Meanwhile, in the Mountain's Heart Tavern, amidst the noisy chaos of the outer city, the elven envoys sat at a table, patiently waiting for the commander's return. The air in the tavern was a heavy mix of roasted meat, spilled beer, and sweat. Laughter, heated bartering, and the clinking of tankards rose from every corner. In the midst of this noise, the group of ten elves stood out like snowflakes in a forest; silent, elegant, and utterly alien. Thaerion Veridian still hadn't shaken off the "My Lady" humiliation he'd suffered at the gate. He stared into his cup, trying to cope with the tension of possibly bringing failure to his lord.

Suddenly, the tavern's double doors flew open with a bang, and Commander Thrain entered. His presence was more effective than the bright desert light that flooded the room; all the noise in the tavern was cut as if by a knife. All eyes turned to this armored figure of authority standing in the doorway.

Thrain ignored the stout tavern owner, who was rushing toward him to take an order, with a wave of his hand. His eyes scanned the room and found the elven table in the corner. With no expression on his face, he headed toward the elves' table with heavy steps.

Seeing the commander approaching them, Thaerion and his men immediately stood up. All their hopes depended on the few words that would fall from this dwarf's lips.

Thrain stopped in front of the table. He looked the elves up and down, studying them as if seeing them for the first time. "Lord Dainor has accepted you into his presence," he said, in that serious, military tone. "Follow me."

Thaerion slowly released the breath he had been holding. They had at least succeeded in the first step. He gave the commander a short nod, turned to his men, and they followed Thrain under the tavern's curious gazes.

As they moved from the crowd of the outer city toward the gates of the inner city, the air began to change. The number of merchants and caravaneers from other races gradually decreased, replaced only by serious-faced, armored dwarves going about their business or on patrol. At the same time, the number of curious stares fixed on them also increased.

Finally, they headed for the massive central gate. The sight almost took the elves' breath away. The gate itself was a massive granite block that looked as if it had been carved from a piece of the mountain. The reliefs on it were pure gold. The size and weight of the gate proclaimed the power and wealth of a race without needing words.

When they passed through the gate and entered the city proper, their shock turned into a feeling mixed with awe and dread. Unlike the chaotic marketplace outside, this was the inside of a mountain. There was no sky. The ceiling, dozens of meters high, was supported by massive, carved pillars. The ceiling itself seemed to swallow the light, despite the light of thousands of crystals and skillfully placed torches; above was pitch darkness. Around them were arched stone bridges crossing seemingly bottomless canyons, buildings carved into different levels, and cranes hanging in the air. The temperature of the air had risen, and the rhythmic sound of thousands of hammers and the roar of massive bellows from afar filled their ears.

The elves, children of the forest and the open sky, had entered such a massive, enclosed, and completely artificial structure for the first time in their lives. They began to look around, starting from the top, at this engineering marvel, this heart of a living mountain.

Following Commander Thrain through the massive corridors carved into the heart of the mountain, they finally came to a stone bridge built over a wide chasm. The bridge crossed the bottomless darkness below with a single, brave arch. Thaerion instinctively approached the edge of the bridge and looked down. His breath was taken away again by the sight.

This was not a city; it was a world growing down into the earth. Below, layers illuminated by torches and giant forges continued down into an unseen depth. Each district was connected, like a spider's web, by stone bridges, spiral staircases, and crane systems. At the very bottom, he could see the orange glow of molten metal and hear the rhythmic roar of massive bellows.

This engineering marvel, this vertical metropolis, possessed a grandeur that would put even the largest elven city in Qualar to shame. Their elegant structures, harmonious with nature, seemed like mere children's toys next to this industrial giant.

"Incredible..." Thaerion whispered, his breath short and his astonishment freezing him in place.

Hearing his whisper, Commander Thrain slowed his steps. He had a proud expression on his face, pleased to see this reaction. "Impressive, isn't it?" he said. "The result of generations of work, of labor that broke the mountain's stubbornness."

Thaerion tore his eyes away from the bottomless view with difficulty. Trying to clear the amazement from his voice, he replied with forced composure: "Truly... impressive."

"My advice to you is to commit every detail you see to memory," Thrain continued in that proud tone. "Normally, no one just waltzes into the Inner City, the heart of the mountain, like this. Now, let's continue. It wouldn't do to keep the Lord waiting too long."

This polite but clear warning reminded the elves that they were both in a state of grace and that time was short. Casting curious and astonished glances around, they continued to follow the commander.

After a while, deeper inside the inner city, they came before a large gate. This was the door to the lord's hall. It was as large as the outer gate, but it had far more ornate reliefs and runes. Every rune and every relief was inlaid with pure gold and adorned with precious jewels. As the light from the torches illuminating the corridors struck these precious stones and metal, the surface of the door sparkled like thousands of little stars.

As two dwarf guards began to creak the massive door open, Thaerion took a deep breath. The embarrassing welcome, the shock he experienced at the city's splendor; all of it was in the past. He had come this far. Now, what would happen behind that door, the words he would use and hear, his every gesture, his every move, would determine whether this mission would end in success or failure.

He would either make his lord, Valtherion Dravakar, proud and turn this unknown race into an ally, or he would disappoint his house and perhaps create a dangerous enemy.

As the weight of all this pressure settled on his shoulders, the doors opened wide. Thaerion, at the very front, entered the dwarf lord's magnificent hall with his head held high and his steps firm.