He hadn't always been like this—a small-time con artist lingering at dungeon entrances, squeezing whatever profit he could from every encounter. Life doesn't just collapse overnight into something so pathetic.
He'd had a life once. A job. A purpose. That had been everything to him. But life twists in ways no one sees coming: losing your job, being forced out of your only home after a mass evacuation, ending up on the streets.
That had been his story. Family? He hadn't seen them in ages—maybe they didn't even remember him anymore. Friends? Who in hell would want to befriend someone like that?
That was the man called Star.
Swar: We're almost at the entrance.
Star: Still surprises me you came yourself.
Swar: This mission matters. It's not something you leave to just anyone.
Star: Fair enough.
They moved in a long caravan line, loaded with runes and resources the dwarves hadn't bothered to explain—rare metals, perhaps.
Star: So? What are you planning to say?
Swar: What do you mean?
Star: You know exactly what I mean. You'll be standing before important people—you'd better know what to tell them.
Swar: I'll say what needs to be said.
Star: Your logic's… something else.
Star sighed, sitting inside one of the caravans, under watch. They were close now—to the entrance that led to the surface. The surface…
How long had it been?
He hadn't left the dungeon since that incident. And even now, he questioned that choice—selling fake pickaxes to dwarves. About two hundred of them, poor quality, under the alias of a merchant named Star. Of course it hadn't ended well. His instincts had warned him from the start.
But the money had been too good. High prices, smooth talk—he'd convinced them easily. Irony at its finest: he always trusted his instincts, yet greed always found a way to collect its debt.
At least now he had a chance to escape. He peeked out the window. The entrance was coming into view—massive, fortified. Those tiny shapes above had to be guards.
The caravan rolled forward. From above, a voice called out:
Soldier: Identification.
Swar: Swar of the dwarves. We bring the monthly quota—runes and minerals, all from the mining city.
The gate began to rise, slow and heavy. They moved inside. Everything there was solid—built to withstand force. A narrow passage allowed caravans through one at a time, hauling carts full of minerals. Soldiers inspected them as they passed.
Soldier: All clear.
Swar: Good.
Beyond it lay a much larger space than the mining city. There were stalls, movement everywhere—armed figures walking about. Elves… and even a few dwarves.
Swar: We'll stay here today. At dawn, when the upper gate opens, we move out.
Everyone nodded.
Star: Got it.
Swar: And where do you think you're going? You're still a prisoner.
Star: I'm also your translator.
Swar: That doesn't grant privileges.
Star: You do love the drama, beard and all.
Swar: Doesn't matter. You stay where we can see you.
Star sighed and sat down. Still better than that dim, suffocating cell. Much better.
With nothing useful to do, he watched the flow of people. Swar had gone to speak with whoever was in charge, while the other dwarves kept a close eye on him. Not the right moment to escape. Not yet.
An elf passed by. Then a human. Both standing guard together. Strange sight—two races that had tried to kill each other not long ago, now side by side. Almost funny.
He started tossing a small stone between his hands. It reminded him, oddly enough, of that guy—the one who called himself a hero.
What a mess of a person. Barely clothed, stuck in a lava hell—one of the most dangerous, least understood dungeons out there. How had he survived this long?
If he'd been telling the truth… if he really was a hero… then maybe it made sense.
A hero…
Didn't look like one. Not even close. Star had every reason to doubt it. There was no real proof—just a ridiculous claim made from the worst possible position. That left only two options: either he was a weak, pathetic excuse for a hero… or he wasn't one at all.
Either way, it didn't matter now. By this point, he was probably—
A shame, really. For someone who'd given him this golden opportunity, Star couldn't do a thing in return. He was going to die. He was sure of it. There was no reason to believe otherwise.
But if luck was somehow on his side—if, by some miracle, he was telling the truth—then maybe he'd deserve something in return.
Not that it mattered anymore.
Star nodded to himself.
Star: What a day…
He leaned back against the caravan wall and lay down. Tomorrow would be long. He tried to sleep—but couldn't.
He glanced at the ground. The stone he'd been holding trembled slightly.
…?
The vibration grew stronger. Slowly at first, then sharper. Soldiers shouted. Dwarves too. Something was wrong.
He stepped out and saw it—everything shaking. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped.
Star rushed forward and grabbed the first person he saw.
Star: What happened?
???: I don't know… it just started shaking and—
Chaos. People running, shouting. Some claimed it was an enemy attack. Others said it was just a quake. Truth was—no one knew.
Swar arrived in a hurry.
Swar: We leave now.
A dwarf stepped forward.
Dwarf: But the materials—
Swar: They don't matter anymore. We're heading up. I'll assign three to handle things here. And you—
Star: Yeah?
Swar: You're coming with me.
Star nodded.
Swar picked a small group—six in total. They were escorted to the upper gate. Star glanced back at the chaos, at soldiers preparing for battle.
Maybe…
Maybe he really was a demon after all.
With that thought, he stepped onto the surface.