The eternal noise of animals was interrupted. No one followed me. Had they managed to hold off the enemy? I had to go for help. A few of my best men remained, protecting the new king. I must save him! I am Captain Rockbreaker! Leader of the Imperial Guard... the one who let those damned elves take the king away. Why did I not die?
My eyes revealed a disgusting ceiling. At least I had something to protect me from the cold. This was my reality—my reward for keeping alive the community that provided the worst coal of all. I went out to stretch. I wanted to be well before eating—cream of misery mushrooms, a piece of something hard and stale. It had been with us for months—survival bread, garbage no one would eat, wrapped in a little flour and herbs. It kept us standing another day.
The cave where we extracted coal and, in recent times, peat was fetid. Several small tunnels invaded it; we did not know where they led. My companions worked at a feverish pace, hoping not to run into trouble. I was here to protect them, being the last thing I could protect—without weapons or anything... Everything I had gained I lost in one day. The rest was just discovering I never had it.
My armor was resistant—much stronger than a green dragon's scales, my companions said. Fifty dwarves protecting the kings for millennia—I followed this task with faith and devotion. When the new king arrived, when I learned of the power he had as a warrior mage, I dreamed we could face the damned elves who oppressed us. I prepared for that moment. My battle axe was a blur in motion, my strike so strong it could split an anvil. Yet it was useless.
The day in question, in the throne room, the report arrived that they were coming for us. No one wants that news, but I did. Equipped as a heavy armor warrior, I stationed myself before the king. I heard my friends fall—people with whom I had shared drink, a couple of women who, I knew, remembered me in their beds—all screaming in agony. I charged my runes—all of them—fire, stone, ice. The magic in my muscles made them look black. I was ready not to fall, to eliminate everyone or at least hold them back so my king could eliminate them. But it did not happen. Suddenly, I heard them laugh. My mind floated; someone had drugged me. I searched frantically—my only meal had been given to me by the king himself, a handful of grains we ate before battle. I resisted believing it, but I saw it—walking alongside the elf king, leaving a trail of death. So I raised my axe and threw it at the traitors with all my strength. It reached mid-hall. One of them even commented: "Thus, king, we see how your men only depend on weapons and armor. When you are with us, you will be able to fight better enemies than these pathetic balls of fury." From there, my life went downhill. I was discharged by the new king. Some out of pity, then with cruelty, challenged me for each piece of my exquisite armor. When only my underpants and helmet remained, they let me go.
I wandered for years, from village to village. No one took the last thing I had left—my helmet. My life was not mine; it had been taken from me years ago. I fell to this small community where everyone was so miserable they received me as one of their own. Here, I worked the land, the forge, served as a guard, protecting them from wild animals and later, when the undead crisis worsened, I was the one who kept them alive—years where I truly believed I was making a difference.
Then the next king fell—the one who had exiled me for years was dead. When I sought the new king, they told me there was no more. Now a group of the most important clans would be in charge of electing and deciding. I walked without direction those days. What would I do? My only chance for redemption was gone? I learned in that time. I was sure I could defend the people, but now? So today ended my last day caring for them. They all cried at my departure; they knew I would not return no matter how much I promised. They gave me a few coins—I did not ask for more, as they had no more. A smith gave me what I asked for. My gray head felt the cold as I left through the main tunnel. I traveled without a helmet; its metal had another purpose. Now I had to go to the city, to meet someone.
When you meet a hero, there is little left to say. A dwarf had been helping everyone—he taught them, helped the weak and strong alike. I wanted to meet him. I stood in line several times—there was little more I could do. He only attended a few, and only for smithing purposes. He never tried to govern or give advice. I wanted to show him how much I had improved since I was a guard. I could teach him how to make dwarves not depend on weapons—they would not listen to me; I was a disgrace. But he—he would know.
It took me two weeks to enter one of the smithies where he arrived after a horrible day defending the city. He did the same as me but on a completely different scale. I entered, and he looked at me before his forge. My words sounded crude after years in villages where delicate communication did not exist. I just babbled nonsense until he asked me to show him my hands. There were my new weapons—metal strips, adapted, with several spikes on the back. He looked at them and asked for them for a while. With horror, I saw him crush them. He created a metal sheet which he twisted greatly. He told me to return at the last hour of dusk. With my stomach in knots, I left and curled up in a nearby garbage dump—the only gift I had from them, the proof of my power... broken.
At night, I prepared to return. It was clear this hero did not believe me capable. Perhaps I was not. Just as I was at the tunnel entrance, he caught up to me. I did not know how, but he knew my name. He handed me a package. As he turned, I pulled from the folds a helmet. It was not identical, but it resembled my old guard helmet. Beneath it, two versions similar to the gloves forged in the coal village. He told me: "A dwarf without a helmet doesn't feel right. You are strong. Do not doubt yourself. I give you a gift, forged with the best steel. Train, become even faster. You will be a light in the future—the light that illuminates this mountain."
So that was what I did. I trained for years. Just as I returned, they told me he had left. But it no longer mattered—I was ready to train the new generations. No one could stand against what I knew, against my knowledge and what Chapatrueno taught me. What was that? Someone was coming through the main tunnel entrance. I knew this armor—it was from the Royal Guard. He came very wounded. He said that Caliza and the other ruler were trapped in the city of Magmite by thousands of enemies. He would leave tomorrow and was looking for volunteers... This was my opportunity! I would make them choose me—even if I had to break bones!