Kevin May

As Turen rode the lift system deeper into the mines, he watched the light from the room he entered shrink smaller and smaller above him until it blinked out altogether. The scent of freshly baked bread and various flavors of tea was replaced by the smell of cold, wet stone and musty air.

Turen, once a member of the long-abandoned Keeper’s Faction, was a Transport being, immortal to natural causes of death on Agotis. He had been part of the Crystal Wardens since before the catastrophic event that caused the collapse of land, the rerouting of rivers, and the destruction of several towns along the War Stream—an event known as the Fury Dam Incident.

“A Tier 3 crystal,” he said to himself. “That’s what caused it.” The lift struggled to maintain a consistent speed as it descended, jerking and lurching as the pulleys stuck to the old cables guiding it downward.

Turen reached into his bag and pulled out the paperwork granting him and the Encapsis Carver access to the restricted area of the Athian mines. The lift jerked to a brief stop before creaking and, with a sudden jolt, began moving again. The five-foot-diameter mechanical sphere next to Turen rolled slightly before he steadied its motion with his hand. The metal shell was smooth and cold, consisting of several plates layered on a collapsible frame representing its spine, where hundreds of coiled mechanical legs rested patiently, waiting to be deployed to extract and transport Agotis Crystals.

As the lift stopped at the bottom of the shaft, the sound of hissing steam filled the air, and the gate slowly opened. Opposite Turen stood a short, wide-framed man with a thin mustache and a hard hat embedded with a glowing crystal.

“Aye,” the miner said, holding a clipboard and leaning against a Cranelock—a scorpion-themed mechanical loader that traveled on small spheres and used a crane-like tail to lift heavy items. “That must be an Encapsis Carver,” he added, pointing at the metal sphere Turen had been sharing the lift with.

“Yes, and I really hope it’s not needed,” Turen replied, grimacing as he rolled the large metal sphere next to the Cranelock and handed the miner his paperwork. “Moving this thing is trouble—it’s heavy, awkward, and can easily get away from you.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the miner said, glancing at the documents. “I’ve never seen one myself. You Wardens keep them to yourselves.”

The miner activated the Cranelock’s control panel, and a soft white glow began to emit from his throat. He maneuvered the Cranelock to lift the sphere onto its back. Together, the two men, accompanied by the mechanical scorpion hauling the Encapsis, descended farther into the caverns. The only light came from the crystal embedded in the miner’s hard hat and the faint glow from his throat.

“By the way, my name’s Tresh,” the miner said as he locked the controls on the Cranelock, allowing it to roll forward unattended. He turned to look at Turen, the crystal light casting odd shadows on the stone walls.

“I’m Turen,” the veteran Warden replied, keeping a keen eye on the Encapsis shifting back and forth on the Cranelock as it rolled over uneven terrain.

They walked in silence for a while, the sound of the Cranelock’s gears grinding over jagged ground mixing with the faint creaking of the Encapsis’s chains.

“So,” Tresh said, breaking the silence, “I’ve been doing this for a few years now and haven’t ever met one of you Crystal Wardens. Never unearthed a raw Agotis before either, so imagine my surprise when we did! I’m not even sure if it’s a Tier 3 or not, you know? They’re kind of hard to measure when they’re still encased.”

Turen listened without interrupting.

“Janice was against calling you guys,” Tresh continued. “Said it might not even be Agotis, much less a Tier 3. But I wasn’t about to risk the mines blowing up tainting my name. I’d rather come in on my day off than deal with that.”

He paused for a moment before adding, “Janice doesn’t know, anyway. She’s younger than me, but since she went to the university, she thinks she knows more. Maybe she does. But what a chance to take, right?”

Turen studied Tresh’s face as the miner rambled, noting the lack of any visible crystal corruption. The miner’s small brown eyes were shaded by thick eyebrows, and the skin around them was smooth and unblemished—a sign that he hadn’t been affected by prolonged exposure to Agotis energy, putting Turen slightly at ease.

“You speak like you understand the dangers of an Agotis crystal reacting to its environment,” Turen said, stopping his march. Tresh took a few steps ahead before turning back.

“I’ve heard the story of Fury Dam, just like everyone else,” Tresh replied, flipping a switch on the Cranelock, which halted its movement and dimmed the glow in his throat slightly.

He looked at Turen’s face, hoping for a visual cue or masterfully crafted verbal explanation that would ease his own thoughts.

“You’re right to worry,” Turen said as he walked to the cave wall and ran a gloved hand along the glowing veins of amber and brown stone.

“See these veins?” Turen asked, pointing at the pulsing glow. “This is called Ironstone. It’s cosmically linked to Tharion, the Root Celestial, and contains a fragment of their life force. If you were to find, say, a Tier 3 Ironstone, and it reacted to its surroundings, it could implode—consuming everything within its radius and then releasing it back violently into the atmosphere.”

Turen fell silent, flashes of the Fury Dam playing over his vision. He had fought against the council for months, arguing that releasing a Tier 3 crystal to the Forgewright Assembly was too dangerous. But in the end, they had decided progress was worth the risk.

The result would linger on Ikkotha for centuries.

The fertile grasslands northeast of A’Call, the floating city and Ikkotha’s major trade hub, had been transformed overnight. Two major trade routes were destroyed, and the towns along them soon followed. The land hadn’t recovered in over 1,500 years. Turen could still picture standing on the cliffs overlooking the desolation, feeling the weight of responsibility for the devastation below.

Tresh stood silent as he nervously watched the still frame of the warden.

“So… does that mean the bigger the crystal, the more powerful it is?” Tresh asked hesitantly, pulling off his glove and placing a trembling hand on his throat. Beneath the skin, he could feel the small, stone-like crystal glowing faintly.

Turen watched anxiety and curiosity paint their colors on Tresh’s face, causing him to soften his tone.

“Not necessarily,” Turen said, kneeling so they were eye level. “The crystals in the bodies of those born on Agotis, like yours, are gifts—placed there by the seven celestials who watch over this world. Those crystals,” he continued, gesturing toward the faint glow in Tresh’s throat, “are far more powerful than ore-based ones because they’re tied to your essence.”

“But they grow,” Tresh said quickly. “I’ve seen it! Veterans from the Fa’Doll war had palm-sized ember crystals protruding from their stomachs. I’ve seen followers of Illythia with purple ones visible between their eyes.”

“Easy,” Turen said, standing and gesturing for them to keep moving. “They grow when they absorb energy. But over a normal lifetime, even a heavy magic user might only have one crystal reach palm size. A couple of others might grow, but they’ll be much smaller and less noticeable.”

He nodded toward the Cranelock, and Tresh snapped out of his daze, quickly replacing his glove. “Right, right,” Tresh muttered as he flipped the lever on the Cranelock. The glow in his throat brightened, and they resumed their pace. The sound of spinning gears, rocks crunching beneath the Cranelock’s orbs, and the creaking chains holding the Encapsis echoed off the stone walls, traveling back to the lift before fading on their ascent.