2412, Rab 15, Velpa

When they said Gaimouth was not an ideal tourist destination, it wasn't a lie, and Sera was just discovering that now. After spending almost an entire week traveling at the back of a cart pulled by a rather temperate aksaba, he was more than glad to hop out and stretch his legs. Being cooped inside with the merchandise reminded him too much of when he was locked inside his room for security purposes.

Only this time, he wasn't being protected from anything. And as he propped the cart's door open and regarded the ground, it became certain he threw himself into danger on his own accord.

His throat had long gotten used to feeling dry, the absence of saliva coating his tongue becoming a welcome situation. If he was invited to speak, he doubted he could produce legible words without rasping like a plagued keiju. He crawled out of the cart, giving the merchant he hitched a ride with a brief nod. The merchant was an acquaintance of Neylan's father, and Sera's friend was kind enough to introduce them.

Said merchant, a youthful half-blood who couldn't have grown past ten, hopped to the ground and dusted her hands. "That's your stop, zagrun," she said, addressing Sera in what seemed like her native tongue. Half-blood language, perhaps? "And it's as far as I can go without the aksaba's hooves burning off."

"Thank you for your time," Sera replied, ducking his head to stress his point. "What do you require? Versallis? Bultouine?"

"Anything kalta sigra would do," the merchant said, throwing her dark green hair behind her shoulder.

"Meet me back here after a few hours, and I'll double it when we get back to Calca," he replied.

An amused smirk curled up in the merchant's features. "You know how to strike up a bargain, zagrun," she said. "Deal."

Sera narrowed his eyes. "Swear it on Daexis' name."

The merchant scoffed, bracing her hips with her gloved hands. "I wasn't one to believe in gods, but if that's what shoves peace up your toes," she cleared her throat and put a closed fist by her collarbone. "In Daexis' name, I swear I will wait for you at the foot of this ridiculously hot volcano, and when we get back to Calca—with the zagrun, of course—I will receive two kalta sigra of any size as the zagrun's fare. May the great goddess of oaths strike me dead if I break this vow. Happy?"

He didn't know about the sheer sardonicism of the whole thing, but he'd avail. Besides, he didn't want to waste the time he merely stole from his palace duties and other duties in the studio. It's better to let this one go. Just this time, though.

The aksaba grunted as it pulled away from its stop, the merchant settling comfortably on her designated seat behind the reins. Sera blew a humid breath and tested shifting his weight from foot to foot. He didn't sink into the soft mound, even though streaks of blazing orange curled in and out of it in hypnotizing patterns. His fingers wrapped around the strap of his travel satchel, providing him the last burst of courage.

The cart dropped him off a few fortweres off the base of the volcano, and he understood why the merchant had to stop. He whirled behind him to find a flat expanse of orange-and-black plains extending up to where the sandy dunes of Calca and the silt of Gligan met with it. When he faced the volcano again, his gaze landed on the set of rocky ledges climbing all the way up, starting from huge slabs at the foot before tapering into small pebbles beyond the line of low-lying clouds where the crater probably was. The aksaba had to be as nimble as a troupe dancer if it was to clear the ascent.

No other soul was with him, and the citizens of Gaimouth, at least those who prefer to stay out of the daily, bustling noise in Calca or Gligan, lived fortweres off the volcano's base. It's only proper, as the air turned more rancid and acidic the farther they went from the rim of the Gaimouth community. If he were to die here, no one would find his form or the flames he would leave behind until it was too late. Hell, he might even join with the magma simmering underneath the surface.

That's not the way he wanted to go.

Sera pursed his lips and fished his vest from his bulging satchel. No use thinking of it now. He was here on semi-official terms, claiming he'd rather inspect the state of the prison in Gaimouth and report back to the Potentate. He'd check the security, the facilities, and the overall state of the prison, but he was truly here for one thing—to verify the truth to the rabid fires exploding from the ground.

He stalked towards the first layers of rocky ledges and noted they're like the mounds of hardened lava scattered around the plain, except that they're stuck to the sides of the volcano's incline. If it's hot in Calca, Gaimouth was another story. He hadn't even made it to the mound's top and sweat already poured off his hairline and the back of his neck. His palms slicked with moisture whenever they came too close to a bright, magma streak. Was he supposed to climb all the way to the top? Gods, that'd kill him for sure.

No wonder why people weren't fond of this place. It's simply not conducive for anything other than hopelessness and melancholy.

Still, he didn't pledge to lose two kalta sigra for nothing. He gritted his teeth and heaved his form up the first mound. That's one. A million more to go. Did he mention every breath felt like someone smoked oshella up his nose, without the sickly sweet smell and the dreamy delirium it induced? Also, the air was so thick with ash the clouds looked gray without an ounce of rain and the atmosphere looked as if it's doused with diluted charcoal.

As he trudged towards the second mound, he spotted some sort of booth tucked between a gap made by fallen chunks of the volcano's crater. It's a spire of some sort, but a rickety table with a fire sprite soldier sitting behind it lounged under its shade. What was this about?

"Excuse me," Sera tugged at the vest he wore, showing he's here from the capital and was not to be slighted. "Do you know the quickest way to the top?"

The soldier had his chin resting on his palm, and at Sera's approach, he started turning towards the source of the movement in his periphery. When Sera's voice and the sight of his vest registered, the soldier scrambled up and gave Sera a quick salute. "Welcome to Gaimouth, Your Highness," the soldier squeaked. He couldn't have been a year older than Sera, and he's already somewhat exiled here. What did he even do? "We have a way up. Follow me."

Before Sera could tell the soldier to ease out of the rigid tension, the soldier lumbered from his table and towards the depths of the spaces between the accidental spires. Sera gritted his teeth and clutched the strap of his satchel tighter. He craned his neck up, and instead of seeing the underbelly of the volcano, only darkness and rough rocks greeted him. The smell of sulfur was thicker in this part, almost making him double over in a coughing fit. Damn. This was nasty. How did these people manage?

The soldier led him towards another clearing long ways from the table underneath the spire. This new place was like the mound they left, except it was reasonably higher from the ground and he's looking at a different face of the volcano. Did they really go past the crater? Through that little hole? Wow.

"Kindly step inside, Your Highness," the soldier's voice complimented the ring of metal hinges whining. He gestured towards a platform railed with welded strips of dark metal. Sera glanced at the complicated network of cables wound around enormous pulleys eventually ending on a horizontal wooden pole hanging on what appeared to be the platform's roof.

Sera swallowed his fear, hoping it'd ease the scratchy pad at the back of his throat. He shifted into the platform, noting how the boards beneath his foot creaked under his weight. When the soldier climbed aboard and closed the gate behind him, blood drained from Sera's face. There's going to be two of them inside? Just with his weight, the platform felt like it'd cave. What would happen if the soldier's added mass ripped through the rusty nails holding this junk together? What about his armor? That's heavy too, right?

"Don't sweat it, Your Highness," the soldier said, gripping the wooden pole with his bare hands. It's not like Sera was planning on shedding any water left in his form. Just that the climate demanded it from him at every turn. "Remember to hold on to the rails. Don't ever let go."

Sera had never clamped his slick fingers around the lukewarm metal that fast. The soldier, if he noticed the internal panic Sera dealt with, didn't bother showing it. Instead, he yanked the wooden pole, eliciting a streaking screech from the old mechanisms. Sera's heart pounded against his chest as the platform started rising, taking them along with it.

The soldier...well, soldiered on, gripping the cables and dragging it down every period to avoid stalling. Slowly, the view of Gaimouth's plain revealed itself. Sera brushed the hair off his forehead which was stirred by the rush of wind driven by the platform's steady motion. The streaks of magma threatening to break through the mounds of hardened lava looked like artful splashes of paint across a gray canvas. It reminded Sera of the abstract landscapes he once saw in the galleries in Nanvera. There really had been a time in his scant life when all he did was gallivant around in Lanteglos, seeing everything he could before he withered inside his territory for the rest of his life.

He almost jumped out of his skin when the platform jerked when the platform's roof hit some sort of rocky ceiling. The soldier couldn't hold his chuckle off, letting it out as a disguised snort. Sera was too spooked to try and reprimand that behavior, so he averted his gaze from the height the platform now hung from. A walkway suspended a short distance from a triangular opening met the platform's edge and accommodated its gate when the soldier unclasped its lock and swung it outward.

"After you, Your Highness," the soldier ducked his head at him. "I have to get back to my post below, so I'll turn you over to the Warden. He should be on his way."

Of course, with the advanced word of his arrival, they were bound to be prepared to the teeth. Sera's teeth dug on his lips as he edged out of the swinging platform and hooked a leg towards the walkway. When he was safely half-planted on the other side, he yanked his other leg free. He was grateful for the stability of the walkway, but the view it gave him from underneath scared the living embers out of him.

Keeping care to not let his shaky knees show, he scrambled across the walkway until he disappeared into the triangular opening. He didn't even notice that the soldier brought the platform down or that he's alone in the middle of arguably the most depressing place in Umazure. This wasn't a great experience.

Then, his attention settled on the world beyond the woven rails guarding the continuation of the walkway. A well of lava still bubbling from the deep caldera knocked the breath out of his lungs. Acrid fumes curled off the surface, bathing the entire space bright orange. They didn't even need torches in this place, and that's evidenced by the empty sconces he passed.

The layout of the prison resembled many of the sunken pits in Gligan, starting from the layers of ledges lining the walls to the cave-like pocks hollowed out from the walls. The main difference were the sparkling grails blocking every hole, reminding Sera of the real purpose of this place.

"Your Highness! Nice of you to drop by!" a hearty voice rippled through the space, making Sera flinch.

He whirled to find the source, and his gaze landed on a buff sprite sauntering towards him with such a laid-back gait. Despite taking up most of the width of the walkway, his shoulders almost touching the metal rails of the cells, his face remained open and carefree.

"Warden," Sera greeted. "Would you prefer to be called by your title or by name?"

A hand lashed out and tapped Sera on the shoulder. It probably was a light pat, but to him, it felt like the warden was trying to push him off and send him into the frothing lava. "To business, are ya, my boy?" the Warden guffawed. "Call me what you want, but my name is Giljor, from the family Sandov."

Of course, he wouldn't fail to mention that. The Sandovs were a long line of prison wardens to the point it became an honor to serve as one every generation. They have been here for so long it became impossible to separate Gaimouth from their family name.

Sera righted himself, massaging his throbbing arm before his form toppled over for real. "I came under the Potentate's banner," he said. "And to ask you a few questions of my own."

The Warden, Giljor, rubbed his hands, making the braces lining his arms clink against each other. Dressing in full armor save for a helmet in the middle of a steaming volcano was an entirely different level of masculinity. "Shall we get started on the tour?" he asked, a little too eager to show off this sad lump of rock. It shouldn't need to exist if the dynasty cared about the welfare of its citizens even if they're criminals.

They started walking at Sera's brief nod. Giljor waved a hand on the endless array of dim cells. "This is a cell. And that one is another," he said. "Everything on this floor are cells. The living quarters are in the highest rung."

Sera knitted his eyebrows. "Living quarters?" he asked. "Do the other guards live inside the volcano? In this heat? In this acrid air?"

"It's no problem, Your Highness. Us fire sprites can live through any amount of heat, and we're tough," Giljor coughed into his fist. "Although, I should report to the Potentate that the number of breathing problems increased from the last inspection."

Sera dug a pad of cut parchment from his satchel. His graphite stick poised over it. "When was that?" he prodded.

Giljor rolled his shoulders, making his vambrace clink against his shoulder pads. "A little over two years ago? All I remember was that it was in a Jyda. Oh, I hate those Jyda jeredis. Acting like they're more important than the other days. I mean, why can't they hold the inspection on a Daleth? Or a Kindreth?"

Sera blinked, opening his mouth to say something else. Giljor beat him to it when he whirled towards Sera. "That's why I like you, Your Highness," the warden said. "Dropping by on a Velpa? Splendid!"

Sera didn't bother saying Velpa was just one day off from being a Jyda. He didn't need the warden's ire on his shoulders, and he should get this over with while Giljor was in good spirits. "Can you describe those breathing problems?" he asked. "Was it because of the fumes from the caldera?"

Giljor waved his hand in the air as he lumbered past more cells. "Bah. Those weaklings don't know what hit them," he said. "If they eat enough eglio, they would have weathered through. I swear, the water from those things could have been from the Nourahalme itself."

The fountain of youth? Sera shook his head to remove any reference of that mythical place from his thoughts and the conversation he's trying to steer in the right direction. A set of stairs curved up, and the warden took it without hesitation, forcing Sera to follow. With the spaces between steps, the image of his foot slipping through the gaps flashed before his eyes.

"A-and the prisoners?" Sera didn't bother hiding the relief flooding his tone when they cleared the stairs and started their walk anew on another floor. "Are they having problems in their breathing too?"

Giljor hummed. "One or two," he said, and that was it. "It's not like they stay for long, either."

Sera's steps screeched to a halt, making the warden glance over his shoulder to see what the commotion was about. "What's happening to the prisoners?" He narrowed his eyes at the warden. "Are they being taken elsewhere?"

"Just some rehab camp," Giljor answered. "No need to concern yourself with that, Your Highness. Those rebels had it coming."

A frown pulled the corners of Sera's lips down. Almost all of the cells they passed were empty, as if Gaimouth was merely a connecting point. Something—or someone—periodically took prisoners, bringing them elsewhere. The question was—where? And what did they need from Lanbridhr's prisoners?

"What about security?" Sera scribbled his suspicions in his pad. He'd have to go through it with the Embers when he got back. It'd be a good series of articles.

Giljor rattled off some facts on how they conduct their patrols. He explained the entry and exit points as well as the evacuation routes.

"What happens if the volcano erupts?" Sera asked.

The warden harrumphed. "I get my boys out," he said. "That's it."

"And the prisoners?"

Giljor's face was shrouded with a different shadow when he turned to answer Sera's question. "I leave them behind," he said. "They're not worthy to be saved."

Sera jotted it on his pad as well, his gut coiling into tight knots. Later. His thoughts about this would pour later. "And my last question for today's inspection," he said. "Have you received reports of columns of uncontrollable fire bursting from the ground?"

At that, Giljor braced his hips and threw his head back in a loud guffaw. "There's no such thing as an unruly flame," he said. "Where did you get these ideas, boy?"

Being called "boy" while wearing a royal vest was something else, but that's the least of Sera's concerns. "Maybe some of your soldiers mentioned something close?" he tried again.

Seeing his sincerity, Giljor's features eased a bit. "Hmm. One of the nubs below might have said something the other day," he said. "Didn't pay attention to it since that one's a bit loony. Must be from all these fumes. I dunno."

Well, that's about it. Sera had nothing more to extract from this man, as simple as his brain and trains of thought were. He's the type who would give every secret he knew with the right triggers, and he couldn't give out what he didn't have.

"Thank you for your time, Warden," Sera tucked the pad back into his satchel and gave one last bow. As if on cue, they happened upon a platform hovering from the lip of the walkway. One glance past the walkway's influence told Sera it'd deposit him at the rim of the pool of lava. Not a comforting thought, at least. "I shall be off."

Giljor leaned over and gripped the wooden pole hanging from the roof as Sera stepped into the platform without much of the unease plaguing his system earlier. "You're always welcome in Gaimouth, Your Highness," he said. "As long as it's not a Jyda."

Before it registered in Sera's mind how ominous that sounded, the warden yanked the pole, waking the pulleys into action. Sera's world blurred in a rush. He was certain he left his stomach level with the walkway.