironshard, the weight of their familial bond was never far from the surface.
General Dathor stood from his chair, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the room. He walked over to Maelor with slow, deliberate steps, his aura as heavy as the armor he wore, but Maelor stood firm, used to the weight of his father's presence.
"You've done well," Dathor said, his voice low but filled with pride.
"I hear your efforts in the Netherdeep have borne fruit."
Maelor nodded, his mind drifting back to the oracle that now sat in his office.
"The oracle… It was an unexpected find. I sent out multiple teams of Acolytes as scouts to explore the Netherdeep, hoping that numbers would give us an edge, even if it cost lives. I didn't expect much from it—just a few fragments of information at best. But one of those teams found something. They uncovered the oracle, a far more significant discovery than I had anticipated. I believe it holds the key to understanding more about what lies within the Netherdeep."
General Dathor's eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Maelor's words. He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze drifting toward the clerestory window, where the dawn light continued to flood the room.
"The Netherdeep is full of mysteries," Dathor said, his voice contemplative.
"The ancient beings that once roamed that land… We've only scratched the surface of their power. And yet, I feel we're closer than ever before."
Maelor remained silent, knowing his father's mind was working through a thousand different calculations, each one more dangerous than the last. The Netherdeep was not a place for the faint of heart, and even the House of Ironshard, with all its power and authority, had struggled to maintain control over that uncharted region. But Dathor was not a man to be deterred by obstacles, no matter how insurmountable they seemed.
"Do you believe the oracle will reveal something useful?" Dathor finally asked, his gaze sharp as he turned back to Maelor.
"I do," Maelor replied, his voice steady.
"It's old, far older than anything we've found before. Whatever it contains… it could be the key to unlocking the secrets of that place."
Dathor nodded, his expression unreadable.
"Good. We'll need every advantage we can get."
He paused, his gaze softening for just a moment as he looked at his son.
"I'm proud of you, Maelor. You've proven yourself worthy of the Ironshard name."
The weight of those words settled over Maelor like a cloak. He had spent his entire life striving to live up to the legacy of his family, to prove that he was more than just General Dathor's adoptive son. And now, standing in the heart of the Steelheart Tree, he felt as though he had finally taken his place among the true power players of the Tower.
"Thank you, Father," Maelor said, his voice quiet but filled with emotion.
Dathor's lips curled into a faint smile as he turned back toward his desk. "Come. There's much to discuss, and time is short. We have plans to set in motion."
And with that, the two of them moved deeper into the heart of the Steelheart, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air like a gathering storm.