Skye clung to the cliff face, fingers cramping as he searched for the next handhold. The ledge remained far above, and so was rest. Slick with sweat, his hand slipped. Scrambling, yelping, he clawed at the stone until he caught a pocket. In the churning darkness, he rested for a couple of heartbeats, chest heaving, then broke into a shaky chuckle.

  After chalking his hands, he resumed the climb, slower now.

  Beneath yawned the Void: a chasm so black it swallowed the glow of the gemstones fixed into his hard hat. Some claimed it was bottomless. He wasn’t keen on finding out.

  Step by step he ascended, burdened by his backpack and the fear of falling. He could turn back. The path down was easier, and no one would know he’d given up. But this wasn’t just about rescuing trapped miners or impressing some callous crew leader. With every inch he climbed, he earned his place beneath the sky.

  He wedged his fingers into a fissure and heaved himself upward, biting down his pain. This was nothing compared to what he’d been through in the past months. No matter how far that edge was, he’d reach it. Because without a chance at reaching his dream, life held no meaning.

  At last, his hand crested the top. With a final push, he hauled himself over and collapsed, panting, then laughing with euphoria. It had taken him forty-five minutes of navigating and climbing to get here. After some rest, he secured his rope to a thick stalagmite, testing the knots twice. The way down would be easier now, even for the stonified miners.

  He marched forward, the photrine gem barely carving a path through the darkness. A month ago, he’d stumbled on the spot Rierana mentioned and had been chased off by armed guards. He only hoped the path was still intact. And that Basalt hadn’t reached the miners by now.

  A wall blocked his path. Holding his breath, he searched for the gap, and only breathed when he sensed an airflow.

  He’d made it.

  The passage was narrow, jagged edges tugging at his clothes and scraping his hard hat. He held his breath; some animal had recently used this place as its toilet. The earth vibrated underneath, dirt shifting between his fingers as he crawled. Was it an incoming cave-in, or someone channeling nearby? Either way, the stones this deep were deeply contaminated with fantasia; it wouldn’t give easily.

  On the other side, he straightened, stretching as his joints cracked and stiffened. Sounds drifted from ahead—groans, murmurs—growing louder as he crept forward. Then he stepped into a wide chamber blocked by a mountain of rubble.

  Over three dozen miners huddled together, their bodies were half-stone, expressions locked in agony. Cracks split their hardened skin; their hair had stiffened and snapped at odd angles. Those still able to move flinched at the sight of him entering their dim circle. Murmurs spread. Sleepers who’d given up were nudged awake. Hope reignited in their eyes; they wouldn’t die today.

  “Void below, lad!” an old man gasped. One of his arms was frozen mid-scratch, stuck to his cheek. “How’d you get here? The only thing back there’s the Void.”

  Skye grinned. “If anyone’s too bored with the Deeps, I know a way out.”

  **********

  Lowering the injured miners by rope had taken time and effort, but after crossing the Triangular Pit, they marched through the Alektom’s gemfarm and back into the Gateway.

  Skye supported another miner to safety. Her legs creaked with every motion, her arms locked in a stiff embrace. Yet she smiled, whispering thanks as he handed her over to a group of volunteers.

  Thankfully, no one had broken any limbs, or suffered internal hemorrhage. After enough rest, the petrification would subside, as if it had never claimed them.

  Word of his success had spread fast. More people were arriving, eager to help. With every miner rescued, every cheer, every clap on the back, Skye’s heart swelled, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

  Then Basalt arrived.

  The massive man stomped over, a murderous glare in his eyes. A large geodoise gem glinted with deep auburn light inside his gauntlet. A Geo astrum. A weapon used by stonemason channelers to control the very earth.

  “I told ya to go back to the city!” Basalt bellowed, sweat glistening down his half-petrified face.

  Had he been channeling all this time? Wait, could he have dug all the way through and discovered the miners were gone?

  Skye froze in amazement. He’d heard tales about how Basalt once bested a stonebear, how the large man was supposed to be the strongest stonemason in the Deeps. But he’d always thought them to be rumors or mere boasting.

  “You don’t get to order me around, Basalt,” Skye replied, standing his ground. “I’m not your underling.”

  Basalt’s teeth ground like gravel. “This… stunt of yers is foolish,” he spat. “Ya could’ve gotten yerself killed. Ya could’ve gotten others killed. Yer not ready for the Deeps.”

  Skye wanted to scream, to lunge at this arrogant ogre. Even after he succeeded at saving everyone, Basalt was still blaming him over hypotheticals. Who did he think he was to belittle and judge him in front of everyone? Barely he held back, clenching his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms.

  He forced a smile. “That’s a bold claim coming from someone who’s useless in a cave-in.”

  Basalt’s face darkened. Dust swiveled around his boots. The cave shivered. “How dare ya—”

  “No, how dare you!” Skye shouted, stepping forward. “You don’t get to tell me what I’m worthy of. I’ve made over a hundred runs through the Deeps. Alone. If my maps and scars don’t prove I belong down here, then the fact I beat you should.”

  His breath caught as the words flooded out. He locked eyes with the large stonemason, refusing to look away. Everyone around paused to watch, seemingly holding their breath. Somewhere, a pebble clattered.

  Basalt’s face broke into a smirk. “Gideom warned ya had a mouth. But I never expected someone so little to talk this big.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Skye scoffed. As if size had anything to do with skill.

  “Ya can buy prettier maps from a dozen shops in Troqua,” Basalt said, voice cold. “And squeezin’ through a couple o’ crevices don’t make ya a prospector, regardless of yer success today.”

  Skye rolled his eyes. Troqua’s cartographers sold glorified sketches compared to his work. And the path he took to the trapped miners wasn’t the only crevice he’d discovered. His more detailed maps were back home, but Basalt would never see those.

  Calmly, he slung his pack to the ground and unfastened the lid, pretending to search for his canteen. He angled the flap just enough for Basalt to glimpse the equipment nestled inside: rope spun from steel-spider silk, his harness made from mineralmander hide, gleaming quickdraws, polished nuts and hexes, handcrafted by channeling metalsmiths. Look, the gear whispered. I’ve found enough gemstones to afford these. Imagine what else I’ve kept secret.

  Basalt licked his lips.

  “Alright, alright,” the large man said. “I’ll admit ya’ve got the grit and the kind of dumb luck every good prospector needs, but yer wastin’ yer life. Look at these wretched coalheads.” He gestured to the gathered workers, uncaring for their reactions. “They’re stinkin’, starvin’, breakin’ their backs for scraps. Hundreds die down here every year. Hundreds more crippled. After a while, the petrification doesn’t let go no matter how long ya spend away.” He tapped his stone-scarred cheek. “Look at me hideous face! I was doin’ ya a favor by tellin’ ya out.

  “Do ya want to end up like us? Is this the future ya want?”

  For a long while, Skye said nothing.

  Fear of this fate had long rooted in him, whispering at the back of his mind at all times. He looked around at the older versions of himself who’d long given up on scrubbing clean the grime from the creases of their faces and under their nails. Even now, in moments of safety, their eyes were hollow as if something was supposed to be there, but it was stolen.

  It wasn’t just the Deeps’ fantasia or the choking atmosphere that drained their spirits. Twelve hours of labor a day, every day, ground down any soul.

  How many years had they spent roaming underground? How many had ever seen the sky? How many were bound to die in some sequestered cave, hungry, alone, and miserable?

  He shuddered.

  “I’m not staying here that long,” he said. “Prospecting is merely a means to an end.”

  “Ha! Really?!” Basalt hollered. “And what’s yer end, boy? What grand prize do ya expect to reach?”

  “A gemfarm,” Skye replied instantly.

  “A gemfarm? A gemfarm?!” Basalt howled with laughter. The gathered workers scoffed or chuckled, shaking their heads. “Do you know how many had been discovered in the past century? One. One gemfarm in a hundred years! And there are thousands divin’ into the Deeps. Every. Single. Day. Most would be lucky as a duke to find a gemgarden in their lifetime. What makes ya believe that ya, among everyone else, will find a gemfarm?"

  Skye held his gaze, ignoring the rising murmurs through the crowd. “If you’re not searching for a gemfarm, you’re wasting your life as a prospector.”

  “Indeed!” Basalt boomed with such vehemence, Skye couldn’t tell if it was in approval or mockery. The giant man leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Suppose ya pull off a miracle and find a gemfarm, what then?”

  “I’ll go to the surface.”

  Basalt drew back, frowning. “Ya don’t need a gemfarm to buy a ticket to the surface. Mines work and city jobs pay more in a week than most prospectors find in a month. Coals, if yer so bent on seein’ the surface, apply for a job at Solarite.”

  Skye’s stomach twisted. Begging for the chance to see the sky was pathetic. Wasting years toiling for the price of a ticket was worse.

  “That’s not what I want,” he said quietly.

  “Then what do ya want?” Basalt asked.

  Skye looked up.

  The cavern ceiling shimmered with a plethora of photrine gems and radethyst crystals. They were meant to awe, to invoke the stars. Yet Skye felt he was trapped in an oversized tomb.

  He loathed being stuck underground. It made him feel like another stalagmite, forever reaching up, never going anywhere.

  He closed his eyes, imagining what lay beyond the tons of bedrock separating him from the surface: the white clouds drifting freely, millions of shining stars more precious than any gem in the ground, the moons, the sister suns…

  The sky.

  He sighed.

  “I don’t want to visit the surface,” he said quickly, his breath catching. “I don’t even want a house up there. I’m sick and tired of being holed up behind walls.”

  He paused to steady his breathing. Aside from his friends, no soul knew about his dreams. They were too grand, too impossible, distant as the stars, and that made them embarrassing. But those fears belonged to the old Skye, the one who hadn’t been hardened in the Deeps.

  He turned around, studying the giant mural decorating the cave, depicting the eternal battle between wardens and monsters.

  “I want to mount an expedition,” he said at last. “To leave Troqua and explore the world."

  Basalt’s eyes bulged, then he threw his head back and burst out laughing. A deep, rolling roar that echoed through the cavern, drowning out all other sounds. People stared at Skye with disbelief. Some shook their heads, others snickered, while a few rolled their eyes as they drifted away.

  Skye clenched his jaw until it hurt, tightened his fists till his knuckles were sore. But he kept his chin up all the while. Such reactions weren’t unexpected. Barring the duke’s family and their royal wardens, no one had ever left or entered the city since its founding.

  Because for eight hundred years, Troqua had been under siege by bloodthirsty elemental monsters.

  Footsteps echoed behind. The baron’s messenger emerged from the gloom, flanked by a pair of guards, gemstones glinting atop their spears.

  “Basalt Tensho,” the messenger spoke through a napkin. “Since your efforts proved useless at rescuing the miners, the baron demands his payment returned.”

  Basalt wiped tears from his eyes, ignoring the intrusion. “Never go prospectin’ sober, me da used to say. Ambition, avarice, and ardor are the best intoxicators, and adventurin’ is best done under their influence.”

  He turned to face the baron’s messenger, leaving Skye confused. “The only thing yer entitled to is me not tossin’ a damn boulder at yer swollen heads!” he bellowed, throwing a rude gesture with his gauntleted hand, the geodoise gem glinting. “I channeled for near an hour while my crewmate here risked his neck searchin’ for a way around.”

  The messenger scowled at Skye. “This child works for you?”

  “He does!” Basalt declared.

  Skye’s eyes widened. “I do?!”

  “Yes,” Basalt said? hands on hips. “Ya want in or not?”

  “I do!” Skye replied at once, almost leaping with joy.

  Basalt clapped him on the back, flashing his colorful grills. He turned to the messenger. “Now, unless ya folks want to experience a real cave-in, I suggest ya go about yer business.” He stomped a foot, making the cave tremble.

  The messenger flinched; the guards lowered their spears at once, advancing toward Basalt. Others gathered around, pointing and murmuring until a ring of people encircled the scene.

  The messenger glanced between the angry mob and the rising stones around Basalt’s feet. After a pause, he scoffed, and muttered, “This isn’t worth it.” Then waved his men to retreat.

  Basalt clapped his hands, watching as the last of the trapped miners was carried to safety. “Alright, let’s move. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

  “Where are we going?” Skye asked, hurrying after him.

  “We’re prospectors! We dive into the Deeps,” Basalt replied. “There’s a spot on yer map that looks promisin’ not far from here.”

  Skye grinned with pride, then frowned at Basalt’s hardened skin. “Wait. Now? Don’t you want to rest after all that channeling?”

  “Bah! Rest is for the lazy and the dead, me da used to say.” Basalt glanced around. “These tunnels are vacant now that everyone’s pullin’ out, fearin’ another collapse. We must seize our chance. Come, our teammates are waitin’ nearby.”

  “Teammates?” Skye repeated in wonder, savoring the word. His grin widened. “Let’s hurry then!” His heart raced with joy. He’d succeeded. He was going into the Deeps with a proper team, stepping closer towards his dream.

  “Hey!” he called after Basalt. “Don’t I get a cut of the baron’s payment?”

  “No,” Basalt replied without looking back. “That was for me channelin’ services. Also, yer share’s ten percent of whatever we find, till ya prove yer worth. Then it’s twenty-five, same as everyone.”

  “Ten?!” Skye exclaimed. “That’s robbery!”

  Basalt didn’t slow. “Call it a tax for makin’ me look the fool.”

  “That’s not fair! I’ll be working just as hard—”

  “You’ll live.” Basalt tossed a pebble at Skye’s head. “Or die tryin’.”