Fifteen minutes later, a sense of anticipation suffused the air as Altair, Nocturne and Hilde stood before the grand entrance of the Dungeon Town. 

Altair had read extensively upon Nereus Aquillion’s intricacies, if for no other reason than the majority of Mother’s extensive collection of books focused upon the various facets of the magical town. From architectural nuances to demographics and consequently, economic structure, he could claim to possess a general understanding of both the town’s layout, including its defensive mechanisms and slightly vaguer understanding of the professions its residents held, the lives they lived on a daily basis. 

The realm of imagination had served as an acceptable method of sating his yearning for exploration and discovery, inadvertently leading him to some interesting theories that could serve as explanations for the lacunae in his knowledge base. For whilst Altair knew enough to be aware of the distinction between a Mage and an Aura Master, he remained woefully unenlightened as to the distinguishing factor between the two. Similarly, while he possessed insights into the key commodities and resources that were extracted from the dungeon, some exported to other lands while others were sold locally by the adventurers that had risked their lives to obtain it, he remained clueless to the true nature of magic itself. 

There were detailed accounting records of trades dating back decades, but Altair hadn’t managed to find a single scrap of information when it came to even the basics of mana manipulation. 

One of the theories that he had come up with had to do with a notion of an information embargo, one that specifically forbade the mention of magical knowledge, spellforms and techniques in commonly available books. Censoring and limiting or outright omitting access to arcane wisdom would undoubtedly strengthen the position of de-facto rulers of the Vortera Veilands, the pretentiously named ‘Five Elder Clans’ who only gave credence to his hypothesis by managing to keep their surnames out of historical accounts as they had from economic ones. 

Another theory suggested that Mother simply thought that books containing tangible and actionable arcane knowledge were too dangerous to keep within reach of children, which had been his leading theory until Altair discovered that it was near impossible, if not outright forbidden to use Mana before the age of fourteen.

The pinpricks of vexation that had been pining away at Altair’s heart for many years now, building up into a greater emotion that bordered on frustration faded away as he was confronted by twenty-meter-tall sentinel of cerulean blue; the imposing gateway casting a long shadow that dwarfed the trio in magnitude. Altair found himself spellbound by the intricate relief carved onto the metallic surface. The edges of the door were occupied by elegant swirls and flourishing curls that effortlessly glided across its surface, their ebbs and flows perfectly capturing the playful, capricious nature of wind as they meanderingly flowed inwards. 

Altair could have sworn that he saw the lines depicting wind roil and shift towards the center, cascading against an unbroken circle that appeared to be an outline of the town’s perimeter. The pattern of the lines and swirls evolved as it passed through the circle, adopting an undulating rhythm likely symbolizing the rise and fall of waves. Once again he found himself wondering if he was hallucinating, as the distinctive sound of waves crashing against a shore echoed in the background. 

Finally, his gaze was attracted by a deep, dark well contained in the center of the relief, untouched by the surrounding waves as it receded into the metallic surface. The keener Altair’s gaze, the more he found himself attracted to the depths of the darkness; almost as if he were gazing into a limitless abyss. 

He blinked and the world returned to normal. 

Altair’s thoughts flashed rapidly as he assessed the situation, fighting to keep a small smile from creeping onto his visage. He knew that the Nereus Aquillion’s Residential District lay beyond this door, a place of rest, rejuvenation and comfort for tired adventurers, safe from the conflict of the outside world. He also recalled why the doorway, as it seamlessly integrated into the dome of concentrated Water Mana that shielded Nereus Aquillion was so belligerently positioned— considering that the Dungeon Town lacked a traditional army, it was bizarre that they would position the only discernible weakness in the Tier 4 Magic Circle in front of the residential area. 

Except the doorway was no weakness, no; forged out of Isendrari Ingots, an incredibly valuable metal that was utilized almost solely for the construction of medium to large scale Magic Circles, was known to exhibit a very unique property. Most valuable metals available in the Vortera Veilands possessed at least some degree of Mana Conductivity, while the combat-oriented ones had were required to be capable of amplifying the properties of Mana. On the other hand, the Isendrari Metal hardened when it came into contact with Mana instead of warping and surrendering the form it was forged into, even when excessive, ludicrous amounts of Mana was poured through the metal. 

Even more ideally, the metal was fairly malleable in its ingot form, allowing it to be forged into the mold of the Magic Circle that undoubtedly ran beneath the town. If the amount of Mana required to harden Isendrari Metal wasn’t something that far surpassed the reserves of even higher tier Mages and Aura Masters, coupled with the couple months required for the hardening to reach fruition, perhaps the Metal could be used to forge implements of combat as well. 

Regardless, the doorway before him was the control node for the town’s Magic Circle, and the Tier 4 protective array would shatter before the gateway before him was even scratched. 

Which made Altair all the more curious. 

Even the most skilled of artisans and blacksmiths would treat Isendrari Ingots with the utmost of care, for each one likely exceeded the worth of an average town or settlement in the borderlands by a few times. Yet the artisan before him had crafted an entire relief into the doorway’s surface, in a display of what could only be described as audaciousness. 

Altair’s gaze flickered back to the doorway and this time the illusion held no sway over him. A few seconds of searching later, he found an identifying mark upon its surface; his hypothesis proving to be true— for there was no way a craftsman so proud would not leave his mark. 

Scrawled a little below the dark well, which Altair believed to be a symbolism for the dungeon, was a name.

‘Dominarii’. 

Altair would remember it.