Swar paced back and forth. For the third time, he asked his companion:
Swar: Any news?
Trok: Nothing new. Everything looks normal.
Swar: Any word from the surface?
Trok: The messengers are taking a long time. No signs they'll respond anytime soon.
Swar ran his hands through his hair. The situation had gone from bad to worse. From a simple demon in a cave to an imminent catastrophe.
Trok: The area where the demon was first found has been inspected. There was only some kind of hole—nothing of value.
Swar: Any weapons? Any message?
Trok: Nothing.
It was hard to tell what was worse: knowing your enemy or knowing nothing at all. The latter terrified him even more.
The city had entered a period of tense calm, with miners working longer shifts and soldiers accompanying them on their long days. If an army really was approaching, it was the worst possible scenario.
But the same question kept coming up: why here? Being in a remote dungeon, there shouldn't even be a stray demon. A scout? It was a plausible theory, but it didn't explain the distance.
Maybe the supply lines were at risk… If that were the case, the city would have to evacuate—and the surface…
Swar shook his head. That wasn't possible. They would survive. That's what had been said, what had been established. They had no other option. They truly didn't.
Swar went out for a walk. He needed to make sure everything was in order. It was his daily routine: first, checking the supplies that arrived every twelve days—food for miners, soldiers, and those temporarily living in the fortress city. Then, reviewing the amount of ore collected.
Lately, it had been decreasing significantly.
Trok: Hey, Swar.
Swar: Yeah?
Trok: You're too tense. Relax.
Swar: I can't right now. I need to stay focused.
Trok: Swar.
Swar: Don't try to convince me otherwise.
Trok: An impatient mind can't appreciate what truly matters.
Swar: I can't take that seriously coming from a drunk.
Trok: Doesn't matter if it comes from a drunk or not. You need to relax. Let's go to the tavern—my treat.
Swar: Don't take that back later.
Trok: I just got paid.
They both walked to the tavern. Several dwarves were seated—soldiers and miners resting. They exchanged a few greetings.
Trok: The usual for me and my friend.
Two mugs of beer were served. They drank them in one go.
Swar: That's good.
Trok: Told you.
Others approached them.
Dwarf: Hey… is it true you captured a demon?
All eyes turned to Swar.
Swar: I'm not working right now.
Trok: Leave him alone.
The dwarf insisted.
Dwarf: It concerns all of us.
Murmurs spread.
Swar noticed the looks of fear and hatred—a strange mix in many of their eyes.
Swar: I won't confirm anything.
The dwarves nodded. That alone was confirmation.
There was no panic like in the past, when it had paralyzed them. Instead, there was a kind of lucid resignation. A burning hunger for vengeance and a clear target: an evil demon that had reached their lands. That demon would pay dearly. The dwarves' resolve hardened.
Meanwhile, deep in the dungeon, where only a flickering torch barely lit the place, a hero slept soundly, unaware of the plans beginning to form against him. The hero slept peacefully, curled up in his bed.
He woke up. A comfortable bed and a pleasant environment. Froggy stood up and stretched, making the chains rattle.
Froggy: What a great nap.
Then he started jumping from side to side, stretching and moving, pushing his mobility as much as he could.
Froggy: One… two… three…
A basic exercise routine. It was the only thing he could do at the moment, with a distrustful companion and grumpy dwarves.
Froggy: Done.
He sat on the bed.
Froggy: Routine complete.
Shortly after, a dwarf entered with food. He placed the tray on the ground and handed it to him. It was barely a portion. It looked strange—like some kind of soggy rice, but purple rice with green specks. He didn't think much of it and began to eat. It was actually quite good. It had a strange taste, maybe a bit bland, but it was food.
Froggy: Maybe it's missing some chicken to complete the menu, but it's a good start. I'll give it a 6/10.
Star: How can you eat that thing?
Froggy: Is there something wrong with it?
Star didn't answer. Froggy kept eating. His stomach was satisfied.
Froggy: Star, I've been thinking of a way to escape from here.
Star: It won't work.
Froggy: Trust me. The first thing we need is a distraction. Maybe if you call them over, we could do something.
Star: We're in a fortified dwarven city. Even if we somehow got out, our height would give us away. We'd die before reaching the exit.
Froggy: Nonsense. If the plan really works, we'll get out just fine.
Star: Whatever you say.
Froggy: …
He knew it. It was really hard to get out of here—but he had to, no matter how difficult it was.
Froggy: Umm…
Froggy: Do you have a cloak or something like that?
Star: I wonder how you've survived this long being so stupid.
Froggy: Hey!
Star: How would I have a cloak?
Froggy: I haven't gotten a good look at you. I thought maybe you had something.
Star: I have nothing.
Froggy: Fine, change of plans. There must be some way to get them to take us out…
Star: Hey… what if you guide them to that so-called army?
Froggy: Not a bad idea…
Star: Tell them you've sensed your companions' presence and that you'll guide them to where they are. Then, when they slip up, we escape.
Froggy: How? We'll be watched the whole time.
Star: I'll create the opening. Trust me.
Froggy nodded. The plan began to take shape.