Las Vegas, Farewells and the Deep Tunnel

By night, Lerantor’s Hub felt like one endless truckers’ tavern.

Their group sat around a crackling fire, plates piled high with roasted meat balanced on their knees, mugs heavy in hand.

Marcus raised his drink toward the merchants and drivers, then chugged it back in one long pull.

“Ahhh! Man, this takes me straight back to our road trip to Vegas! Remember that, Gus?”

Gus leaned back with a crooked grin, exhaling like smoke.

“Hell yeah I remember. That was one fucked-up trip.”

Tizia cocked her head, whiskers twitching.

“…Las… Vegas? I’ve wandered plenty of continents, but I’ve never heard of such a place.”

The others fell quiet, leaning in.

Tizia grinned. “…Well? Don’t leave us hanging. Tell us!”

Marcus’ eyes lit up, finger stabbing the night sky.

“Picture it: middle of a desert, nothing but sand for miles! Then bam: outta nowhere, this city explodes into view. A city that never sleeps, burning brighter than a thousand torches. In giant towers, people drink, gamble, and forget their sorrows!... Until they wake up with even more sorrows...”

Tizia blinked, torn between disbelief and fascination.

“Oh, and the concerts!” Gus barked, suddenly fired up. “Remember that Elvis knockoff with his guitar? Fuckin’ killed it!”

Lis tilted her head. “…A guitar? What’s that?”

“Oh, right!” Gus snapped his fingers. “Got one in the trunk, I'll just show you!”

He disappeared a moment, then came back grinning with a scratched-up guitar in hand. He struck a few chords, rough, but surprisingly clean in tone.

Then he launched into song, his gravelly voice rolling over the campfire:

“There is… a house in New Orleans…

They call the Rising Sun…”

The sound carried across the camp and a few merchants turned, nodding to the beat, some humming along.

Lis’ eyes sparkled, Bromor thumped his mug in rhythm.

When Gus finished, the only sound was the fire’s crackle, until applause burst out all around.

Caeriel, arms folded, frowned. “…S-such a shameless song. I don’t like it.”

Gus smirked, resting the guitar across his knees.

“Shameless? Sweetheart, that’s cultural heritage. Or would you rather I serenade you with a love song instead?”

“From you? Absolutely not!” she snapped, cheeks faintly flushed. Her gaze darted awkwardly over the grinning faces around her before dropping to the ground.

Marcus couldn’t take it anymore and he snatched the guitar with a laugh.

“Dude, gimme that. I got the perfect song for the two of you!”

He strummed lightly at first, then raised his voice in a mock ballad:

“…Gus and Carrie, Gus and Carrie, Gus and Carrie, Gus and Carrie…”

Then, with a sudden crash of strings, he bellowed with absurd passion:

“MARCUS! MARCUS! MARCUS! MARCUS!”

The camp stared in stunned silence at first, but as he repeated the first lines, some voices joined in, until everyone was chanting in unison at the top of their lungs.

Only Caeriel leapt up in fury, flustered, waving her arms.

“S-Stop! Stop playing right now! Cease this nonsense at once! I… I don’t want you singing my name! And besides, it’s Caeriel! Hey! Are you listening!?”

But her protests drowned beneath the roaring chant of the crowd.

---

By morning, merchants were already hitching their beasts, folding tarps, tightening ropes and the first wheels groaned as the caravans readied to move.

Tizia stood with arms crossed, watching the group pack up.

“Well, one thing’s certain,” she purred with a grin. “You kept us entertained last night.”

“…Aw, that was nothing,” Marcus smirked. “If you ever want a real party, you should hire us as wedding planners.”

Tizia laughed, shaking her head. “Take care of each other. Who knows if our paths will ever cross again.”

Caeriel elbowed Marcus sharply. “Go on. Pay her.”

“What? Why always me!?” Marcus groaned, dragging out his coin purse. “I’ve been footing the bill for everything! Do I look like a damn charity?”

“Dude, quit your whining,” Gus barked with a grin. “You married into royalty, remember? Means you’re loaded, you rich bastard.”

Marcus gaped in protest, but Tizia cut in with a throaty laugh, waving him off.

“Put your silver away. For the fun you gave us, I’ll take no payment. Just repay the favor: help someone else when they’re in trouble. That’s enough.”

The group thanked the old caravan leader warmly.

She raised her hand in farewell as her wagons rolled out into the dust, leaving the Golf once more alone by the roadside.

Gus stretched, cracking his back, flexing his demon arm.

“All right, people… last stretch.”

---

The sun climbed higher as the Golf rattled its way north along the mountain road.

Behind it, Gus was bent low, shoulders straining, his demon arm steaming.

“Don’t you fuckin’ quit on me now, handy… just a little more… push, damn it…!”

At last, a wooden sign pointed ahead, where the mountain wall rose up.

No open cavern, no tunnel, only black stone carved with faded runes.

Caeriel leaned out the window, deadpan.

“You can stop now. We’ve arrived.”

“I can fuckin’ see that!” Gus spat back, wiping sweat from his brow.

With one last heave, he shoved the Golf over the last rise before collapsing into the grass, chest heaving.

Seconds later, the group gathered at the foot of the massive gate, where the carved runes pulsed faintly on the stone.

Marcus stuffed his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat.

“…So, uh… what now? Doesn’t look very open to me.”

Bromor stepped forward, slow and reverent, while his eyes gleamed in the dim light, as he pressed both palms against the ancient stone.

“The Deep Tunnel… For centuries it carried the machines of my folk beneath these mountains. But only my kin know the order to waken it's gates."

He drew a deep breath and pressed his fingers against the carved symbols, one by one, activating them in a specific sequence.

The mountain rumbled, splitting with a loudly crack, and slowly, the gate yawned open to reveal a vast black passage behind.

A low rumble shivered through the stone, then the walls lit up, until row upon row of crystals blazed to life, glowing like neon tubes in a warehouse.

Darkness fled, revealing a broad corridor, its walls smoothed by ancient tools, with metal rails gleaming down the center, vanishing into an endless tunnel.

Bromor turned, chest swelling with pride.

“…From here, the rails’ll carry us straight to Ironmaw.”

For a moment, awe held the group in silence.

Then Marcus raised a brow.

“…Cool. So, uh… what are the odds this thing isn’t full of giant spiders?”