*Date: 33,480 Second Quarter - Iron Confederacy, Secluded Valley*
The morning light spilled gently over the valley, turning the mountain fog into strands of molten silver. The forge fires had long cooled, but the smell of coal and metal still lingered, seeping into every stone and every breath. Demir stood by the workshop door, his pack already strapped tight, his new sword and shield resting proudly against his back.
The secluded valley had grown quieter in recent weeks. Dwarves worked at their stations or drank at the tavern, still half in awe that Durnak himself had taken a human apprentice. It had become almost home, in a world where "home" was an illusion.
He turned at the sound of slow, uneven steps - rhythm he'd learned to recognize in the dark, could identify from workshop noise and crowd murmur. Durnak was coming down the slope, his walking stick biting into dirt with measured percussion, beard flowing in the wind like copper wire given fluidity through some metallurgical miracle.
"Ye up early, lad." Durnak squinted as if the morning personally offended him, as if dawn had arrived without proper authorization. "Thought I'd find ye sleepin' under the anvil again."
Demir smiled faintly, the expression catching on exhaustion and something else like sentiment or perhaps, though he was reluctant to name it that directly. "I couldn't sleep. Figured I should say goodbye before I lose my nerve."
"Bah." Durnak snorted, waving his hand dismissively in a gesture that managed to convey both irritation and affection through pure kinetic vocabulary. "Ye got the hands of a smith and the stubbornness of a mule. Nothin'll stop ye now, 'cept stupidity. And I've already beat enough o' that outta ye."
The comment should have stung. Instead, Demir felt oddly warmed by it, recognizing the oblique praise hidden in the old dwarf's gruffness like iron ore waiting to be refined.
Durnak reached into his thick leather coat and pulled out a rolled parchment, sealed with his crest. The wax was dark red, pressed with the image of a hammer crossed with an anvil. "Take this. Don't get cocky. These're rough sketches, notes I made back when I still had eyesight sharp enough to see the damn grain in steel."
Demir accepted it carefully. The paper was thick, old, drawn with lines so intricate that even folded, it seemed alive. He could feel the texture of charcoal and ink under his fingers. "What is this?"
"The next step," Durnak said, his voice carrying that particular gravel-and-honey quality that emerged when he spoke of craft rather than commerce. "Blueprints for weapon types ye haven't tried. Axes, spears, longswords, hammers. Maybe even somethin' new. If the world gives ye a chance to keep breathin', ye'll need more than a sword to leave yer mark." He paused, eyes distant. "Or to survive what's comin'."
Demir bowed his head, throat suddenly tight with emotion he hadn't anticipated. "I'll make you proud, Master Durnak."
Durnak chuckled, the sound like grinding stone somehow achieving melody. "Don't bother with pride. Just live long enough to make me regret teachin' ye." But his eyes, Demir noticed, held something softer than the words suggested.
Brovick arrived next, carrying a small wooden box tied with rope and a grin too wide for his face. His beard was freshly braided, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. His approach lacked Master Durnak's gravitas but compansated with infectious energy.
"Before ye go, brat," Brovick said, tossing the box into Demir's arms. "Don't open that too rough. I had to bribe half the Iron Market for it."
Demir undid the ropes and lifted the lid. Inside, cushioned with straw, lay two finely worked silver rings and a thick leather belt embossed with dwarven runes, and a vitality stone.
"Accessories?" Demir blinked, surprised. "You bought me jewelry?"
"Again with the same joke!" Brovick barked, insulted. His face turned red. "Those are artifacts, boy! The rings'll keep ye from fryin' or freezin'. Resist the elements themselves. The belt's vitality-heavy. Helps ye lift a forge's worth of steel and maybe live through a stab or two. Maybe." He emphasized that last word with dark humor born from long experience with precisely how many stabs various pieces of equipment could or couldn't withstand.
Demir picked up one of the rings, feeling the faint hum of enchantment vibrating through the metal. Tiny runes etched into the band glowed softly. The metal was warm against his fingers, responding to his touch in ways that suggested some form of rudimentary recognition. "I was joking. Thanks again."
Brovick waved him off. "Bah. I'm old and grumpy, not heartless. Besides, if ye die, who'll take over my debts?" The joke fell flat enough that Demir suspected it wasn't entirely a joke.
Demir laughed, strapping the belt around his waist and sliding the rings onto his fingers. The metal felt warm, like they recognized him. Than he carefully placed the vitality stone to his new shield.
"I'll make sure they don't go to waste," Demir said.
"Aye, see that ye don't," Brovick said, grinning. Then his expression shifted, became more serious as he looked around conspiratorially before producing an ancient-looking paper from inside his vest. The document was yellowed with age, edges soft with handling. "These papers are a pair. Here, take one."
Demir accepted it, examining the intricate runes woven into the parchment's fiber. "What is it for?"
Brovick's voice dropped to something approaching reverence. "These are very rare magical papers. What you write appears on the other. Communication across distance, instant and reliable."
"It's like mailing," Demir said, wonder creeping into his voice despite his attempt at casual understanding. "That's awesome."
"Yeah, yeah, but it is limited to this paper's front and back. So don't write too much." Brovick cautioned, then paused. "Actually, write whatever ye need. Words have value when they might be yer last."
Demir thought for a several seconds. His expression grew serious, his mind immediately jumping to Aris - wherever his friend was, whatever danger he might be facing. "Master, are these expensive? Hard to find?"
Brovikc snorted. "What do ye think? Of course they are. Bloody irreplaceable."
"Then can I get your half too? I have a dear friend. If I see him, I need to give it to him so I never lose him again."
Brovick sighed dramatically. "Bah, whatever." He ripped the paper in half and gave his half to Demir. Demir also ripped his half carefully. And marked the correct pairs with each other. He made an "X" on Brovick's pair. It appeared on his paper instantly, shimmering into existence. Then he made an "O" on the other half. Now he had one complete set to keep, one to give to Aris when - if - they met again.
"Now, go before Durnak changes his mind and puts ye back on nail duty," voice gruff but eyes suspiciously bright.
The dwarves of the secluded valley gathered to see him off. Some waved, economic gestures that contained more emotion than elaborate farewells. Some just nodded - brief acknowledg ments that spoke volumes in their restraint. Others shouted words Demir didn't understand in their thick dialectical variations, but the tone carried meaning that transcended translation. He bowed to them all, heart swelling with something between pride and sorrow, feeling the weight of their collective regard like physical pressure against his chest.
Durnak raised a hand. "Ye'll find the road easier than last time. Asena's been lingerin' in the woods again. Seems she's taken a likin' to ye, though I can't imagine why." The last part emerged dry as desert wind, but Demir caught the faint smile hiding in the old dwarf's beard.
Demir chuckled, remembering the giant wolf whose competitive nature matched his own. "Maybe she just enjoys winning."
The old dwarf smirked. "Then give her a good chase."
Demir left the valley as the sun reached its peak. The mountain wind was dry and sharp, carrying the scent of pine and soot. His new sword, Wolf's Vow, hung heavy but comforting at his side. The Wyvern's Aegis shield caught the sunlight and scattered it like shards of glass.
He walked for hours, descending rocky paths and winding through the narrow gorges that led toward the Confederacy's outer forests. Occasionally, he'd hear rustling. Branches bending, pawsteps soft against moss. He didn't have to turn to know who it was.
"Asena..." he muttered with a grin, speaking to the forest as much as to the wolf. "You really can't let me travel alone, can you?"
A distant, low huff answered him. The giant wolf emerged from between the trees, her silver-gray fur shimmering under the light. Her golden eyes locked onto him, head tilting slightly as if amused.
Demir sighed, theatrical in his resignation. "Fine, but I'm not racing you again. Not on foot or hunting."
Asena barked once. Short, sharp, unmistakably mocking. And then trotted ahead, tail flicking proudly.
It didn't take long before the "race" resumed anyway.
Whenever Demir stopped to rest or hunt, Asena would appear moments later, dragging something absurdly large in her jaws. A deer, a bear, even once a tusked boar that must've weighed more than both of them. She'd drop it near him, look at the small rabbit or fish he'd caught, and huff in obvious disdain.
Demir pointed at her with a stick. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"
She growled softly, almost like laughter.
"Well, fine then. Let's see who gets the better meal tomorrow."
As if she understood, Asena raised her head proudly and padded into the shadows.
The journey stretched into the second day. The landscape changed from rocky passes to rolling hills covered in tall yellow grass. The artificial sun dimmed as the system shifted its cycle, casting an eternal dusk over the land.
Demir camped near a small stream, roasting his catch. A modest hare. While Asena dropped a freshly slain elk beside him and began eating noisily. He glared.
"You could share, you know."
The wolf ignored him, tearing meat from bone with satisfaction.
Demir sighed, lying back on the grass, staring up at the digital stars scattered across Aethyros' sky. Each spark felt artificial, but still... comforting. "If this world has left any gods," he murmured, "they sure like to play games."
Asena glanced at him briefly before resuming her meal.
When he finally drifted to sleep, it was with the sound of her slow breathing nearby. A rhythm steady and grounding.
By the third day, the road began to twist between steep ridges and tangled forests. The air smelled faintly of iron and pine resin. Demir was exhausted, his shirt clinging to him from sweat and dust. Yet beside him, Asena trotted with tireless grace, fur glinting like molten silver under Aethyros's artificial sun.
She was enjoying this. He could feel it. Every time he slowed, she slowed too, only to rush ahead the moment he caught up. It had become their silent ritual: a race without start or finish, only stubbornness keeping it alive.
"Go ahead, show off," Demir muttered as she pranced through a shallow stream, splashing him deliberately.
Asena barked once, sharp and mocking.
"I'm not racing you today," Demir said, waving a hand dismissively. "We've been doing this for two days, and my legs are ready to unionize."
Asena tilted her head, almost curious. Then, to his disbelief, crouched low, tail wagging. She nudged the dirt with her paw like a playful dog challenging him.
Demir sighed. "No. Not again."
She barked louder.
"I said no, damn it!"
He turned his back to her, pretending to ignore the giant wolf. He made it three steps before a sudden thud hit his back like a battering ram. The world tilted. He stumbled forward and hit the ground face-first, dust exploding around him.
"Asena!" Demir shouted, voice muffled by dirt. He turned over, coughing, just in time to see her towering above him, ears perked in what could only be smug satisfaction. "You did you just tackle me?!"
She gave a proud huff, then lowered her enormous head until her nose almost touched his. A soft growl rumbled from her chest, half warning, half laughter.
Demir groaned, pushing himself upright. "You're a menace. You know that?"
Asena barked again, tail flicking. Then, as if to emphasize her victory, she pounced on a nearby fallen tree, crushed it under her paws, and threw her head back in a triumphant howl that echoed across the valley.
Demir spat out dirt, glaring. "Alright, fine! You win! Happy now?!"
The wolf leapt down, trotting in circles around him like a cat toying with its prey. She went again with a head toss.
"Girl, stop..." Demir muttered, patting her fur. "You're impossible."
He stood, brushing himself off. "Next time you try that, I'm..."
The rest of his sentence was swallowed by a strange whirring noise. It started faintly, like the buzz of distant insects, then grew into a deep, mechanical hum that vibrated through the ground. The air itself shimmered with noise.
Asena's ears perked, her entire body going tense in transition from playful to predatory that took less than a heartbeat. She took two steps forward, growling toward the valley's mouth with sound that started deep in her chest and built into something that made Demir's hindbrain scream warnings.
Demir frowned, hand instinctively finding the hilt of his sword - Wolf's Vow responding to his grip like extension of his own arm. "What now...?"
The sound grew louder - an engine's roar mixed with crackling flame, mechanical thunder that had no place in this supposedly medieval fantasy world. Then a burst of light streaked between the trees, followed by a concussive whoosh that felt more like being punched by air pressure than hearing sound. Something shot across the valley floor at impossible speed, leaving behind rippling waves of heat and smoke that hung in the air like visible trauma.
Demir's heart jumped, pulse accelerating with combination of fear and confusion and something dangerously close to excitement. The object wasn't an arrow or a spell - it was too fast, too sustained, too wrong for either category. It moved like he imagined a dragon would move with its wings folded, gliding barely above the earth at speeds that suggested complete disregard for friction or air resistance. Fire sputtered from vents along its sides with rhythmic precision that spoke of engineering rather than magic.
"What in the hells is that?" he whispered.
Asena barked once - sharp, warning - and backed several steps, hackles raised, claws digging into dirt with tension that suggested she was seconds from either fight or flight, uncertain which would be more effective. Her eyes tracked the approaching object with predatory focus tempered by obvious uncertainty about whether this qualified as prey or threat.
Demir stood frozen, sword half-drawn, mind struggling to reconcile what he'd just witnessed with everything he thought he understood about Aethyros. "That wasn't... magic," he muttered, working through the logic aloud. "That was... tech."
He glanced down at Asena. The wolf stared after the vanished light, muscles still tense, a low growl rolling from her throat that suggested she hadn't dismissed the threat despite its departure.
Demir sheathed his sword slowly, eyes narrowing toward the trail of smoke curling in the distance like accusatory finger pointing at the sky. "Looks like the world's getting stranger by the day," he murmured, though "stranger" felt like massive understatement for whatever he'd just witnessed.
Then the small dragon-shaped hover bike - because he could see it more clearly now on its return pass - screamed past them again in great speed, spewing fire from exhaust ports that glowed cherry-red with expelled heat. The machine banked, decelerated with physics that suggested sophisticated control systems, and stopped a few hundred yards away. Close enough to be intimidating. Far enough to suggest caution rather than confrontation.