- How much is missing?
The King glanced at his advisor. The papers showed a clear deficit in the month's grain count. After scanning the records once more, the King's voice rose louder.
- The books don't lie. Thieves do!
Hit him again.
- Okay, okay!
I will talk but please—spare my life, Your majesty.
My family... My boys... My seven boys are starving. I had to do it.
I'm just a grain hauler—I only took enough to bake one loaf.
- The amount is more than enough for a single loaf.
- Th-they are seven energetic boys... They need to eat every day...
Two guards made themselves heard from a dark corner.
- I've heard the servants complain about the eggs. Perhaps he stole those too.
- And the potatoes we eat after training are disappearing as well.
The King's face hardened, his jaw tightening until his teeth ground audibly. His shadow stretched long across the marble as he took a step forward.
- Feeding seven boys, are you? Seven hungry mouths... and a father with soft hands.
You expect me to believe this is mere theft?
No... you're helping the rebels, aren't you?
Sneaking my grain into their filthy camps. Under the name of mercy.
The man shook his head violently, his words breaking between sobs.
- No! I swear, Your Majesty.
I would never... I only wanted to feed my children!
Please...
The King raised his hand, and the guards whispering immediately fell silent.
- Enough. Mercy has its limits.
Seven boys, you say? Then seven blades you shall have!
The man was accused of treason for stealing barely enough grain to bake a single loaf each week. He would grind the grain with a stone, mixing it with water and salt stolen from his own tears, baking the dough over dying embers as his children waited in silence for the scent of bread. That was all in the past now. At the last knife piercing his abdomen the man's screams stopped. Seven mouths fed by a crime worth six and one deadly blade.
Valerie watched — and learned that in her father's eyes, mercy was a crime only the poor could commit.
Valerie recoiled, her heart racing, watching the scene without fully understanding, but feeling a chill of repulsion crawl up her spine. The blades cutting down the man... the obedient silence that followed... every gesture from her father reflected a mercy that had never existed for the poor, a justice that only seemed to serve the powerful.
Frightened, she turned and ran to her room, her small feet barely touching the floor. She threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in the pillow and pretending to sleep, while listening to the weight of the king's sandals approaching. He paused at the bedside, eyes scanning her sleeping face, making sure she had heard nothing.
The next morning, the man's family arrived at the castle gates, pleading for answers, but the guards barred them harshly. Valerie was passing by on her way to the city and her beloved library. Seeing their desperation, she felt a mix of fear and disgust at her father's so-called justice. She turned her face away, climbed into the carriage in haste, and said nothing. Every movement, every glance that morning reinforced the certainty in her young heart: this was a merciless path she would never choose to follow.
Back to the Present
The noises kept growing louder with every step. Baliot led them to an intersection: stairs climbing higher ahead, another flight descending to the right, and to the left, a narrow corridor lined with doors — ending in a wide doorway that opened into a vast chamber.
- Keep going straight from here and you'll reach the outside, behind the hill. There's a hidden door among the bushes.
Careful not to get scratched by them.
Marion nods once to the dwarf, then grabs Valerie's arm, pulling her toward the stairs. Valerie's heartbeat thudding violently against her chest, her breath ragging as she fought through the heavy, dusty air. "It's happening again..."
- I can see the light already!
We'll find Jaiden and run to the nearest town. You can come with us!
The screams and the echo of boots grew fainter as they ran, but Valerie's body trembled. Her steps quickened until her feet barely brushed the ground. Her heart pounded faster and faster. "Once again, I'm running... Running from the cries of pain... from the clash of steel... from the sound of blood spilling through the halls. Running from injustice itself..."
She stopped.
Marion turned sharply, bewildered.
- What are you doing?! Why did you stop?!
Valerie's eyes burned with something fierce and clear.
- I shall not run anymore.
- What are you saying?!
We have to go, Valerie—now!
- I shall not run from the injustice waiting to be stopped. Not again.
- Valerie, are you even listening to yourself?!
They'll have our heads if we go back! Jaiden's looking for us — we're safer together!
Valerie shook her head, voice calm but unwavering.
- You should go, Lady Marion. Run as far as you can. I wish you both nothing but the best. May we meet again, my lady.
Before Marion can reach her, Valerie turns and runs — this time not away, but straight toward the chaos. Her feet pound the ground with purpose. Her dress is gathered tightly in her fists, her eyes burning with courage, hope, and unshakable resolve. "I am not running away anymore..."
- Mr. Baliot!
- You... came back.
- I'm not leaving, Mr. Baliot. Tell me what I can do to help.
- You shouldn't be here. Go while you still can.
- I can't just run away. I'm staying. Let me help.
- VALERIE! RUN!
Marion charges forward, sprinting down the stairs leading outside. The sound of fast, heavy steps follows close behind—too fast to be just hers. Two human soldiers pursue her. Their shining armor screams of royal knighthood, stained with blood — just like the royal family's hands. The brute clatter of their boots against the stone floor drowns out the faint sound of Marion's blood dripping as she runs. Her clothes are streaked with fresh crimson... one arm leaving a trail as she races forward.
Baliot swings his massive axe, striking the soldier directly behind Marion. She collapses to her knees as she reaches Valerie. The bulky dwarf holds the man back, knocking the sword aside and shoving the taller figure into the old brick wall. The clash of metal rings deafeningly through the corridor. Dust and small chunks of stone rain down from the ceiling's cracks with each impact.
Valerie moves instinctively, shielding Marion, pressing her close. The second soldier reaches them, grabs Baliot, and throws him down. Valerie's breath quickens, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Marion growls and struggles to rise. The two men kick the sturdy dwarf mercilessly. Blood sprays from his mouth as a boot crashes into his face.
Valerie's legs falter. Fear coils tight inside her chest as the brutal scene unfolds. "I have to do something."
She hesitates. Marion is hurt. Baliot is down, motionless. Blood streaks the dark gray floor. The echoes of battle swell around her. "...But what?"
One of the men snatches up the fallen sword, lifting it high above his head. And in that instant, the memory strikes — the royal soldiers, the marble floor, the cries of the helpless. The same gleaming armor, now smeared with blood. The same adorned blade catching the light like before... the same merciless reflection in their eyes.
- NO! STOP!
Before the blade can fall, Valerie surges forward, slamming into the man and driving him to the ground. The clang of metal erupts once more. Startled, the second soldier is struck by Baliot, who rises and delivers a crushing punch to the first man, knocking him out cold.
Silence.
Valerie stands still, breath shallow, the metallic scent of blood thick in the air. Her pulse hammers in her skull — the only sound that remains. The chaos is gone... no shouts, no steel, only their ragged breathing lingering in the dim corridor.
Upstairs...
The dwarves argue over what to do next. At the center of the room stands a large round table, hand-carved from solid wood and surrounded by nine sturdy chairs. A tall window, draped in heavy red curtains embroidered with gold thread, bathes the chamber in warm light. The room itself, perched atop the highest tower of the dwarven fortress, is circular in shape, its silver-tinted brick walls perfectly aligned — not a single crack in sight. It feels both regal and restrained; beautiful, yet unmistakably professional.
The Deep Council is formed by nine masters.
At its head sits the High Lord of the Forgehall, upon his Forgehall Throne, holding authority above all others.
Beside him sits the Grand Chancellor of the Elder Council — second in command — overseeing law, assemblies, and internal diplomacy.
Next in line is the Marshal of the Watch, master of security, who commands the guards within the fortress, organizes patrols, and supervises prisoners under the banner of the Iron Guard.
Beneath him stands the Warthane of Strategy, captain of the Iron Guard, responsible for leading warriors into battle, devising tactics, and offering military counsel.
The next four members share equal rank, though their duties are no less vital:
— The Master of the Wild, leader of the Wildrunners, directs hunting expeditions.
— The Keeper of the Fields, with his Fieldwardens, manages crops, livestock, and harvests.
— The Bricks Warden, head of the Woodshapers, oversees construction and repair.
— The Master of the Hammers, with his Hammerguild, supervises the forging and maintenance of weapons and armor.
Finally, there is the Envoy of Realms, representative of the Concord Order, who maintains relations and negotiations with other races and kingdoms.
Today, at the table, only 3 chairs are occupied.
- We have to start fighting back the humans, yes... that's what I said!
But I never agreed to let them live and care for them.
This is a waste of resources we don't have!
The angry dwarf slams his fist against the table. His dark, grizzled beard covers most of his chest; his red nose wrinkles in fury beneath thick, bushy eyebrows. Three red-haired dwarves stand behind him, nodding vigorously at their Master's words.
- I agree with Master Darian.
- Yeeeah, that's right! We do too!
- The whole point of hunting humans was to eat them and steal their goods. Our ancestors used them as a source of meat and wealth. Why shouldn't we do the same?!
- Our ancestors accepted the peace terms at the—
Darian rises abruptly, cutting off the calmer dwarf's words, who sits in front of him. His subordinates cheer as usual.
- We honored that agreement until they broke it first. That means peace is over.
- Yeeeh! Let's kill them!!
- We have no reason to be kind to them. Can't you see that, Cornelious?!
-That very mindset is what brought us to this food shortage.
Cornelious, older and steadier, sits calmly. His brown hair forms a loose braid down his back, his shorter beard neat but modest. His voice is measured, firm, but not harsh.
- Aren't you breaking the treaty by kidnapping human women? You treat them as labor, feed them... yet still expect obedience. Your "kindness" won't make them loyal, Cornelious. You've seen their attempts to set the fields on fire.
- Kidnapping them was your idea, and since the rest of the Deep Council agreed, I had no choice but to find a more peaceful way to secure food. I did what I could to respect the peace terms.
- If those peace terms still meant anything, those humans wouldn't be trying to destroy our food source even after being captured. My Wildrunners aren't able to find more animals—
- Enough!!
- Chief Igion...
The man on the Forgehall Throne raises his voice, his long silvery-gray hair bouncing as he gestures. His beard is braided with small white threads, and the thin lines above his eyes are still, as a soft sigh escapes him.
- The dwarf women who stayed with us aren't enough to tend the fields. Darian made a practical suggestion — humans certainly help, and Cornelious has made good use of that resource.
Running out of game and lacking enough forge workers, there was no other way to gain labor than to bring humans here. Darian's plan was crucial for survival.
- Thank you, Chief Igion.
- However, we will not kill the human women! We will release them as soon as possible... once we find a way to bring our dwarf women back. Cornelious, as Keeper of the Fields, you and your Fieldwardens must continue to tend the humans and minimize their discontent.
- Yes, Chief Igion.
- Tsk... this isn't over...
Cornelious frowns at Darian's muttered remark. Chief Igion strikes his hammer against the wooden table. A small iron hammer adorned with raised gold and silver patterns, created solely to signal the end of the meeting. The blunt sound echoes as the tall doors swing open.
- Master Darian, Master Cornelious, we have a problem.
- More problems?!