It is an uncomfortable but undeniable truth that sometimes things happen over which we have no control.

  You step out into the street, and you are hit by a bus. You go to the doctor for a routine checkup, and a lump is found that turns out to be cancer. You try to use a credit card only to find it has been stolen. You take your car to the garage because it won't start and find out there's no fixing it, and you're out thousands for a new vehicle even after your insurance payout.

  Sometimes, things just happen. They happen with no warning, no pattern, no expnation or reason or even the slightest hint that might allow you to prepare for what's coming. Things happen that affect you, your family, your friends. Things happen that change the lives of thousands, of millions, in the blink of an eye, and not always for the better.

  It is a scary thing to contempte, this truth that we are not always in charge of our own fates. The idea that there are powers out there greater than us, forces at work stronger than us, is terrifying. It is frightening and it makes us feel small and powerless and insignificant.

  At the drop of a hat, everything can change. When two pnes smmed into the Twin Towers, everything changed. When German tanks rolled over the Polish border in 1939, everything changed. When Franz Ferdinand was assassinated in Sarajevo, everything changed.

  Everything you know, the world in which you are comfortable, can be shattered in less time than it takes you to read these words. It has happened before and will, inevitably, happen again. It will happen suddenly and without warning. And no matter how secure you think you are, no matter where you live or how much you try to prepare, you will be affected by it.

  This story begins with just such an event.

  It may seem cliched to say that that fateful morning in the not-too-distant future started out like any other, but it's true. All over America, people got out of bed, gred at their arm clocks, and staggered into the bathroom to shower and relieve themselves. Texts were sent, email accounts were checked, breakfasts both warm and cold consumed. Children were made ready to go to school with their brightly colored lunchboxes while their parents consumed great quantities of steaming hot coffee. There was absolutely nothing which gave any hint at what was about to happen. From Aska to Louisiana, from California to Florida and everywhere in between, people went about their morning routines the same as they’d always done. They kissed spouses goodbye, promised to be home on time, and hugged their little ones and told them they loved them. They put on raincoats if it was rainy, windbreakers if it was windy, or thick jackets if it was cold. And out the door they went.

  And then, without so much as a preamble, it happened.

  Scientists, schors, and magi would debate for generation to come as to the how and why, but none of them would ever arrive at a concrete answer. The sheer impossibility of it, the insane ludicrousness of the event, made rationalizing or expining it impossible. That it happened at all was like spitting in the face of all the ws by which the known universe was supposed to function, a great big middle finger to the cherished notions of "reason" and "logic" we are taught to hold so dear. It was an affront to sense and sanity, a cosmic joke that no one, save perhaps a capricious God with a warped sense of humor, could possibly find funny.

  It shouldn't have happened. It could not have happened.

  But. It. Did.

  The world Americans knew was ripped asunder, and it began, perhaps fittingly, with light.

  It began first as a faint shimmering along the horizon, akin to a heat wave in an asphalt parking lot that makes the air quiver and dance. At first, few even noticed it at all, but it began to grow and spread, to burn more brightly as it moved over the sky like molten gold spilled over the heavens. A buzzing noise was heard that made many cry out in pain and cover their ears, while those looking at their phones or computer and TV screens saw the images upon them repced by gray static.

  The light grew so bright and so all-encompassing that it even outshone the light of the sun itself. The cheerful blue sky, the clouds, all vanished--all that remained was the light.

  In the busy streets of Manhattan, people stopped and stared, craning their necks as they gaped at this phenomenon. In the French Quarter of New Orleans, jazz bands fell silent, and the street musicians trailed off as they, too, turned their eyes upward. Beachgoers on every beach along every coast ceased frolicking in the water or pying in the sand. In millions of breakfast cafes and coffee shops, all conversation died. Cars ground to a screeching halt on highways. Trains screeched and sent up showers of sparks as they came to a sudden emergency stop. Every television, ptop and cell phone screen became a blurry gray wall of static. All over the country, all at once, people forgot what they were doing and where they going and just...stopped. Even the birds, the animals, the very wind seemed to vanish. It was as if nature itself had been taken off-guard and was holding its breath to see what happened next.

  Some people prayed, fearing that this was the end of the world as they knew it. Others took out their phones, hoping for a notification or a news alert that would expin the sudden celestial anomaly, only to discover that their devices had ceased working. Still others, driven by curiosity or panic or both, stepped out of their homes and offices, gathering in the streets to share their bewilderment. The eerie silence was pierced only by the distant wail of emergency sirens and the murmur of confused voices.

  Then, as suddenly as the dome appeared, it vanished. When it did, many breathed a sigh of relief.

  Their relief, they would soon learn, was vastly premature.

  In the waters off the Louisiana Coast, 45-year-old Charles Boudreaux lowered his gaze from the sky and looked at his 16-year-old son, Jake. Their shrimping boat, the Jolly Josie--named for Charles' wife--had been out on the water since 3 a.m. in the morning, and they'd already netted a goodly haul. He squinted, turn to his son, and asked, "Did you just see that, or am I goin' senile a few years early?"

  Jake nodded. "I saw it, Pa," he said, his voice shaking a little. "What the fu--"

  His father gave him a warning look and he bit off what he'd been about to say. "What the heck was it, Pa? You ever seen anything like it before?"

  "No." Charles bit his lip. "Not ever, and let me tell you, boy, you go out on the water as long as I have and you see all kinds of weird shit." He ran a hand over his arms. "I got goosebumps. I ain't never got goosebumps before. I--"

  Something bumped into their boat so hard that it heeled almost halfway over before righting itself. Jake instantly turned white and ran to the rail before his father could stop him. A heartbeat ter, the boy devoutly wished he hadn't.

  Charles saw the blood drain from his son's face and felt his own heart sink. "What is it?" he whispered.

  Jake said nothing. He simply pointed, shaking violently, at the water.

  Cautiously, slowly, Charles looked over the side. His blood instantly turned to ice.

  Charles Boudreaux was not a man who scared easily. In his years as a fisherman, he'd seen great white sharks and bull sharks of immense size. He'd seen alligators fifteen feet long in the bayous and huge snapping alligator snapping turtles with heads so big and beaks so sharp they could cut a man's toes off with effortless ease. He'd wrangled with venomous cottonmouth snakes, fended off venomous spiders, and fought through storms that had sent lesser men to the bottom.

  But what he saw in the water that morning terrified him as nothing before or since. Nothing ever had or ever would make feel the kind of fear he felt as he looked right into the enormous yellow eye of the leviathan that now loomed beside the Jolly Josie.

  He'd heard the stories, of course. You didn't spend decades on the ocean without hearing tales from fellow mariners. But Boudreaux had never taken accounts of mysterious marine monsters or unknown animals very seriously. Sharks and snakes and gators were bad enough, and they were quite real. But now...

  Now, one of those stories was looking right at him.

  The beast was massive--an enormous serpentine creature with dark green or bck scales, it was hard to tell. Seaweed and barnacles clung to portions of its massive form, as did mpreys and other marine parasites. The eye that stared back at him was easily rger than a bowling ball, with a pupil slitted like a cat's and glowing with an eerie yellow light. The creature's spade-shaped head alone was almost as big as the Josie, and its teeth were like those of a ntern-fish from the deep sea: long, narrow, and so numerous that it was a wonder the thing could even close its mouth.

  Charles realized with sickening horror that if the thing decided to smash their boat to pieces, there wasn't a thing he could do to stop it. This thing, this monster, could smash the Josie to driftwood as easily as one might squash an ant.

  But the creature did not attack. Perhaps it had eaten just recently, and was still full. Perhaps, from its perspective, the humans were too small to be worthwhile prey. Perhaps it was simply curious, or bored. Charles didn't know, and would never find out. What he did know was that the sea monster gazed right back at him with a detached curiosity that bordered on zy contempt for a good thirty seconds before turning its head away and diving deep. In moments, it vanished from sight.

  Charles wasn't about to stick around. He turned to his son, who was still staring in disbelief. "Get the engine running," he rasped. "We're getting out of here!"

  *****The White House, Washington, D.C*******

  President Thomas Bannister turned away from the window of the Oval Office as the dome finished disappearing. He’d been in the middle of a cabinet meeting when the event occurred, and now he turned to his advisors and asked them one question.

  “What the hell was that?”

  There was a brief moment of hesitation as the Cabinet members exchanged gnces. Thomas Bannister had an intimidating presence about him even when he was in a good mood. He hadn’t earned the nickname “The Iron President” for nothing: he was tall enough to stand at least a few inches above most other men, broad-shouldered, physically fit even for a man in his early fifties, with bck hair streaked with gray.

  Past a certain age a man's face begins to reflect the expressions he makes most often, and Bannister did not present a smiling countenance. His mouth was a thin line that turned downward more often than not. Piercing blue eyes--hard, weary, and cold--were like chips of ice in a face that was already starting to show the strain his office took on those who held it. It was often said that the presidency aged men prematurely, and Bannister, sworn in only a few months before, was already finding out just how true that was. Even before running for office he'd seen much, for Bannister served in the Marines during the Gulf War and then went on to serve in special operations--much of that part of his service record was still cssified--before going into politics, where his star had risen far and fast. Political satirists often joked that Bannister had left his sense of humor somewhere in the sands of Iraq, but right now, no one was ughing.

  Finally, the Secretary of Defense, a stoic man named James Hargrove, spoke up. “Mr. President. Sir. With all due respect...I don’t think any of us have a fucking clue. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Then get one,” Bannister replied. His curt tone and rapid speech left no room for debate or argument. “We need answers, and we need them now. Was this some sort of attack? An EMP?”

  “If it was, it was a crappy one,” Hargrove said, holding up his phone. “We’ve still got comms and most internet services is still working.”

  “Contact all our military assets,” Bannister snapped. “I want to know the status of every single ship and pne and soldier. We are on a footing until further notice. Until we know more, we are treating this...phenomenon as a hostile action. Order the fleet to a war footing and alert the Strategic Command.” He turned to his Secretary of State, Anna Ascher. “Has there been any communication with any of our allies? Canada? Britain? Australia? Anyone? Has anyone else been affected?”

  Ascher shook her head as she snapped her phone shut. “No. My department has already started making calls, but no one--literally no one--is picking up. We can’t raise NATO or Australia or the Japanese or any of our treaty allies. My people are reporting static, and nothing else.”

  "Sir, all our military assets are reporting in," Hargrove interrupted, putting his phone down on a nearby table. “The U.S. Fleet, in its entirety, is now anchored off Hawaii. Whatever...force...did this to us, it took all our military assets along for the ride. Our military instaltions in other countries have also been taken; our bases in South Korea, Germany, Japan, they’re all here, albeit scattered around seemingly at random throughout the mainnd U.S. The one from Japan showed up in Seattle, of all pces.”

  The room was silent for a beat before Bannister spoke again, his voice a controlled rumble. What Hargrove was saying was impossible, but best not to dwell too much on that. Bannister wouldn't waste energy ringing his hands or trying to make sense of the situation. Better to focus on what was happening and, more importantly, what to do about it. "And our satellites?"

  "Still up there, thank God." The relief in Hargrove's voice was palpable. "But right now our imaging satellites are offline."

  "Do you have any idea when that will change?" asked Ascher.

  "Not at this time. Days, if we're lucky. Weeks, if we're being realistic. We've got comms but our eyes in the sky have gone out. From the reports I'm getting, so has the rest of the globe's power grid. I concur with Ms. Ascher's assessment that every line of communication that stretches past our borders has become inoperable. If our allies are out there, we can't get in touch with them, or they with us. We can communicate with ourselves--our cellur satellite network is still up and running--but only with ourselves."

  Bannister gazed at Hargrove. The other man, himself a combat veteran, fought the urge to squirm in his chair. "Let me be frank," the President said. "Based on what we currently know, in your preliminary opinion, do you believe the evidence points to our nation being attacked?"

  Hargrove hesitated, then shook his head. "At this time, no. Aside from the comms bckout and our imaging satellites going offline, there's been no follow-up, no attempt to exploit what any of our adversaries would see as a moment of rare vulnerability. If, for example, the North Koreans or the Iranians were behind this, you can bet there'd be some sort of attempt to use our current predicament against us. It's what I would do, if I were in their shoes. At present we are blinded, unable to coordinate with NATO or any of our treaty allies in Asia or elsewhere, our military assets uprooted, our network of bases around the world broken...it'd be the perfect opportunity for a serious move against us. But there's nothing."

  "Then what could be responsible? A sor fre?"

  Ascher hesitated. "I've never seen a sor fre look like that."

  A man seated off to Ascher's left cleared his throat. Dr. James Darnell was the head of the President's scientific advisory council and had been quietly observing the chaos unfold. "A sor fre could, in theory, have the sort of effect Secretary Hargrove has described, but in order to do that the fre would have to be what we refer to as a Carrington Event-sized sor storm--equivalent to, if not rger than, the sor storm it's named after, which happened back in 1859. But a storm of that magnitude would do far more damage. It would cause widespread bckouts and power outages bigger than any we've seen before and it certainly wouldn't discriminate. It wouldn't knock out our imaging satellites while leaving the one used for cell phones intact, and it would take a hell of a lot longer than a few weeks to fix the damage."

  "Can you think of no expnation for what has just occurred?" Bannister pressed, waving his arm at the window behind him. "No theory, no hypothesis?"

  The man shook his head. "At this time, no. I'll have some of my people try to gather more evidence and see what we can piece together. But as of now, it is best to refer to what just happened as an unexpined natural phenomenon."

  Bannister ground his teeth. "So what you’re telling me, in other words, is we have nothing."

  There was a moment of uncomfortable, tense silence. Then he spoke again. "I do not like being kept in the dark, Hargrove. Get those satellites back online as soon as possible. In the meantime, begin reconnaissance flights over our coastline and out into the open ocean. Send out a few of our ships to see what's going out there, too. Anything you can do to give us an idea of what is happening."

  Hargrove stood and saluted. "Yes, sir."

  Bannister held up a hand as he made for the door. "I wasn't finished. Mobilize the National Guard and go to DEFCON 2. Every ship, pne and soldier are on a war footing until and unless I order otherwise. You may not believe this was an attack, and you may be right--but if you're wrong, I want us prepared to hit back. Hard."

  "And what of the risk of disorder?" asked the Secretary of the Interior, Paul Baltakis. Lithuanian by birth, he'd come to the States as a child and still carried a slight accent. "People will soon realize, if they have not already, that something is very wrong. What happens when they try to call retives overseas but receive no reply? We need to come up with a strategy to keep order and prevent whatever this is from causing full-scale chaos."

  "Agreed," Bannister said grimly. "Get FEMA and Homend on it. Issue orders and prepare to deploy rge-scale relief if necessary."

  "Yes, sir."

  Bannister rose to his full height. "Then see to your tasks, all of you. We shall hope for the best--but prepare for the worst. And Hargrove, I want you to inform me the second our satellites are back online." He looked at each of his advisors in turn. "Dismissed."

  The room emptied quickly. Bannister waited until he was alone in the Oval Office before going to a crystalline decanter on a small table and poured himself a small gss of amber-colored liquor. It was a fine bourbon, his favorite, and one of the few luxuries he allowed himself. Bannister knocked it back in a single gulp, then poured himself another.

  He looked around at the portraits of past presidents that hung on the walls. My illustrious predecessors, he thought. Bannister could almost feel their eyes boring into him, their stern and austere faces judging him silently.

  What will you do? They seemed to say. Will you be the one to squander the legacy we’ve given you? Will the American experiment die on your watch, Thomas Bannister?

  Bannister felt his resolve harden. He ground his teeth so hard the mors creaked. Not so long as I have breath in my body and blood in my veins. This Republic, this house you built, will survive.

  "Dad?"

  Bannister snapped out of his rumination and turned to see his 16-year-old daughter, Kiera, standing in the doorway. As ever, he felt a pang in his heart when he looked at her. She was the spitting image of her mother, dead almost four years now.

  "Yes, sweetheart?" he finally said.

  Kiera took a tentative step into the room. "Is it true? What people are saying online, about...about the bckout and stuff. Is it true?"

  Bannister had not and never would lie to his only child. "Yes," he said. "It is true."

  "Do you...do you know why?"

  He shook his head. "No one has any answers, least of all me." He set the gss down with a gentle clink. "But I promise you, Kiera, we're doing everything we can to figure this out." His eyes fshed with cold fury. "And if this was indeed some form of attack, then may God have mercy on those responsible, because I will show none.”

  Kiera loved her father and looked up to him as no one else. He'd always been her hero, and their shared grief over her mother’s passing had only brought them closer together. But in that moment, seeing him like she saw him now, she felt something she'd never felt before in his presence: a chill of real, genuine fear.

  Kiera loved her father and looked up to him as no one else. He'd always been her hero, and their shared grief over her mother’s passing had only brought them closer together. But in that moment, seeing him like she saw him now, she felt something she'd never felt before in his presence: a chill of real, genuine fear.

  "Dad, I--"

  Kiera never got to finish her sentence. Hargrove, the defense secretary, all but burst back into the room. Bannister knew right away that whatever news he brought, it wasn't good. The SecDef's face was all but drained of blood.

  Hargrove held out a tablet to him. Bannister could see just the slightest tremor in Hargrove's hand as he did. "Sir...you need to see this. Immediately."

  As Bannister took it, he went on. "Per your orders, we have drones in the air right now. This one was flying along the Mexican border. Sir...it's gone."

  Bannister paused. "What do you mean, gone? What's gone?"

  "I mean, it's gone, sir. Mexico is gone. There's nothing there but water there. Nothing but ocean where Mexico used to be, and we're getting simir reports along the Canadian border."

  Bannister looked at the tablet and saw footage, no doubt recorded by the drone, of nothing but ocean as far as the eye could see. It was as if Mexico had simply been sliced off with a scalpel. And not just Mexico. Canada had vanished too. Another drone had also captured images of the Askan coastline. It was now surrounded on all sides by water. For a moment, the President felt a wave of vertigo wash over him.

  Canada, gone. Mexico, gone. Aska turned into an isnd, Hawaii and the other isnd territories--Puerto Rico, the U.S. Virgin Isnds, American Samoa, Guam--turned into an archipego south of Texas.

  "There's more," Hargrove went on. "Further afield, we've picked up images of ndmasses, isnds, coastlines, but none of them look like the ones we know. And look, here, at this one. See that?"

  Bannister looked at the image his SecDef was indicating and frowned. "It appears to be a whale swimming near the surface of the ocean. Impressive, but hardly without precedent."

  "Sir, that's no whale." Hargrove deftly zoomed in on the image, and Bannister saw he was right. It was no whale, but some sort of monstrous, unknown sea creature--ovoid in shape, with a fluked tail and a spade-shaped head.

  Bannister was still trying to wrap his mind around that when Hargrove showed him another image. "This one was taken as we got close to a several rge ndmasses directly south of us," he said. "See that?"

  The drone had captured an image of something that looked like it belonged in one of those fantasy games his daughter was so fond of. A reptilian beast, with a set of rge, scalloped wings and a pair of powerful legs tipped with long, grasping talons. The thing had been photographed at a distance, so its finer details were unclear, but it was quite obvious that Bannister was looking at something that shouldn't exist.

  "What does this all mean?" he finally asked.

  "It means, sir..." Hargrove hesitated. "Well, we don't know for certain, but my best eggheads think it means we're not in Kansas anymore. We're not just cut off from everybody else; it's like we've been dropped into a whole other world. That would expin why no one is responding, why we can't get a hold of anybody in Tokyo or Seoul or London or anywhere else. And I'll bet you dolrs to donuts that that...golden light, or whatever it was had something to do with it." He looked at the president. "Sir, we are alone."

  Thomas Bannister was not, as a rule, a man who frightened easily. He had served in combat. He had risked his life and taken the lives of others in his country's service. He'd been wounded, more than once, and had the Purple Hearts to prove it. But as he stared down at the images on the tablet that Hargrove had brought, a cold fist closed around his heart.

  This was not, could not be happening. The very notion of it was so utterly preposterous, the implications so potentially catastrophic, that Bannister's brain refused to fully comprehend the images in front of him. He squinted at the tablet, willing it to change, to be some kind of sick prank. But the images remained the same.

  "How many people have seen these?" he asked quietly.

  "Only those who need to. But sir, it's going to come out soon, very soon. Maybe in a matter of hours. I'm surprised it hasn't already. There's no hiding this or trying to spin it."

  Bannister stood and took in a deep breath. "No. I suppose there isn't. Then let us try something else."

  "And what would that be, sir?"

  Bannister made for the door. "Absolute honesty."

  Hargrove stared, then hurried after him. So did Kiera.

  "But sir! If you go public with this, it could cause chaos!"

  "That risk remains no matter what we do," Bannister said ftly. "And withholding the truth of the matter, when it is bound to come out anyway, will only make things worse. It is wiser to get out ahead of this, to present the situation in as matter-of-fact a manner as possible and let the people know we are taking all necessary measures to ensure our safety. Now, where is my damned press secretary? It is time for him to earn that oversized paycheck he's given each month."

  Kiera cleared her throat. "I think I saw him."

  Bannister didn't even ask where. "Find him and tell him to get over here, now. I will address the American people from the Oval Office. Livestream it, or whatever it's called these days." He turned to Hargrove. "The Cabinet will reconvene immediately following the address."

  Hargrove nodded. "Yes, sir."

  Fifteen minutes after setting out to find him, Kiera came back with the White House Press Secretary, Derek Mayes, in tow. Bannister gave him a look that could have melted holes in sheet metal. "And where were you?" he growled.

  Mayes gulped nervously. "I-I was just--"

  Bannister waved a hand. "I don't really care. How soon can you get the Oval Office ready for a livestreamed address?"

  Mayes nodded, his eyes wide with understanding. "We can have it set up in twenty minutes, Mr. President."

  "Do it in ten."

  Mayes nodded again, swallowed hard, and disappeared into the throng of people that were now swarming the West Wing. The President took his pce behind the desk and waited, his hands folded in front of him, his expression calm but his eyes betraying his inner turmoil. He had faced danger before, but never anything quite like this. Never with the stakes so high.

  The cameras were set up, the lights turned down, and Bannister took a moment to adjust his posture before Mayes gave him the signal. "And we're on in five...four...three....two...one!"

  “My fellow Americans,” he intoned. “We face today an event of unprecedented magnitude. At approximately 0900 hours Eastern Standard Time, the United States of America was engulfed by a golden dome of light. The origin and cause of this phenomenon remains unknown and inexplicable, and perhaps we will never know. What we do know, and what many of you may already know, is this: our nation, and its entirety, has been transported to what appears to be another world. The ground on which we now stand is not that of Earth, but of...well, somewhere else.” He offered a wry smile. “I don’t think anyone has come up with a name for it yet. Perhaps we should hold a contest.” Then his serious expression returned. “But as a result of this phenomenon, we now find ourselves isoted and cut off from our trade partners and treaty allies. We are alone in this new world.”

  “This does not, however, mean we are defenseless,” he went on. “Wherever we have ended up, our country’s military remains the strongest and most powerful this or any world has ever seen. Our armed forces stand prepared to protect our borders and our citizens from any threats that may arise.” His voice grew steadier, a hint of determination underlying his words. “We are hopeful for peaceful retions with any and all who call this pce home. But let it be known that we will not be bullied or cowed by any creature or power that dares to challenge the sovereignty and power of the United States of America. We will not tolerate aggression and will respond forcefully to any threat that seeks to darken our shores.”

  “Some of us have lost friends and family to this event,” he added. “Those of us who had loved ones living or visiting abroad, or who have not been accounted for, we feel your pain and share your sorrow. Our hearts go out to each and every one of you. It is my earnest hope that, somehow, a way will be found to reunite you with your loved ones. Until then, we stand as one people, united in our resolve to face whatever comes next. A time of great uncertainty lies ahead of us. I will not lie to you, or worse patronize you, by ciming otherwise. We are adrift in a world we do not know. In such perilous times, it is now more vital than ever for us to stand together as one people, one nation. Reach out to your neighbors, your community, your fellow countrymen. Let us support each other, share information, and draw strength from our collective endurance. The resilience of the American spirit has always been our greatest strength, and it is that spirit that will guide us through these uncharted waters. We must hold true to the ideals at the heart of this country’s founding, remain faithful to our history and heritage, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men. Do not give in to panic or fear or the siren call of despair. I ask you, all of you, to do your duty and do right by your country, your loved ones, your neighbors, your communities. We are all of us in the same boat, and it is up to us to ensure it does not founder. You have trusted me with the helm of the ship of state, but I cannot sail it, I cannot manage it, without your help. Further updates will be shared with you as more information on this…phenomenon…is brought to light. God bless you all, and God bless America.

  Bannister didn’t know it at the time, but even as he finished his speech, the effects of America’s transference to this mysterious new world were already being felt. Like a stone dropped in the center of a still pond, it cast ripples that were felt across Loriath. But no realm was more severely affected than the Under-Realm of dwarves.

  Thafar-Gathol, capital of the Under-Realm, was a city like no other. It was a marvel of subterranean engineering, an impregnable defensive fortress and a great, sprawling metropolis both. Its streets were a maze of gleaming cobblestone and intricate metalwork over which towering statues and stone monoliths loomed with foreboding majesty. Veins of glowing crystals pulsed and throbbed, casting an ever-changing spectrum of light across the bustling thoroughfares and the vast network of tunnels and chambers that made up the Under-Realm’s sprawling subterranean empire. The never-ending sound of industry was everywhere: the hiss of molten metal as it was poured into molds, the whirring of complex contraptions and great machines of every size and shape, powered by steam and coal and the energy harnessed by magical crystals--called hearthstones--hewn from the mines. Hammers rang out in a never-ending cadence as iron, steel, and metals far more precious were wrought into every shape and form imaginable. Stonemasons sculpted rock with the same ease potters sculpted cy.

  Countless pickaxes chipped away at the walls of caverns widened into vast tunnels by generations of miners who extracted unfathomable riches: great seams of gold and silver, precious ores and raw gemstones of every type and size and color. All went into great steam-powered cargo haulers that ran on winding metal tracks, straight to the ever-hungry maws of the sprawling fortress-factories. Inside each of these was a dizzying maze of quenching tanks and rolling mills, bst furnaces and casting machines, smelting vats and refineries. Even the very lifeblood of the world itself, the great rivers of magma that flowed beneath the city, were harnessed in the service of the Under-Realm to provide a source of near-limitless energy.

  The skill of the Under-Folk was unequaled. In the art of craftsmanship, whether making one-of-a-kind masterworks that took decades of bor or churning out vast quantities of weapons, armor and all manner of other goods on an assembly line, none could match them. It was often said by other races that a dwarf only knew true happiness when making something with their own hands, and this was assertion was not without merit. The satisfaction which came from crafting something that was both functional and beautiful was a high that nothing else could replicate. The creations of its industrious inhabitants were sought after by everyone from the human rulers of Morghast to the serpent-folk of the Ti-Amatu Kingdom. The Under-Realm cared little for such racial disparities; pragmatic to a fault, they traded with anyone willing to do so and there was never a shortage of customers.

  It was an empire that could, if it wished to do so, have dominated a considerable swathe of the world. But the Under-Folk had little desire for such things--if their realm expanded it did so downward, into the very roots of the world, rather than outward. They had no desire to conquer nds that they could not build upon or mine into, but when roused to wrath, they were formidable indeed.

  Such wrath was on the verge of being awakened, for now the Under-Realm was descending into chaos. The shockwave of magical energy caused by America’s transference had disrupted the delicate bance of the city’s geothermal systems, overloaded its machinery, and sent tremors shuddering through the vast tunnels and caverns that shook stactites free and sent them crashing down onto the city below. It was as if the world itself was shivering at the arrival of the new colossus.

  The once-precise and omni-present whirring of gears had turned into a cacophony of grinding metal and shattering gss as they crashed together or ground to a sudden, destructive halt. Machines that had run smoothly for centuries suddenly went berserk, screeching as they overloaded, dying in great showers of sparks and plumes of steam or even bursting into fmes as those charged with their operation and maintenance tried vainly to save them. Great plumes of smoke and fire began to boil up from all over the city. The factories spewed ash and noxious fumes into the air while hapless workers fled to avoid great, spreading pools of molten metal that spilled out from shattered containment vessels.

  Azaghal Firebeard, High King of the Under-Realm, watched all this from his chamber overlooking the city. His expression might have been carved in stone for all the emotion it expressed, but his white-knuckled grip and clenched jaw gave hint to his inner turmoil. He was stocky even for one of his kind and unusually tall, taller by a head than most other dwarves, and barrel-chested with a great red beard that ran down to the huge golden buckle on his ornate belt. His arms were huge and bulging with muscle from a lifetime spent in the forges. Atop his head he wore a crown of brass and bronze and gold adorned with spikes of steel and bck iron, inscribed with runes in High Dwarfish.

  His thundercloud-gray eyes were hard as he turned to his Chief Engineer, a gnome named Fizzwizzle. Fizzwizzle was looking decidedly worse for wear--his clothes and goggles were all stained with soot and his hand had a nasty burn that ran up past his wrist. He was still panting, fresh from trying to oversee the efforts to restore some sort of order and get the most critical systems back up and running.

  “What has happened?” the High King finally asked. "What caused all this?"

  “I do not know,” Fizzwizzle admitted. “Lord, it came out of nowhere! A surge of raw magical energy like nothing I have ever seen before! It’s overwhelmed everything! It’s a wonder the caves haven’t colpsed in on us!”

  Firebeard’s eyes narrowed in contemption. His beard, braided with gleaming gold threads and styled into braids at the end, trembled and his meaty fists clenched. “This could not have happened on its own. Something, somewhere...something made this happen, Fizzwizzle.”

  “A spell?”

  “I’ve never heard of any magical spell or casting that could cause something like this.”

  “Not even the High Elves?”

  Firebeard thought about it. “Perhaps, though something of this scale would surely tax even their vaunted abilities. But even so, to what point and purpose? The elf-wizards venture not from their homend and care little for those not of their own kind. We have no quarrel with them, nor they with us. They have the good sense to leave us to our bors and we leave them to theirs. A High Elf has not even set foot in the Under-Realm in living memory. No, Fizzwizzle. There is nothing here that smacks of elf witchery to me.”

  Fizzwizzle wiped grime from his face. “Then...what shall we do? What is your command, lord?”

  Firebeard gripped the windowsill so hard it cracked under his crushing grip. “See to the repairs and ensure that the most vital machines are up and running as quickly as possible. Pull in all the workers from the mines. Everyone who isn’t already helping with the repairs will do so, including myself. Bring me my tools, Fizz, and take me to where the damage and the danger is greatest. No High King of the Under-Realm has ever asked his people to take risks he isn’t willing to take himself. I will not be the first.”

  “And after?”

  “After...” Firebeard ground his teeth. It sounded like millstones grinding against each other. “We figure out who or what caused this. If this is an act of war, they--whoever they are--will get their wish. In the countless thousands of years since the first stones of our Under-Realm were id, never before have we been struck in the heart of our domain like this. One way or another, it is not going to happen to twice.” He released a slow breath. "Increase surface patrols and close our borders. If anything suspicious or strange moves up there on the surface, I want to know about it. And send out word to each city, to Angbar and Khar Morok and all the others, to mobilize our forces."

  Fizzwizzle nodded. “It will be done, my liege,” he said, and bowed. As he scurried away, he almost felt sorry for those who might find themselves on the receiving end of the High King’s wrath. The Under-Realm did not stir itself to war often, but when it did, it struck with the force of an earthquake and made the world tremble beneath the wheels of great war engines, the booming tread of war-striders, and the countless tramping feet of legions of armored dwarves. He almost pitied anyone foolish enough to bring such fury down upon them.

  Almost.