Ancientt (Elaine Waters)

Kryndor's Jewel parts 1-2

Added 2025-04-29 00:19:10 +0000 UTC

Born a peasant, Elixa's life is destined for poverty & suffering, but she has never been submissive to fate.

Dreaming of adventure and glory, she sets her eyes on the impossible: Building a ship that can sail the Unsailable Ocean and reach other worlds.

When she's offered an opportunity to build her legendary ship, she jumps at the chance. After all, how hard could it be to infiltrate a horde in the wildlands and extract one of its most valuable secrets?

The only thing standing in her way is a massive horde king with violet eyes, dark hair, and a growl that sends shivers down her spine.

THIS IS KRYNDOR BOOK 2. READ BOOK 1 HERE

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ELIXA | PART 1

THE UNDERHOLD

I look at the raging waves below me. The wind rocks against my body, yanking me around. My wet slippers slide on the edge, threatening to haul me off the cliff.

Ery grabs his ropes and ascends up the face of the cliff, the wheeled compartment that supports his height cranking as it lifts him.

"Get away from the edge, girl! You—"

He silences and lowers his head, working to remove the contraption form around his hips with jerky fingers.

"Apologies, Elixa. I did not mean to be so forward. I'm just used to scolding Ceryn, is all."

I smile at him. "It's alright."

Ever since his daughter left his side and became the controversial queen of Kryndor, Ery has been alone.

"Well? How do you find the compartment?"

I glance at it. "I recognize most parts and won't need Ceryn's blueprints to fix it. The copper is rusting, and I fear the ropes will snap any day now. You must stop using this."

He shakes his head. "I cannot spare the coin for the copper."

"But this is disintegrating. I'm sure if you ask Ceryn—"

He shoots me a pained look as if suggesting that he depends on his daughter is unforgiveable.

I mind my place.

"We ought to get going. It's getting dark," he says.

I nod, though I'm not looking forward to the journey to the palace. There are too many topdwellers there, leering down at me. Clutching their precious bejeweled necklaces made of the very crystals I mine in The Underhold.

I have nothing against topdwellers, but I can certainly go without their aversion. I don't know how Ceryn, a lowdweller like me, lives among such contempt.

We walk away from the cliff. The Unsailable Ocean calls for me as if it can sense my departure. The waves slammed harder, and the wind blew harder.

Ery and I return to The Underhold, walking past its giant open gates that rust like the copper in the contraption.

I look over my shoulder, at the dull blue horizon. Like a flat line waiting for me to write a story on it. Endless adventure waiting at that other side of the world.

My mother had visions of what lied past the ocean. Of a foreign land far more ancient than Kryndor, with boundless knowledge written by the gods themselves.

They called her a witch. After all, she was just a streetwalker. The title of Seer was unreachable because The Underhold decided she was soiled.

Seers must be pure. And although my mother had the kindest soul, that was not enough.

I believe her. I believe there is magic across the Unsailable Ocean. That's why my life mission has become building a ship that can withstand its hungry waves and take me across.

But today is not that day. I must go to the palace and meet with Ceryn. Although there are many secrets between us, she is my friend. We share the same attraction for the Unsailable Ocean, and that is special because most lowdwellers look at the ocean with trepidation.

The Underhold swallows me, the air instantly becoming humid. The loud chatter of lowdwellers echoes through the underground city, sounding chaotic. Scraping the tall walls, making them more rugged.

The last earthquake did quite the number on The Underhold, killing dozens, destroying dwellings, and shutting out mines. An entire ward was shut in.

And yet life carries on because that's what my people do. We recover, and we keep fighting for what little life has in store for us. It is one of our few saving graces.

The Underhold is a cruel place. Not just because of the forces of nature that make life grueling, but because of the hate we impose on eachother.

I still rememeber the smell of burning flesh when my mother was burned at a stake. That is why I can't stomach meat anymore.

I do not want this place to be my home, so I will find a new one in Zepharim. I will prove my mother's visions true by becoming the first pioneer to sail across the ocean, even if I die in the process.

Ery and I stop by my dwelling. I push past the curtain and find everything as I left it—not that I have much to my name.

My journals are undisturbed, and the cot at the corner—my bed—is tidy. I grab the blankets and give them a shake, ensuring no critter or insects found refuge under it.

Then, I grab my utility knife and swap my sandals.

My dress drapes over me like a tired rug. I was never much of a seamstress, so ugly patches cover the dress. I look like the map sprawled on my work desk.

"All right, Ery, let's face some insufferable topdwellers."

He scans me quickly, and although there is no judgement in his face, I know what he sees. My appearance will insult every noble in the palace. I am a tomboy. I crop my hair short and present myself as a young man because they get paid more handsomely than women in the mines. I dedicate little time to sewing new dresses because it takes too much time away from my research projects.

Ceryn is effortlessly beautiful; her eyes gold, and her hair is a shiny black. Her dresses are humble like mine but sewn with particular care and talent. Ceryn and I are oddities in The Underhold. We are cut from the same cloth, only that whoever cut her out used sharper scissors.

"All right, kid. Stay close. The storm is above us."

He has been calling me kid for a while now, although I am twenty-six summers old. I don't care to correct him. If he feels that he's filling some void since Ceryn left, then there's no harm in entertaining him. Ery is one of the most respectful men I've met, and that's saying plenty given how many times I've been sneered at in this hell.

I step outside and reach for the curtain covering the entrance to my dwelling.

"Elixa."

I sigh and turn around to face my father. No matter how many times I relocate, he always tracks me down. No matter how many times I tell him to kick corals, he keeps chasing me.

He looks angry. His is hair disheveled and his clothes hanging on by a thread. He's lost plenty of weight since I left our family home four years ago, and he hasn't found anyone to cook for him.

It is challenging to find a wife when you've earned yourself the title of a woman-beater.

He is yet another vrelling reason that I want to leave The Underhold. The only day he was useful was when he yanked a patch of hair from my head. I trimmed my hair and learned sometimes I'm better off pretending to be a boy.

"Stop coming to me," I grit, reaching for my blade. I'll be damned before I let him strike me again.

He glares at Ery. "Found yourself an old bastard for a husband?"

"Ery is more of a father figure than you'll ever be."

He grinds his teeth, revealing how rotten they've become, and he peers into my dwelling. Spotting the pile of journals on my desk, he scoffs. "How is your legendary ship coming along, Elixa? When will you let go of your childish dreams and marry?"

"The day the vrelling ocean stops raging." I take a step forward. "The day you stop being a boy and become a man." I take another step forward until I'm peering into his black eyes, which I inherited. "I will never become a wife. I will never live to serve a man. Now, begone. You're long dead to me."

He trembles with his rage but doesn't dare to lift a finger.

I walk past him with Ery at my heels. He has peered into a window of my life that not even Ceryn knows of.

He doesn't speak. And for that, I am grateful.

***

The journey to Arkon is treacherous. Thunder shakes the sky. A dull scream in The Underhold becomes a roar that threatens to shatter my ear drums.

The carriage jolts violently, but I welcome the motions. Figuring this is practice when I'm sailing across the Unsailable Ocean on a ship.

The two other lowdwellers in the carriage hang their head low and try to sleep, but it's impossible with the rocking of the carriage and the war in the sky.

Ery looks nervous. I don't think he's looking forward to our destination because there has been tension between him and Ceryn since she returned to the palace, though I have little insight into that.

Cold rain falls through a patch on the tarp, gathering on the bed of the carriage and wetting my feet. Ery tries to be subtle, but I notice the way he clenches his injured knee and bites his lip.

My tongue feels heavy in my mouth. My heart goes to him, but I don't know how to comfort him. I've never known affection.

We roll into the loading bay of the palace, and I hop off the carriage, my eyes instantly drawn to the architecture. Though it isn't my first time here, the sight still strikes me.

The palace is enormous and chiseled to perfection. Every tile on the floor is aligned with flawless precision; every window seam, rigid and exact. The towering columns rise with identical carvings, the vaulted ceilings meeting at points so precise it feels unnatural. Even the light filtering through the windows seems calculated, casting the halls in a perfect golden glow. Every stone, every line—all meticulously crafted, leaving no room for flaw.

An architect's heaven.

Xor Varkon appears at the loading bay—a man as measured as his palace.

I know little of the Xor, but something about his eyes unnerves me. That royal violet that's so similar to the rarest sunsets cast over the Unsailable Ocean.

He holds my gaze for a second, and in my inexperience with nobles, it escapes me that I'm being rude.

He looks away first, and I feel like my throat has been released. I can breathe again.

He greets us and leads us deeper into the palace. As I follow the Xor's giant frame, I continue to admire the palace halls.

The servants glance at Ery and I, our short heights singling us out as lowdwellers.

A male walks past us. Hair dark, eyes a vivid violet just like the Xor's. Except that Xor Varkon has never looked at me this way.

There is hostility in this male's eyes. Pungent hatred.

He keeps walking, not stopping to bow for the Xor as other servants do. He must be a close relative. With such a striking resemblance, they must be brothers.

I shrug off the encounter and follow Varkon into a room.

I smile at Ceryn, missing the days when we would sit in a dwelling and discuss our dreams for hours. Finding the ideas reasonable, not crazy, as the rest of The Underhold would.

She cups her heavily pregnant belly and looks at her father with teary eyes.

"How was the storm?" she asks.

"Windy," I answer. "I'm shocked we made it. I reckoned a gust of wind would blow us to the Wildlands."

She glances at her husband. "Speaking of which… there's a reason I called you here."

I figured she wanted to discuss her progress with her research on fertility treatments and hear about my latest calculations, just like old times.

I get distracted by the wall beside me. It's so tall; unreachable. I tap the solid structure with my palm.

"Excellent engineering," I say. "No wonder this thing hasn't collapsed under any storm."

My eyes move to Ceryn. "Apologies. What were you saying?"

Lightning strikes outside, highlighting the contours of her face. She looks so small next to her seven-foot husband.

Based on her solemn expression, I'm not here for fun and games.

"Elixa…there is something in the Wildlands that I need you to capture. You will be paid for your efforts. The crown will award you whatever materials, manpower, and research you need to build your ship."

My eyes widen as I process her words. I've been many things in my short life—a miner, mathematics teacher, and a scholar. But I've never been much of an explorer. Never straying too far away from the ocean, which I've admired for countless hours.

I am a lowdweller, after all. And it's in our nature to linger near The Underhold.

The Wildlands?

I don't know anything about that world save for myths of monsters and legends of demigods. The Wildlands has no great cities like Kryndor. It's got no history.

At least, not one that we know of.

To venture out there would be dangerous, because that land is plagued by storms just like the rest of this continent. And there is no Underhold to take shelter in.

But the prize Ceryn offers…it is beyond my wildest dreams. She would fund the construction of my ship. The numbers I've run, and measurements I've sketched in a dozen journals would come to life.

I would be a Captain of a ship.

"Truly?" I whisper.

Ceryn nods. "There is a secret that the Wildlands holds close to its heart. They know how to predict the storms. You must infiltrate a horde—Altreus' horde—and return with answers. If you succeed, The Underhold can prepare for incoming quakes."

Incredible.

It makes sense that this is how topdwellers have been able to survive in the Wildlands for centuries without cities—without palaces, manors, or underholds.

They are nomadic, primitive people who reside in tents and wooden homes. If they can predict the storms…they are masters of the land. They've got no need to take shelter under stone if they can read the sky and navigate storms.

I must investigate this. The prize is too tempting. If Ceryn is correct, and I can decipher this secret, I could build my ship and sail away while leaving The Underhold with a means to protect itself.

Grinning, I respond, "When do I head out?"

Ceryn's eyes soften. "It will not be an easy feat, Elixa. Altreus has my husband's blood. The men of House Arkon are beasts."

With a quick glance at the king, I say, "If you promise to build my ship…then nothing will stop me. If I can look at the Unsailable Ocean and feel no dread, then I assure you this 'beastly' man will hardly intimidate me."

"Well, then. Follow me into my study. We've got numbers to discuss," murmurs Xor Varkon.

I square my shoulders, tipping my head back to look at him in the eyes when he approaches me. He holds my gaze before heading for the door.

Ceryn stays in the room with her father. They've got much to discuss. That much is clear, given the tension in the room.

I follow Varkon, struggling to keep up with his long stride.

He leads me to a room with tomes of books. I can't help but brush my hands across the shelves made of ancient mrom wood. The rich, signature velvet color of the wood is unmistakable. Found deep in the soil, beneath the tallest oaks. The wood is fire-proof and resistant to pests.

They call it the backbone of the gods.

I've only dreamt of building my ship with his wood.

“Elixa,” calls Varkon.

I inhale sharply and snatch my hand away. "Apologies."

I turn to look at him and find him leaning against a desk made of the same wood. My hand is itching to touch its surface.

"Quite the daydreamer, are you?"

I shrug.

"You cannot afford to be a daydreamer on this journey. It will take weeks, and with my brother escorting you…" he sighs. "I reckon you will need all your wits about you to survive him. Ravore lives for conflict."

"The one with the violet eyes?" I murmur.

He nods. "You've met."

"Not quite, but I saw him once. Let's just say the prince is memorable. May you remind me of your other brother's name?"

"Altreus."

I nod. "And what of this Altreus? What is his status? Is he a seer in the horde? A clergyman? A healer?"

He chuckles. "A mix of everything, if you will."

"Let me guess… he's got creepy violet eyes like the lot of you?" I murmur.

"I beg your pardon?"

I shake my head, biting my cursed tongue. I keep forgetting that I'm in the presence of a king who could send me to the vrelling gallows.

"Apologies," I repeat, feeling foolish.

"My brother is a horde king. Leader of his people. I do not know how large this horde is or how many other kings roam the Wildlands. I do not know what became of him or how he will receive you, as he left the palace a decade ago and has not cared to send any messenger birds."

"Wouldn't he recognize his brother, prince Ravore, and welcome us?"

He shakes his head. "He will recognize him, yes, but that's as much as I can assure you. I cannot read my brother. There are many years and distance between us. I want to tell you that he is still a good man. I believe he is, but I cannot assure that."

I purse my lips, troubled by this mystery. I must charge into the land of a man whose temper I don't know. Given King Varkon's cool nature and Prince Ravore's fieryness, I hope Altreus lies somewhere in the middle.

"If you are sure you would like to proceed with this journey, come about. I will draft your award letter and prepare provisions."

With my heart racing, I approach the giant topdweller to seal my fate.

***

Two Weeks Later

"Do you know how to ride?" comes Ravore's clipped voice.

There are four saddlebags at his feet, and his arms are crossed over a crisp leather vest. His boots are well-worn, and his pants are tucked into them.

His sword ought to be as tall as I am. Heavy and imposing as it lies sheathed at his side.

"How hard could it be?" I return, grinning.

He grunts, narrowing those hateful eyes at me.

"Vrelling lowdweller," he scowls.

I roll my eyes, refusing to become victim to this spoiled bully.

"Why so foul, prince Ravore? Did you have a rough upbringing? Were your palace chambers a chandelier short? Were you fed with a silver spoon instead of a gold one?"

He quickly masks his shock with anger. "You will respect me. I am a general. I fought for your freedom."

I shrug. "News to me. Last I heard, the war was between Arkon and Vak'thra. It had nothing to do with The Underhold."

I set my foot on the stirrup of the strapped beast that waits idly, my saddlebags already attached.

"Now will you help me or not?"

With his teeth clenched, the prince sets his large palms on my waist and hauls me on top of the beast.

I grab the reins and try a few gestures, mimicking what I've seen and thanking my curious-albeit-nosy nature.

Given what I picked up by studying riders, I've got no issues trekking the animal forward.

Ravore takes off for the gates, leaving me in the dust.

I blow a breath. This is going to be an awfully long trip. But alas, to the Wildlands, I go.

I take off after Ravore, looking over my shoulder and finding Ceryn waving at me from a window.