[Chapter 227. The Portal Opened]

Dahul woke early. First light remained a few hours off; the room sat shrouded in near-complete darkness except for the faint glow of magical lanterns hanging from the walls. He sat up on the narrow cot. The wood groaned under his bulk, his four arms instinctively reaching for the familiar weight of his gear before his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He pulled the leftovers of his evening meal from his storage ring and ate in silence, the crunch of fresh bread echoing in the small chamber.

Each deliberate chew helped steady the tremor in his hands, a familiar ritual he had developed during his dungeon-delving days to calm his nerves before certain death. He savored the meager sustenance, knowing it might be his last meal in this world. Once finished, he strapped on his gear, each buckle and strap clicking into place with practiced precision. The familiar weight settled across his shoulders and back like an old friend, the leather creaking as he tested his range of motion.

He left his room, closing the door in careful quiet, and placed the key on the empty counter downstairs. The brass key gleamed in the dim light. He had risen early to avoid the inevitable sneer of the morning staff as he turned it over.

As he left the building, the guard stationed at the door turned toward him, his silhouette stark against the pre-dawn gloom. The man's polished armor seemed to reflect what little light existed.

"Someone is up early, trying to impress?" the guard asked with a chuckle that held no warmth, his breath misting in the cool air. His eyes drifted to where Dahul's extra arms strained against the fabric of his cloak before returning to his face with open disdain.

"No, it's just that I like to be ready before heading out," Dahul answered, closing the heavy wooden door behind him. The thud echoed in the empty street, and he moved down the cobblestone path without breaking stride. His four arms remained hidden beneath his cloak, an act of suppression that made his muscles ache with restraint. Each footstep sounded loud in the pre-dawn quiet, the sound swallowed by the towering stone buildings that loomed like ancient sentinels on either side.

The guard grunted in response and leaned back against the wall, his attention shifting to the empty street ahead as if Dahul had vanished from existence the moment he passed. The metallic scrape of armor against stone followed Dahul down the street, a reminder of how easily he could be dismissed despite his formidable presence.

The streets were quiet at this hour of the day, but they weren't empty. Lone figures moved in the same direction, their footsteps echoing in the pre-dawn stillness as they made their way toward the main plaza of the keep. The cobblestones beneath his boots held the chill of night, each step creating a soft scraping sound that seemed too loud in the quiet. He kept his pace steady, his arms folded beneath his cloak, the familiar weight of Undallas Wrath a comforting presence against his back.

While he walked down the empty streets, he looked around. Without the crowds, he could make out subtle details typically obscured by the bustling activity of daylight hours. The buildings lining the streets rose like silent giants, their dark stone faces punctuated by windows that glowed with magical light, casting eerie shadows that stretched across his path like grasping fingers.

The second inner wall would normally house the center building. Here, it was different; the inner keep stood outside the inner wall, looking down into it. The towers, spaced at equal distances, held enchanted siege equipment—all pointed inward instead of outward. The siege engines were unlike anything he had seen before, their surfaces covered in intricate, glowing runes that pulsed with otherworldly energy. The barrels of the ballistae and arcane contraptions were made of dark metal that seemed to absorb the light, creating voids in the early morning gloom.

It looked as if they were keeping something inside the Fortress, rather than keeping threats out. This inverted design sent a chill down his spine, the implications of such architecture weighing on his mind. The air felt thicker here, charged with an unseen tension that made the fine hairs on his four arms stand on end beneath his cloak. Dahul knew that this kind of Fortress was special, but he had never seen one himself. He had only heard of them from other delvers who had seen them. The stories they told in smoky taverns late at night had always seemed exaggerated—tales whispered between drinks about fortresses that weren't meant to defend against external threats, but to contain horrors within.

Now, standing in the shadow of such a place, he understood why those veterans looked haunted when they spoke of their experiences. The very design spoke of secrets meant to remain buried, of creatures and forces that even the mighty military organization felt the need to imprison rather than confront directly.

`They could take out a great beast with that kind of weaponry.`

He thought this while closing in on the gate that led past the inner wall, the weight of that realization settling in his gut. Those enchanted siege engines weren't just for show—they radiated an aura of destructive power that made the very air around them hum with suppressed energy.

Once again, he had to show his paperwork before he could enter further into the reversed Fortress. The gate guard inspected his document with the same expression of contempt he had grown accustomed to. As Dahul arrived at the plaza, his boots crunching on the gravel path, a few others stood scattered across the wide open space, gathering in front of a massive circular gateway unique to these kinds of Fortresses.

They moved with purpose yet caution, their eyes darting toward the portal as if expecting it to spring to life at any moment. It was a gargantuan structure spanning many carriages in width, the frame made of some material that seemed to ripple with contained energy. For a moment, he stood there and gazed at the portal frame, mesmerized by its impossible scale and the way it defied the laws of architecture he had always known.

"Quite the sight, isn't it?" a voice beside him asked, smooth as aged wine with an undercurrent of casual authority. "It's my second time, but I can't get over the sight myself."

Dahul flinched at the unexpected proximity, his entire body tensing as he fought the instinct to reach for his blade. He turned toward the voice, his movements stiff and deliberate as he made himself smaller, drawing his shoulders inward and pressing his four arms tighter against his torso beneath the concealing fabric of his cloak. Every nerve screamed at him to flee, but years of suppressing such impulses around those who considered themselves his betters held him in place.

The person beside him was undeniably a full-blood, his presence radiating an effortless superiority that made Dahul's skin prickle with resentment and unease. By the kind of gear he wore—armor plates polished to mirror perfection over robes of deep crimson silk threaded with gold—and the casual way he carried himself, he had to be a noble. His horns stretched up from his forehead in elegant curves, sweeping back over dark hair that fell in a deliberate disarray, as if styled to look artfully unkempt. The folded wings on his back bore silver filigree and thin chains that glittered with each subtle movement, their craftsmanship so intricate that Dahul could make out the minute details even in the dim pre-dawn light.

Dahul's eyes widened as recognition dawned with chilling clarity. The sigil emblazoned on the noble's coat wasn't just any noble house—it belonged to one of the thirteen High Houses, the very bloodlines that ruled the empire with iron fists beneath velvet gloves. The silver-chained wings were the unmistakable mark of House Veythar, known for their pure lineage and their absolute authority in military matters.

`Why are you talking to me... If I say the wrong thing, I will be executed.`

The thought ricocheted through his mind with such force that he nearly flinched again. His throat went dry as desert sand, and he felt his heartbeat hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Every lesson from his childhood—about knowing his place, about never looking toward a Noble directly especially a High Noble, about the appropriate deference to show—came rushing back, flooding his consciousness with a lifetime of conditioned subservience.

"Yes. I-It's impressive," Dahul managed to choke out, his voice cracking despite his best efforts to maintain composure. His gaze dropped to the noble's boots, noting how they were crafted from exotic black leather. He felt the man's aura pressing down on him, and he fought the overwhelming urge to shrink away entirely. The air between them grew thick with unspoken hierarchies and the crushing weight of centuries of tradition that placed them on opposite ends of an unbridgeable chasm.

The noble gave no indication he'd even heard the answer. Without another word, he continued on. The air around the noble seemed to crackle with an energy that made Dahul's four arms tingle beneath his cloak, a sensation both terrifying and strangely magnetic. Dahul took a deep sigh of relief that escaped his lips in a shaky breath, the sound barely audible in the vast plaza. His shoulders, which had been tensed up to his ears, slowly relaxed, and he felt the tension drain from his back.

`What is a high noble of the House of Veythar doing here?`

The question echoed in his mind, accompanied by a cascade of others. Why was the High House Veythar, known for its disdain for half-breeds, present in a fortress filled with them? And why were they leading an expedition through a portal that seemed to be a prison rather than a gateway? The longer he stayed in this fortress, the more questions he had, and there was no one who would answer them for the likes of him. Every face he turned to for answers turned away in disgust or looked at him with a mixture of pity and fear, as if he were a contagious disease.

As first light drew near, the plaza filled rapidly, the silence broken by the sound of boots on stone and the murmur of hushed conversations. The military personnel moved with a precision that spoke of endless drills, taking their organized places inside a formation before the portal frame. Their armor gleamed in the growing light, that reflected the faces of the half-breeds gathered behind them.

The full-bloods and half-breeds, Dahul among them, took their places in the rear of this formation—a sea of diverse faces and bodies, each with their own story of survival in a world that saw him as lesser. Close to a thousand of them gathered, a testament to the desperation that drove even the proudest to seek fortune in the unknown. As the numbers swelled, the air grew thick with a mixture of anticipation and dread, a palpable energy that made the hairs on Dahul's arms stand on end.

Three figures stepped onto the raised platform where the portal stood, their presence commanding the attention of the entire plaza. One of them was clearly the master of this Fortress. His armor looked worn but regal, a scar running down his left eye that told tales of battles fought and won. The one in front, with his stern expression and military bearing, held a high rank; his uniform bore medals that glittered in the morning light. Beside the two stood an elder of the thirteen High Houses, his robes flowing like liquid silver, his face an inscrutable mask of age and wisdom. The elder's deep-set, ancient eyes swept over the crowd, his gaze lingering for a moment on the half-breeds before moving on, as if cataloging their worth in a mental ledger.

"I won't give a long speech. Simply know this: everything beyond this gate is unknown. We do not know how strong the inhabitants are, nor what kind of resources exist on the other side," the military commander said, his voice cutting through the morning air with the sharpness of a blade. "I expect that we make the most of our time and find the dungeons as quickly as possible. The same goes for any Labyrinths that may be located near our exit."

His words were concise, devoid of emotional flair, but they carried a weight that settled on the shoulders of everyone present.

He motioned toward a figure in the front. "Argun Qitor Veythar will lead this expedition."

The name hung in the air, and Dahul felt a chill run down his spine as he recognized the young noble he had encountered earlier. The noble's presence at the head of the expedition made a terrible kind of sense, the pieces of a puzzle he didn't want to solve clicking into place with a finality that left him feeling trapped.

As if on cue, the frame behind them lit up. With a crack that sounded like a battering ram breaking down a fortress wall, a bright yellow-orange light illuminated the plaza in a sudden, blinding flash. The light turned into a vortex inside the frame, swirling with an energy that seemed to pull at the very air around it, promising wonders and horrors beyond imagination.

The formation began moving behind the young man he had stood beside a while ago, their steps synchronized in a rhythmic march that matched the pulsing of the portal. Before entering, the young noble paused beside the elder to exchange a few words, their conversation too low to be heard but intense enough to be felt. The elder's hand rested on the noble's shoulder—a gesture that seemed both a blessing and a burden—before the noble nodded, turned toward the portal, and vanished inside.

Before he knew it, he stood in front of the portal. The strange energy made his four arms tingle beneath his cloak as wagons with supplies, pulled by armored beasts with glowing eyes, passed through the entrance. Then it was his time to step inside. His heart hammered in his chest just as it had the first time he entered a dungeon. He closed his eyes, his four arms clenching into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking with the strain, and took the step.

As he stepped out on the other side, the first thing that caught his eye was the lush green vegetation all around him. The air hung thick with the scent of strange flowers and damp earth—a stark contrast to the sterile wasteland of his own world. A sky as blue as ice swirled with reds and purples while a singular sun shone down on them, casting long shadows that danced like phantoms on the vibrant grass. Dead beasts littered the ground around the portal, their strange forms twisted in death, while the men who stepped through first cleaned their weapons with practiced efficiency, their faces grim and set.

Dahul turned and saw that a mountain range stretched across the horizon behind him. He got pushed further into the space of soft green vegetation, before turning around again and moving deeper in. Then he saw something else in the distance: a dark shape pierced the sky, towering higher than any mountain over the plains, its form so massive that it seemed to defy the very laws of nature.