The morning began with soft golden light spilling across the farmhouse floorboards, pulling Connie from sleep. He stretched, joints cracking from the labor of the day before. Snow blinked at him from the windowsill, tail flicking lazily as if to remind him that the farm waited.
Connie slipped into loose, comfortable clothes and stepped outside. The air was crisp, touched with the smell of damp earth and pine carried down from the mountains. His crops were already catching the sun, their leaves bright with dew.
He filled his watering can at the well, then moved row by row, the rhythm soothing—soil darkening under water, leaves swaying faintly as they drank. He finished by tending to the furnace, stoking its fire, the faint metallic tang reminding him of yesterday's efforts. The five copper bars he had smelted gleamed on the workbench, their weight promising possibilities he didn't yet understand.
But today, his thoughts weren't only on the farm. They were on the cave.
The climb to the mountains was steady, the morning sun warming his back as he passed the lake. He paused at the bridge, the wood weathered and creaking under his boots. Beyond it, the cave gaped like a waiting mouth, silent and patient.
A figure stepped from the shade—a man with gray hair tied back, a scar tracing across one eye. He looked like a veteran of battles no one else remembered, his posture straight and unyielding.
"You must be the farmer," the man said, his voice gravel rough.
Connie nodded. "That's me. Connie."
The man studied him, gaze sharp but not unkind. "Marlon. I keep watch here, run the Adventurer's Guild down the way. That cave—" he glanced at the dark maw—"most folks call it the mines. It's not just stone you'll find in there."
"What else?" Connie asked.
"Creatures," Marlon said simply. "Things that don't belong in the daylight. But there's ore, gems, relics of the old world, too. Riches for anyone willing to risk it."
He drew a short, battered blade from his belt and held it out. "Take this. Rusty sword. Not pretty, but it'll keep you alive if you've got the guts to use it."
Connie accepted the weapon, the grip rough in his palm. It was heavier than he expected, but solid—comforting, even.
"Don't think you'll conquer the place in one go," Marlon warned. "The dark down there has a way of testing a person. Go slow. Learn. Come by the Guild if you make it out in one piece."
Inside, the cave swallowed him whole. The air turned cold and damp, heavy with the smell of stone. Water dripped steadily in the distance, each drop echoing as though the cave itself were listening. Shadows clung to the walls, shifting at the edge of his torchlight.
Connie's boots crunched on loose gravel as he advanced cautiously. Copper veins glimmered faintly in the rock, their metallic sheen promising value. He swung his pickaxe against one, sparks flashing briefly, and a few chunks of ore clattered free.
He bent to gather them, but the sound of movement froze him in place. A faint, wet hiss slithered through the air.
From the shadows oozed a round, green creature, its slimy body glistening. Beady eyes fixed on him, and with a sudden lurch, it lunged. Connie stumbled back, raising the sword awkwardly. His swing was clumsy but enough to keep the creature at bay. It hissed again before retreating into a crack in the wall, vanishing like it had never been there.
Connie's pulse hammered in his ears. The mines weren't just eerie—they were alive.
He stayed only long enough to collect the copper ore, then turned back, the darkness pressing at his shoulders. Stepping into the sunlight again felt like waking from a bad dream, his lungs filling greedily with fresh air.
Marlon waited near the shack, arms folded. "You went in," he said, his tone flat but approving.
Connie nodded, rusty sword still in his hand. "Didn't get far. But I saw enough."
"That's how it starts," Marlon said. "The valley's full of hidden things. Keep digging, farmer—you'll see."
By the time Connie reached his farm, the sun had shifted, shadows stretching longer. The five copper bars gleamed where he had left them, alongside the handful of new ore from the mines. He picked up the bars, their weight heavy in his satchel, and headed into town.
The blacksmith's forge glowed with heat when he stepped inside. Clint looked up from his work, surprise flickering in his eyes as Connie laid the bars on the counter.
"Well, look at you," Clint said, turning one bar in his gloved hand. "Not bad for your first smelt. With five bars like this, I can upgrade one of your tools—make your work faster, cleaner. You'd be surprised how much difference it makes."
Connie considered the options, eyes drifting over his worn tools. His gaze settled on the axe, the handle splintered from long hours cutting through tough wood. He thought of the stubborn stumps dotting his land, and the groves of trees he'd need to clear if he wanted more space for crops.
"My axe," Connie said finally. "If I'm going to shape the land, I'll need something sharper."
Clint nodded, lifting the tool. "Leave it with me. Give me a couple of days, and you'll have an axe that can chew through trees like butter."
Connie left the forge lighter, the copper bars traded for promise. The valley stretched before him as the sun dipped lower, the smell of pine and earth filling his lungs. Between the farm, the villagers, and now the mines, the valley seemed larger than ever—full of work, mystery, and possibility.