The morning haze rolled through the forest like a lazy river as we stood at the edge of camp. Axes in hand. Sweat already forming on our brows.
"Alright lad, off to work" Borin grinned, cracking his neck. "We need plenty o' logs if we're gonna build more than a glorified tent."
I gave him a flat look. "That glorified tent kept us alive, thank you very much."
"Aye, and now it's time for somethin' with walls thicker than a leaf. Chop-chop."
And so began the grind. We cut. We carried. We carved. Day after day passed with aching arms, splinters, and Borin's relentless commentary. Between meals, construction, and the occasional wrestling match with oversized wildlife, Borin began to talk. Really talk. He wasn't just a gruff carpenter with a sharp tongue. The man was a well of knowledge.
"You ever wonder where we are, lad?" he asked one evening while hammering together a door frame.
"All the time" I replied. "You gonna tell me, or is this a riddle?"
He chuckled and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "We're in the Heartwood. A neutral forestland that don't belong to any o' the Three Kingdoms. They say it's cursed, dangerous, a place the old gods still whisper through the trees. Which is why no one wants to claim it."
I sat back on the stump we'd turned into a makeshift seat. "The Three Kingdoms?"
"Aye. To the north you got Veylar, elven territory. Magic runs in their veins, and they act like their shite don't stink."
"Charming."
"To the south, Ironclad. Dwarf country. My home, or what's left of it. Fortresses carved into mountains, anvils that never cool, and a lot of grumbling."
I raised an eyebrow. "Sounds familiar."
He ignored me.
"East is the Dominion. Humans. Kingdom of gold, greed, and great armies. They love crowns and conquest."
"And we're in the middle of all that?"
"Smack in the middle," he nodded. "Neutral ground. Full of things that go bump in the night. Dragons, trolls, orcs, goblins, shades, elementals, you name it, it probably hunts here."
I swallowed hard. "And we built our home here?"
"You did say you wanted property with a view."
A week passed in the blink of an eye. Between hammering, sawing, skinning game, cooking, and keeping Kurokami from chewing on the tool handles, we barely had time to think. But eventually... it stood.
A cabin.
Our cabin.
Built from strong pine logs, nestled beside the creek, with a sloped roof thatched in bark and moss. A chimney puffed thin trails of smoke into the sky like it belonged there.
"Well, Borin... I must say, you've impressed me."
He slapped a palm against the log wall and grinned. "Aye lad, but you did most o' the heavy liftin'. Was nice to just swing a hammer for once."
We stepped inside. The air still smelled of fresh wood and ash, but it was warm. Lived in. The main room had a stone-lined firepit in the center, vented through the chimney. A sturdy wooden table sat in the corner, carved roughly but wide enough for two. Beside it were two handmade chairs, slightly uneven but comfortable with moss-stuffed seats. On the far wall stood a set of shelves, already stacked with the few supplies we'd collected: bundles of herbs, scraps of leather, Borin's tools, some salvaged cookware, and two small clay mugs. A ladder led to a loft space above, open, simple, but enough room to lie down and rest. Below it, two straw beds with patchy blankets, and a small chest for gear storage. There were even hooks on the walls for weapons and tools. Everything we needed.
"It's not a castle." I said, stretching my arms. "But it's home."
Borin smiled, surprisingly soft. "Aye and for once, it don't feel like my work is temporary."
As the sun dipped low and cast amber light across the forest canopy, the fire crackled quietly inside our new home. The scent of pinewood and roasted meat filled the air. Kurokami lay curled near the hearth, his soft breathing barely audible over the chirping crickets outside. I sat back on the edge of the table, lifting my left arm into the glow of the firelight. The spiral of glowing letters shimmered faintly across my skin, from shoulder to fingertips, still unreadable, still mysterious, but no longer terrifying.
"Hey Borin" I muttered, "what do you make of this?"
The dwarf squinted from his chair, setting down his mug with a quiet clunk. He stood, stepped closer, and studied my arm with narrowed eyes.
"...Well I'll be damned," he said finally, stroking his beard. "That's ancient script. Real old. Real, real old."
"How old?"
Borin looked at me, grim. "Older than me. Older than my grandfather's ghost stories. That writin' hasn't been seen in a thousand years, maybe more."
I blinked. "You can read it?"
He snorted. "Can barely make out the root symbols. The style's pre-Arcane Divide, and that was back when dragons still ruled the skies and men hid underground."
I raised an eyebrow. "So... it says 'wash with cold water only' or...?"
Borin glared.
I smirked.
"Well, it is what it is," I said with a shrug. "At least it's useful. Helps with wind magic. Sometimes. When it feels like it."
"Magic that comes and goes, tattoos in dead tongues... lad, you're a walkin' mystery wrapped in bad decisions."
I chuckled. "You say that like it's not part of my charm."
The sun finally vanished behind the trees, and the stars blinked into life above the clearing. The fire crackled lazily, painting flickers of gold along the walls of our cabin. It was peaceful. For once.
I leaned back, staring up at the rafters. "Long day, huh?"
"Ay" Borin grunted, settling into his chair and pulling his cloak tighter around him. "But a good one."
Outside, the forest was quiet. Calm. Safe, for now. Tomorrow would bring more questions. More building. More survival. But for tonight...
We rested.