44 - Weight

Morning came softly to Tierra.

The faint hum of the crystal veins beneath the mountain resonated through the city, a rhythm as steady as a heartbeat.

The light of the artificial sun-crystals brightened gradually, washing the stone corridors and market streets in a soft, amber glow that mimicked dawn.

The air smelled faintly of forgefire and baked bread, and distant chatter echoed through the lower tunnels as the dwarves began their day.

Luna rubbed her eyes as she stepped out of the Hearth Hollow Inn. Her silver hair caught the light, glinting faintly as she adjusted the strap of her satchel.

The streets were already alive—blacksmiths setting up their forges, merchants rolling out barrels of metal scraps and ores, and dwarves greeting one another in deep, hearty voices.

She had a goal for today.

A small one, but one that made her heart stir with curiosity.

“I want to see a forge,” she whispered to herself, her breath visible in the cool underground air. “And weapons… I want to see how they’re made.”

The thought filled her with excitement. Tierra was famed for its craftsmanship—every blade, every piece of armor, every metalwork held a touch of dwarven pride. To see that process up close felt like stepping into a living story.

But beneath her excitement, a heavier thought tugged at her mind.

The war.

It had been mentioned so many times now—by travelers, by merchants, even by the elf she’d met the day before. The war against the demon worshippers. A distant, raging storm beyond the safe stone walls of Tierra.

Luna imagined it—armies clashing, mages weaving destructive spells, soldiers falling beneath banners of light and flame. The thought unsettled her.

She slowed her steps, her gaze dropping to the cobbled street.

She knew she was strong. That much she had accepted.

But how strong? Strong enough to freeze a fortress. Strong enough to stop armies, perhaps. And that was what troubled her.

Shouldn’t power like that be used for something meaningful?

Her fingers curled around the coin Faye had given her—the silver guild token engraved with a radiant emblem. It glinted faintly as she turned it over in her hand.

“Great power comes with great responsibility,” she murmured, recalling words she’d once heard somewhere long ago—maybe in her old world, or perhaps in one of her dreams. The sentiment lingered all the same.

Luna let out a soft sigh.

She didn’t know what to do.

She had promised herself to travel—to see the world, to experience its beauty. But could she really turn away from a war that threatened to destroy that very beauty?

Her stomach rumbled in protest, pulling her from her thoughts.

“…Maybe I should eat first,” she decided, smiling faintly.

The scent of roasted meat and herbs guided her to a familiar place.

Grakha’s stall stood in its usual corner, surrounded by the comforting clamor of early trade.

Smoke curled lazily from the grill as the stout dwarf tended to skewers of sizzling meat. Her golden beard braids caught the morning light, and her sharp eyes softened when she spotted Luna.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite lil’ regular!” Grakha called out, her voice booming like a cheerful drumbeat. “Mornin’ to ye, lass! Up early, eh?”

Luna’s face lit up. “Good morning, Grakha,” she said, her tone bright. “Your food smelled too good to ignore.”

“Ha! Smart lass!” Grakha chuckled, flipping a skewer with practiced ease. “Ain’t nothin’ better for breakfast than good meat an’ good flame.”

Luna settled onto a stool near the counter. The warmth of the fire brushed her cheeks as she watched the fat sizzle off the skewers. “Can I have two?” she asked.

“Two? Bah, ye’re gettin’ bigger appetite by the day,” Grakha teased, though she looked pleased. “Comin’ right up!”

The dwarf worked with rhythmic precision—turning, basting, and seasoning in seamless motion. The aroma was irresistible, rich with spices and smokiness. When she handed the skewers to Luna, they were glistening gold and perfectly charred at the edges.

Luna took a bite. The flavor burst across her tongue—savory, smoky, and slightly sweet. Her eyes softened with delight.

Grakha chuckled again when she saw the expression. “Aye, that’s the look of a lass who’s found her mornin’ bliss.”

But then she paused. Her laughter quieted as her gaze settled on Luna’s face—on the faint crease in her brow.

“Ye’ve got somethin’ troublin’ ye,” Grakha said softly, leaning her elbows on the counter. “What’s gnawin’ at yer wee head this time?”

Luna hesitated, the skewer halfway to her lips. “I… don’t know if I should say it,” she admitted.

Grakha’s expression softened further. “Ye don’t have to tell me nothin’ ye don’t wanna share, lass,” she said kindly. “But if ye feel like talkin’—I’ve got ears, an’ a few centuries’ worth o’ listenin’ practice.”

Luna looked at her then—really looked.

Grakha’s eyes were steady and warm, with the kind of patience that only came from long years lived well. The lines around them spoke of laughter and time, not weariness. For a moment, Luna felt safe.

“…You remind me of my grandpa,” she said quietly.

Grakha blinked, then smiled. “Do I now? He must’ve been a fine dwarf, then.”

Luna giggled softly. “He wasn’t a dwarf… but he was kind. Like you.”

The old dwarf snorted but her eyes softened even more. “Kind words, lass. So—what’s botherin’ ye?”

Luna took a slow breath and looked down at her hands. “I’m… strong,” she began softly. “Stronger than most people. You probably won’t believe me, but it’s true. I just… can’t tell you how I got this strong.”

Grakha didn’t answer right away. She simply nodded once, her gaze steady.

“I believe ye.”

Luna’s head shot up. “You do?”

“Aye,” Grakha said simply, a smile tugging her lips. “Strength ain’t always somethin’ ye can see from the outside, lass. But I’ve lived long enough to recognize it when it’s sittin’ right in front o’ me.”

Luna blinked, a mix of surprise and curiosity softening her features. “You can see… strength?”

The dwarf gave a low hum, half amusement, half reflection. “Ye could say that. I can see mana, aye—but it ain’t just mana that shows me who’s strong. Strength’s got more to do with the way a person carries themselves. The spark in their eyes. The steadiness in their hands.”

Luna listened, fascinated. Grakha spoke like a teacher, every word shaped by experience.

“Now then,” Grakha continued, tapping her ladle lightly against the counter. “If ye already know ye’re strong, what’s it that’s weighin’ on ye?”

Luna’s lips parted, but no sound came for a moment. Then, softly—

“It’s because I’m strong that I’m troubled,” she said. “If I have the strength to rival armies… shouldn’t I use it? For something important? Like the war against the demon worshippers.”

Grakha’s brow lifted. For a moment, she said nothing, simply studying the girl. Then, with a slow exhale, she set her tools aside and folded her arms.

“Ye’re a funny one, lass,” she murmured, half chuckling. “Aye, I can feel it—ye’re strong, sure enough. But yer heart’s still untouched by time. Still thinkin’ that every bit o’ power’s got to be used for somethin’ grand.”

Luna tilted her head slightly. “Is that… wrong?”

“Not wrong,” Grakha said, shaking her head. “Just… young.”

Her tone wasn’t scolding—it was gentle, almost wistful. “Tell me, lass. What do ye want to do? Truly?”

The question caught Luna off guard. She blinked. “What… I want to do?”

“Aye. Forget the war, the demon worshippers, all that mess. What’s yer heart tellin’ ye?”

Luna hesitated. Then, in a quiet, almost timid voice, she answered.

“I want to travel. To see the world. To meet people, and see what it has to offer.”

Grakha’s smile widened, deep and genuine. “Then that’s what ye should do.”

Luna’s eyes widened. “But… shouldn’t I—?”

Grakha raised a hand, chuckling softly. “Lass, listen. Ye’ve got power, aye. But power don’t mean duty. Not yet. Not ‘til ye’re ready for it. The battlefield’s no place fer someone who ain’t sure o’ themselves.”

She leaned in slightly, her voice lowering into something almost tender.

“There’s no shame in choosin’ to live, lass. to see the world. The war’ll still be there when ye’re grown into who ye need to be. Let the adults worry ‘bout it fer now. That’s our burden. Yers is to live, to see, to grow.”

Luna stared at her for a long moment, her small hands wrapped around the skewer. Then, slowly, she smiled. “You really think so?”

Grakha reached across the counter and patted her head with a calloused, gentle hand. “Aye. I know so.”

Warmth filled Luna’s chest.

The confusion that had clouded her all morning eased—like frost melting in the first light of dawn. She took another bite of her skewer, smiling faintly.

“Thank you, Grakha,” she said softly. “That… helped.”

“Bah, don’t thank me yet,” Grakha said, grinning. She reached behind her and grabbed another freshly grilled skewer. “Here—on the house. Ye look like ye could use another bite of clarity.”

Luna giggled and accepted it without protest. “Thank you.”

When they’d both settled back into the comfortable hum of morning, Grakha wiped her hands and leaned her elbows on the counter. “So, lass,” she began, her tone lighter now. “What’re ye plannin’ fer today? Don’t tell me ye’re runnin’ off to another adventure.”

Luna chewed thoughtfully before answering. “I want to see weapons today,” she said brightly. “And maybe watch a dwarf work in their forge.”

Grakha barked a laugh. “Weapons, is it? Hah! First sweets, now blades! Yer tastes’re all over the place, lass.”

Luna giggled. “I’m just curious.”

“Aye, curiosity’s a fine thing,” Grakha said with approval. “If it’s a forge ye want to see, I can point ye to a good one. Down the south corridor, a few turns past the anvil sign. Tell the smith there ol’ Grakha sent ye—they’ll treat ye well.”

“What kind of weapons do they make?” Luna asked, her eyes gleaming with interest.

“All sorts,” Grakha replied proudly. “Blades, hammers, spears… even a few magic-infused ones made from mana ores.”

Luna’s eyes lit up at the mention. “Mana ores?”

“Aye,” Grakha said with a nod. “The good stuff. Rare, hard to come by, but worth every shard. Ye’ll like seein’ how they’re worked.”

Luna nodded eagerly, already picturing the glowing forge and the clang of hammer on steel. “Thank you, Grakha. I’ll tell them you sent me.”

“Good lass,” Grakha said, grinning. “Now off with ye—before ye eat all me stock.”

Luna laughed, waving as she turned to go.

Her steps were light again.

The heaviness from earlier had vanished, replaced by a simple joy—the kind that came from understanding, even if just a little, the path she wanted to take.

Grakha watched her go, her eyes softening. There was something about that girl—something strange and bright, like a spark that didn’t belong to any age she knew.

“Stronger than she knows,” Grakha murmured, turning back to her grill. “An’ still got the heart of a child. The world’s got funny ways o’ sendin’ folk like her our way.”

The words lingered softly in the air, blending with the sizzle of skewers and the low hum of Tierra’s streets.

Luna, meanwhile, had already begun to wander. The artificial sun-crystal above had brightened into its midmorning glow, scattering soft golden light through the cavern’s open plazas. The mountain city was stirring to full life.

The streets, carved wide and firm from the heart of stone, thrummed with the movement of dwarves and humans alike. Merchants called out from their stalls, their deep voices competing playfully with the clang of metal and the hiss of steam from nearby forges. The air carried a thousand scents—freshly baked stonebread, molten iron, and the earthy sweetness of roasted root vegetables.

Luna’s steps slowed. Her gaze flickered from one side of the street to the other, her curiosity pulling her like a tide. Every few paces, something new caught her eye.

A dwarven baker brushed golden powder over a row of square pastries that shimmered faintly under the light. The smell—sweet, nutty, and a little smoky—made Luna’s stomach flutter. She couldn’t help but stop.

“What’s that?” she asked, her voice light and curious.

The baker, a stout dwarf with a soot-dusted apron and a wide grin, looked up. “Oh, these? Embercakes, lass. Sweet enough to warm yer soul.”

Luna’s eyes brightened. “Can I try one?”

“Aye, if ye’ve got a coin.”

She handed him one of the smaller silver pieces she kept for food. The dwarf passed her a still-warm cake wrapped in parchment. When she bit into it, the crust cracked softly beneath her teeth, giving way to a molten center that tasted of caramel and spice. Her eyes widened in delight.

“Mmm…” She smiled. “It’s really good!”

The baker laughed heartily. “Glad tohear it, little one. Enjoy yer day!”

She waved and continued walking, nibbling at the embercake as she went.

Further ahead, a group of dwarves haggled with a pair of human merchants over the price of enchanted tools. The argument was lively but oddly cheerful—filled with laughter, slaps on the back, and exaggerated gestures.

Luna couldn’t help but giggle quietly at the sight of them. The humans looked flustered, the dwarves, utterly unbothered.

They’re so loud, she thought with amusement. But kind of funny, too.

A child—a dwarven boy no older than seven—ran past her chasing a mechanical beetle that clicked and whirred as it scuttled away.

Luna’s eyes followed it, fascinated. Its body was made of polished bronze, with tiny rune-like circuits glowing along its legs. When the boy caught it, the beetle made a faint chirping sound and folded into a ball.

“Cool…” Luna whispered to herself, smiling faintly. Even their toys are mechanical.

She wandered further, taking in the sights—the tall stone arches veined with glowing mana-crystals, the distant waterfalls that cascaded through carved channels, and the hanging lanterns shaped like blooming flowers.

The deeper she walked, the more the sounds of the market began to fade, replaced by something slower, steadier.

A metallic rhythm.

The clang of hammer against anvil echoed faintly ahead, carrying down the corridor like a steady heartbeat. The sound called to her somehow—familiar in a way she couldn’t name.

She paused mid-step, looking up. The air grew warmer, thicker with the scent of coal and molten ore. Tiny sparks flickered in the distance, flashes of gold and orange in the dimness.

“That must be it,” she murmured softly.

Her pace quickened. The closer she drew, the stronger the rhythm became—sharp, deliberate, almost musical. Each strike felt alive, as though the air itself pulsed with it.

When she finally turned the last corner, the sight opened before her like the entrance to another world.