The mist of the dwarven mountains was a frozen blanket that clung to the skin and seeped through to the bones. Darian advanced with a stumbling step, feeling every fiber of his body on the edge of collapse. The cold bit at his cheeks and his breath escaped in white clouds that vanished, swallowed by the fog.
Beside him, Varkas limped visibly. The cut on his thigh had stopped bleeding thanks to an emergency bandage, but every step was a reminder of the ambush. The giant clenched his teeth and kept going, refusing to show weakness.
Aria brought up the rear. Her blood wolf cloak, once proud and lethal, was now stained with mud and dried blood splatters. She held her bow in hand, without arrows, but ready to use it as a club if necessary. Her gaze scanned the mist constantly.
No one spoke. The silence between them was as dense as the mist itself. They were exhausted and the cold gave no reprieve.
"We need shelter," Varkas growled, breaking the ice more out of necessity than any desire to talk. "If we stay out in the open, the cold will kill us before any mercenary does."
Darian nodded, without the strength to respond. The warmth of Vaelor's egg against his back was the only comfort in that frozen wasteland. It pulsed weakly, like a small heart refusing to give up.
Aria stopped suddenly. She pointed toward a crack in the rocky wall, barely visible through the mist.
"There. An entrance."
It was a low, narrow opening, half hidden by fallen rocks. It didn't look natural. The edges were carved with dwarven runes worn down by time. An old outpost, or perhaps the entrance to an abandoned mine.
They approached with what caution their exhaustion allowed. Before reaching the entrance, a figure emerged from the shadows of the crack.
She was short, barely reaching Darian's chest. She wore a hardened leather breastplate with blue-tinted metal pauldrons and a smith's apron that seemed to have seen more battles than many shields. Her silver hair was pulled back in a high ponytail that fell over her shoulder. Her eyes, an intense violet, watched them with a mixture of distrust and curiosity.
In her hands she held a dwarven crossbow, small but looking lethal. It was aimed directly at Varkas's chest.
"Stop there, outsiders," the dwarf woman said with a firm voice. "What are a beastman, an elf, and a human doing in dwarven territory?"
Varkas raised one hand in a gesture of peace, though the other rested on his sword hilt.
"We're adventurers. We had trouble at the pass. We just want to treat our wounds and find shelter to rest. We don't want to bring you trouble."
The dwarf woman narrowed her eyes. Her gaze traveled slowly over the group. First to the wounded giant, then to the young woman with the wolf cloak, and finally to the boy with the crystal swords.
Her gaze stopped on Darian.
"Human," she said, and her tone changed. It was no longer just distrust. There was something darker, more personal. "Do you know what your kind did to my clan?"
Darian held her gaze. He was too exhausted to argue, but he didn't look away.
"No. But I imagine nothing good."
"Nothing good," the dwarf repeated with bitterness. "They came at night. Human bandits. They looted, killed, and burned everything. They took whatever they wanted."
Aria, to one side, watched in silence. Her hand didn't move toward her knife, but her posture remained tense. That conflict wasn't with her. But the hostility in the air put her on edge.
Varkas stood still, ready to step in if necessary.
Finally, the dwarf's gaze shifted to Darian's swords. Her violet eyes opened slightly. The innate curiosity of her race overcame the resentment.
"Is that... runic obsidian?" she asked, lowering the crossbow a few centimeters. "And that cloak? Alpha Blood Wolf hide?"
Darian nodded, without the strength for explanations.
"My name is Darian. We had to flee this way. We just want to treat our wounds and rest. Nothing more."
The dwarf watched them in silence for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. Then, with a sigh, she lowered the crossbow completely.
"Fine. But you enter under my responsibility. And if you try anything..." she struck the handle of a hammer hanging from her belt, "you know what happens."
"Deal," said Varkas, without bothering to argue.
"And you, giant," the dwarf added, pointing at his thigh wound. "That wound needs to be closed before it gets infected. Come in and I'll treat it."
Varkas nodded with a grunt that could have been either gratitude or resignation.
The dwarf woman signaled for them to follow and went deeper into the crack. The tunnel was narrow at first, but soon widened into a cavern illuminated by the soft glow of mana crystals embedded in the walls. The air grew warm and carried the unmistakable scent of charcoal and hot metal.
A forge.
In the center of the cavern, a black stone anvil rested beside a furnace of refractory bricks. Tools of every size hung neatly on the walls. It was a complete workshop, hidden in the belly of the mountain.
"I'm Kára," said the dwarf, hanging her crossbow on a support beside the entrance. "Last of Clan Kadrin. And this workshop is the one thing the humans couldn't burn."
The phrase hung in the air. Darian felt the weight of those words. He didn't look away, but he didn't try to defend himself either. Aria, from a corner, watched in silence. This wasn't her fight.
Darian let himself drop onto a wooden stool. The forge's heat licked his face and he felt his numb fingers begin to come back to life. Vaelor's egg pulsed more strongly against his back, as if it too was grateful for the shelter.
Kára approached Varkas and examined the wound on his thigh with a critical eye.
"This needs stitches. And an ointment to prevent infection. Sit."
Varkas obeyed, settling his leg down with a groan. Kára knelt beside him and began cleaning the wound with water and a dark liquid of sharp smell. While she worked, her eyes stopped on the giant's wrists. Then on his neck.
Scars. Deep, uneven marks from the constant friction of iron against skin.
Kára went still for a moment. Her fingers brushed one of the marks on Varkas's wrist.
"How long?" she asked in a low voice.
Varkas didn't look away from the forge fire.
"Ten years."
Kára exhaled slowly.
"Humans," she said, and the word sounded like a curse.
"Humans," Varkas confirmed.
The dwarf returned to her work. She began stitching the wound with a curved needle, her movements precise and methodical. The silence stretched between them.
"My clan," Kára said without looking up. "The Kadrins. We were twenty-seven. Forgers, miners, guardians of the ancient runes. We lived in a settlement at the foot of Echo Mountain." She paused to tie a stitch. "One night, they came. Human bandits. They surrounded the settlement and set fire to the houses. Those who tried to flee were killed. Those who could were captured. They took everything of value."
"How did you escape?" Varkas asked.
"I wasn't there. I had gone down to the mines to extract runic obsidian. I spent three days underground. When I came back up..." Her voice cracked for just an instant, but she composed herself immediately. "There was nothing left but ash and bones."
She finished stitching and applied the ointment carefully. Then she looked up and fixed her gaze on Darian.
"The problem is humans."
The silence grew heavy. Darian felt the weight of those words like an additional slab on his chest. He didn't look away, but he didn't try to defend himself either.
"Not all of them."
Varkas's voice resonated deep and firm. Kára turned toward him, surprised.
"How can you say that?" the dwarf asked, with disbelief. "You more than anyone... ten years in chains because of them. And you still defend them?"
Varkas looked at Darian and Aria. Then he fixed his yellow eyes back on Kára.
"I lost mine too. My tribe was attacked by hunters. My wife, my children... they managed to escape because I stayed behind to stop them." He paused. "For ten years I was nothing but a beast to them. An animal for their bets. But this boy and this elf freed me. They gave me back my pride." His voice grew firmer. "I don't fight for humans. I fight for them. They're my new family."
Kára remained silent. Her gaze traveled from Varkas to Darian, and then to Aria. Something changed in her violet eyes. It was no longer just distrust. There was something new. A spark of respect, perhaps. Or at least, the recognition that those three were not like the others.
To break the tension, her eyes fixed on the bundle sticking out from Darian's back.
"What are you carrying there?"
Darian hesitated for a moment. He looked at Varkas, who nodded slightly. Then, carefully, he took the egg from his pack.
It was the size of a large fist, sky blue with silver specks that glowed faintly in the crystal light. It pulsed with a soft, constant rhythm, like a sleeping heart.
Kára's eyes went wide.
"Is that... a dragon egg?"
"Vaelor's," Darian confirmed. "The guardian of Telesto Canyon. He died to save us."
Kára reached out a hand, but stopped halfway. She looked at Darian, asking permission. He nodded. The dwarf brushed the surface of the egg with her fingertips.
"You're tangled up in something very big," she murmured, almost to herself.
She withdrew her hand and refocused on Varkas's wound. She applied a clean bandage and stood up.
"Two days ago I saw a group of hooded figures crossing the pass. They weren't human. They moved like shadows. They asked about an elf."
Aria tensed. Her hand closed around her knife handle.
"What did you tell them?" Darian asked.
"Nothing. I don't talk to strangers. But they were heading east. And they didn't look like they were from around here."
Darian leaned his head against the stone wall. The forge's heat licked his face. The scent of metal and charcoal filled his lungs.
The weight in Darian's chest felt a little lighter. Vaelor's egg, against his back, pulsed softly, as if it too sensed that, at least for tonight, they were safe.