Henry's sleep was anything but peaceful.
He dreamt of the endless tunnels once again — the sound of chitin scraping against stone, the nauseating stench of decay, and the echoing hiss of countless burrowing insects closing in behind him. The deeper he ran, the narrower the passage became until it ended in cold rock. Desperation clawed at his chest. He pounded at the wall with his fists, but it was as unyielding as fate itself. The horde surged closer — a tide of legs, mandibles, and screeching hunger.
He closed his eyes, breath ragged, waiting for the pain to come.
But it didn't.
Instead, something tickled the bridge of his nose.
He opened his eyes to see Louise — the little sorceress fairy — perched delicately upon his nose, her tiny hands pressed to his forehead, wings shimmering faintly with silver motes. Her expression was filled with worry. Wizards and their familiars shared a subtle empathic bond; when her master's terror surged through that link, she had darted to him instantly.
Henry blinked and smiled wearily. "I'm fine, little one. Just a nightmare. Seems I'm still haunted by yesterday."
Louise huffed, crossing her miniature arms. "Mortals dream too much. You should learn to clear your thoughts before sleeping, Master," she said, her voice soft but tinged with reproach. Then she fluttered to his shoulder and sat down, wings folding like silken veils.
A loud creak followed by the scent of roasted grain heralded the door opening. Kegan's gruff voice filled the room. "Bad dreams, lad?"
Henry rubbed his forehead, exhaling. "Yeah. Same damned insects chasing me through that cursed cave. Even dead, they won't let me go."
The dwarf chuckled, his laughter like gravel rolling down a mountain path. "Aye, the same thing happened to me the first time I put a giant spider down. Couldn't shut me eyes without seein' eight legs and eight bloody eyes starin' back. Had nightmares for three days straight. But take it from me, lad — that's the mark o' an adventurer. You're no greenhorn now."
Henry smirked, pulling on his shirt. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one heading back down into that pit full of overgrown worms today."
Kegan scratched his beard, grinning wide. "True enough. But I didn't earn twenty thousand gold coins on me first delve either. When I started out, I came home with naught but bruises, blisters, and thirty gold. You spellcasters, though…" He leaned back with mock envy. "Always rakin' in coin with your scrolls and shiny trinkets. You can sit behind a desk and make more gold in a month than I can swingin' me axe for a year."
Henry raised an eyebrow. "You forgot the sleepless nights spent memorizing spells and the occasional risk of exploding yourself."
"Bah!" The dwarf waved a hand. "You still make it look easy."
Henry chuckled, tying his boots. "Alright, enough chatter. Go downstairs and have breakfast. Then load the bug's head into the carriage. I'll wash up and join you. Once we eat, we'll head for the treehouse."
"Aye, aye, Captain," Kegan replied dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Old Kegan's too thick-headed to do aught but grunt work anyway." He sighed, shaking his head with exaggerated misery before stomping downstairs, muttering about "slave-driving mages."
Henry chuckled quietly.
After washing up, he joined Brown and Kegan for breakfast — porridge, black bread, and a few slices of dried meat. Simple fare, but the earthy flavor carried warmth after a restless night. Louise dipped a crumb into a drop of honey and nibbled delicately, her translucent wings catching the morning light.
When the plates were cleared, Henry and Brown harnessed the old farm horse to the carriage. The air outside was crisp with dew, and sunlight filtered gently through the trees lining the country road. Birds chirped overhead, and the scent of spring earth filled the air.
Kegan had already loaded the insect heads, grunting with effort as he secured the ropes. When everything was ready, the pair climbed aboard. The wheels creaked, and soon they were rolling down the dirt path, the soft rhythm of hooves striking the soil a soothing counterpoint to the whispering wind.
For the first time since yesterday, Henry felt calm. The nightmare's weight seemed to melt away under the morning sun.
"Kegan," he said, watching the horizon glow, "what will you do once this job's done?"
The dwarf scratched at his beard thoughtfully. "I reckon I'll go home and open a forge. Haven't had me hands on a real anvil in years."
Henry frowned slightly. "Belgost's already got Thor's Blacksmith Shop. They've cornered nearly all the iron trade in Canassier."
Kegan's eyes narrowed, his dwarven pride bristling. "Hah! Thor's? Those surface boys couldn't forge a proper blade if Moradin himself guided their hands! They hammer iron, aye, but they've got no soul in their work. A true weapon sings when ye forge it. Their steel's soft, their temper's lazy."
He reached down and lifted his axe, holding it reverently. "Now this… I forged this when I was barely a hundred and fifty. Took me a month and a half and the blessings o' me clan's hearth-priest. Bit of mithril in the mix — not enough to boast about, but enough to make it sing. It's cut through goblin plate, ogre hide, even the shell of an ankheg once. Still sharp as the day it was made."
Henry accepted the axe carefully. It was heavy but beautifully balanced, its edge catching the sunlight like liquid silver. He ran a finger along the rune-inscribed handle — ancient Dwarvish markings for strength, unyielding will, and fire's blessing. The craftsmanship was flawless.
"This isn't a weapon," Henry murmured. "It's a work of devotion."
Kegan puffed his chest proudly. "Aye, that it is. To us dwarves, a good weapon's like a song to Moradin himself. Each strike of the hammer is a prayer. That's why no elf nor man'll ever match a dwarf's forge."
Henry smiled faintly, handing the axe back. "Then perhaps one day, you'll make a weapon that even the gods envy."
Kegan chuckled, his laughter booming across the quiet road. "Aye, lad — and maybe you'll be the one to enchant it."
The two shared a grin, the bond between mage and dwarf — intellect and brawn — solidified once again.
Henry returned the axe to its owner with both hands, admiring the weapon one last time before letting it go. "A fine axe indeed. The craftsmanship alone could shame half the forges in Belgost. So you're planning to forge another like it? A weapon worthy of song?"
The dwarf took back his axe, the metal gleaming faintly even under the morning sun. He tucked it securely into the loop on his belt before replying, "Aye. With the gold from this job, I can finally open me own forge again. Bah, my hands itch for the hammer's weight. Been too long since I've heard the ring of true steel instead of the clash of battle."
Henry smiled faintly. "You're retiring, then?"
Kegan snorted, his beard bristling. "Retiring? Nay, lad. Dwarves never truly rest until Moradin himself calls us to the Forge Eternal. But I've seen enough blood on me boots to last another century. I'd rather shape metal than split skulls for once. I'm gettin' old — three hundred and still swingin' a pick like a fool."
Indeed, for a dwarf, age brought wisdom but also the wear of centuries. His beard had silvered at the ends, and his once-bronze skin was creased with the marks of long toil and smoke. His eyes, however, still burned like two molten coals — sharp, proud, and unyielding.
"And you, lad?" Kegan asked, his tone softening as he glanced sideways at Henry. "What's next for the human who survived his first dive into a monster's den?"
Henry looked toward the horizon, where the golden sun spilled over the trees. "After this, I'll head home. I promised my mother and sister I'd visit once I'd earned enough to settle them comfortably. Once Morian's letter of recommendation arrives, I'll go to Highhold to study magic under the Archmage's Circle. It's not far from Belgost, but it's said to be the greatest citadel of learning this side of the Spine."
Kegan gave a low whistle. "Highhold, eh? The City of Towers. Heard the place glows at night, brighter than any forge. You'll be among the fancy robe-wearin' types then — drinkin' wine instead of ale, speakin' in riddles instead o' plain words."
Henry chuckled. "I'll try not to forget how to talk like a normal man."
The dwarf grinned. "Bah, if ye come back all puffed up and call me 'Master Smith Kegan of Clan Ironmaw,' I'll throw me hammer at yer head. Still, when you've learned your spells and tricks, maybe we'll work together. You with yer magic, me with me hammer — we could forge somethin' worthy o' legend! Like Bruno's Fang of Aegis!"
Henry's brows rose. "That's a name I haven't heard in a long time."
Kegan's chest swelled with pride. "Bruno Ironmaw, son of my grandfather's brother — a true master o' the forge. He forged the Fang in the heart of a sleeping volcano, quenched it in dragon's blood, and bound it with runes so old even the elves whispered their names. Bards still sing of the hammer that broke the skull of a frost giant king! Aye, that's the kind of craft that outlives its maker."
Henry smiled softly at the dwarf's fiery reverence. "Then perhaps we'll give them another legend to sing."
Kegan opened his mouth to speak again, but the carriage jolted to a stop. Henry raised a hand. "We've arrived."
The road ahead opened into a glade, where the massive trunk of an ancient oak twisted upward like the arm of a titan. Perched among its branches was the druid's treehouse — a dwelling woven from vines and living wood, glowing faintly with druidic wards. The air here was alive — thick with the scent of moss and fresh rain, carrying the distant whispers of nature spirits.
Henry cupped his hands and called, "Lady Jedi, are you here?"
The door above creaked open, and the half elf with long chestnut hair stepped out, dressed in robes of deep green that shimmered with faint enchantments. Her eyes, the color of forest jade, narrowed slightly as she saw the carriage below.
"You finished the mission so quickly?" she asked, descending from the branches with the grace of a hawk gliding down to earth. Her bare feet touched the soil, and the grass beneath her seemed to grow greener.
Henry pointed toward the carriage. "We brought back one of the burrowing worm's heads. But there's more to report."
Jedi's brows furrowed. "More?"
"Yes," Henry continued, "deeper in the cave we found five of them clustered together — the largest over four meters long. There's no way the two of us can handle that alone. We came for part of the reward, and to request your aid."
The druidess's expression darkened as she walked closer, examining the monstrous head loaded on the carriage. "By Silvanus… this explains the imbalance." She ran her fingers along the chitin, her touch glowing faintly with green druidic light. "Burrowers rarely gather in such numbers. They're solitary creatures, sometimes paired, but five… it means a queen has appeared."
Kegan's eyes widened. "A queen? Then the nest'll double by next moon!"