Chương 66: What Dwarves Dream Of

James woke to the smell of fresh-cut wood and the soft, stubborn sound of a village refusing to slow down. It seeped into his sleep before he opened his eyes, axes biting into timber somewhere beyond the longhouse wall, a saw's steady rasp, the muffled thump of a mallet finding its mark. Beneath it all was the quiet undertone of people talking while they worked, voices low with early-morning hoarseness, the kind of murmurs that carried more comfort than words. He lay still for a long moment, listening.

His body felt… right again. The raw hollowness of mana fatigue was gone. The strange, buzzing emptiness behind his eyes had filled back in with something steady. Even his limbs, which yesterday had felt like they belonged to a man twice his age, held a clean strength when he flexed his fingers. The memory of collapsing under the Circle's shadow returned with embarrassing clarity.

The last thing he remembered was the Hearth-Hall blueprint hovering like a promise above him, villagers rushing forward, Lumen scolding him in a tone that was equal parts outrage and vindication. James exhaled through his nose and stared up at the ceiling beams.

"Well," he murmured, "that was dignified." Lumen flared into view above his chest, a small lantern of living light. It hovered there as if it had been waiting in the exact spot to ambush him the moment he woke.

"You fainted," it said, flat and merciless.

"Again."

"Technically," James said, pushing himself up, "I performed a controlled shutdown to protect the integrity of my internal systems." Lumen pulsed brighter, as if offended by his audacity.

"You face-planted in the clearing."

"I did not face-plant," James protested, and then paused, replaying the sensation of the earth rushing up. His cheeks warmed.

"Alright, I may have… gently introduced my face to the concept of gravity." Lumen's light flickered in a way that felt suspiciously like laughter. James swung his legs off the bed and stood. He waited for the world to tilt. It didn't. His mana sat full and calm inside him, no longer stretched thin like a rope about to snap. That, more than anything, made him feel human again. He stepped outside into morning. Heartroot had changed in only a few days, the way a river changed after a storm.

The clearing was busy, people moving with purpose. Teams had formed without him telling them to. Supplies were being carried with practiced routes, stacks sorted where they belonged. James took a slow breath and let it fill him. For the first time since the goblins, he didn't feel like he was standing in the middle of a task list that would kill him if he stopped moving. He felt… optional. Not in the sense that he didn't matter. He mattered. He knew that, and the village knew it too.

But the village could breathe for a few minutes without his hands on every lever. He crossed the clearing toward the Circle of the First Hearth. The domed roof held the morning's cool shade; the eternal flame burned steadily at its heart, patient as always. People drifted through it in ones and twos, setting down bowls, speaking quietly, making the Circle part of their day without stealing its significance. James found Alder near the edge of the Circle, checking a list scratched onto a plank with charcoal.

Trell stood nearby, sleeves rolled, expression set in the calm of a man who had decided work was the safest place for his mind to be. Thalen was farther off, shoulder to a beam, talking quietly with two apprentices. James raised a hand to get their attention. The three looked up in unison.

"I'm stepping back today," James said, before any of them could ask how his head felt or whether he planned to faint again.

"Not abandoning anything. Just… letting you do what you've already proven you can do." Alder blinked, visibly surprised, then tried to school his face into something serious. It didn't quite work. Pride leaked through the cracks. Trell's mouth twitched. Thalen's eyes softened. James pointed north with one hand, ticking off priorities with the other.

"First, Hearthweaver's Lodge. That healer's hut needs to go up before anything else. I want Irla with walls around her work, not patching people in the open." He watched faces nod. That one made sense to everyone.

"Second, Greenmoss Den," James continued.

"Get the Herbalist's Hut built. We've got more mouths, more injuries, and Elira's gardens are turning into something… frankly, terrifying in how productive they are." Alder let out a small, excited noise at that, as if he loved the idea of a building being terrifying in a useful way.

"Third, Ironbark Yard," James said, gesturing west.

"Rogan's already pushing people into sword drills whether they like it or not, and we need the training ground near the palisade if we're going to be serious about defense." The mention of "serious" made Trell nod more firmly. James hesitated for half a heartbeat, then added, "The Hearth-Hall stays untouched until I get back. The blueprint is placed between the Circle and the eastern neighborhood, and I don't want anyone starting it without me there to correct mistakes if something feels off." Alder's eyes widened.

"You don't trust us?" James chuckled and shook his head.

"I trust you enough to build seven longhouses and a palisade that makes me sleep better. This isn't about trust. It's about me wanting to be present when we build the thing that will feed over a hundred people. Marla might murder me if the ovens are crooked. Besides I have this awesome new ability, that I am guessing is going to play a big role on the construction of the hall." Thalen snorted quietly, and even Trell's expression warmed by a fraction. James clapped Alder lightly on the shoulder, then stepped back.

"You've got it. I'll check in later. If something goes wrong, you know where to find me." Alder squared his shoulders and nodded like someone who had been handed a crown made of responsibility. As James turned away, Lumen drifted close to his ear, glowing smugly.

"Delegation," it whispered.

"Progress."

"Don't make a big deal out of it," James muttered.

"It is a big deal," Lumen said, and its light warmed in a way that felt like approval. James didn't answer. He didn't need to. He had something else to do today, something that felt like a different kind of building. He found the dwarves near the eastern neighborhood, clustered together like a knot of stone and beard. Dorgrun stood slightly ahead, arms folded, watching villagers move with the keen, hungry interest of someone staring at a feast.

The elder dwarf, older by the deep lines around his eyes and the calm weight in his posture, turned his head as James approached. His gaze sharpened, as if measuring James's bones the way dwarves measured rock.

"Chief," Dorgrun said, voice like gravel. It wasn't mocking. It wasn't overly respectful either. It was a word spoken because it was accurate. James nodded.

"I'm taking you to the mine," he said.

"You wanted to know what Heartroot sits on. I think it's time you saw it. Then, we talk about what that means for our future." Dorgrun's eyes gleamed. The other dwarves shifted, excitement rippling through them like a low tremor. The elder dwarf exhaled slowly.

"We will walk," he said, and it sounded like a blessing. James turned, scanning the clearing. He needed a small escort, not because he expected trouble on the path to the mine, but because the tunnels themselves were a different world. They were damp, narrow, full of blind corners and unknown creatures. If he was going underground, he wanted enough strength beside him to handle surprises. He didn't need the whole warband. Not today. Today was exploration, not war.

Selathi joined him first, as if she'd been waiting for the invitation. She wore her bow across her back and her quiver at her hip, Silverbough Huntress quiet in the way it held her posture. Her eyes took in the dwarves with a calm assessment, then flicked toward the treeline and back, always measuring. Kerrin arrived next, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off restlessness. The bruises on his face were fading, but his energy had returned with a vengeance.

He carried his weapon with the casual ease of someone who preferred action to sitting around thinking. Finni came jogging up after him, bright-eyed and eager. He was still young enough that everything felt like a story to him, and the mine sounded like a story waiting to be discovered. Two more elves joined, young bowmen, barely more than boys by elven standards, with the quiet intensity of apprentices who had tasted danger and decided they didn't want to be useless the next time it came.

James had heard their names earlier that week, spoken by Selathi when she assigned patrols.

"Aelthir," Selathi said, nodding to the first, a slender elf with a watchful gaze and a sword at his belt that looked more like a borrowed responsibility than a beloved tool.

"And Faelor," she added, nodding to the second, who carried himself with more confidence but kept glancing down at his sword hilt as if he still didn't quite believe he was meant to use it. Both bowed slightly to James, then straightened with an awkward mix of pride and uncertainty.

"They've started learning swords because Rogan insists," Selathi said quietly, pitched so only James could hear.

"They prefer their bows. I told him forcing it too hard will sour them." James snorted.

"Rogan's idea of subtle is a shield bash." Selathi's mouth twitched in the faintest smile. The last person James expected to see was Irla. She approached at a slower pace, her hands tucked into her sleeves, expression a careful neutrality that didn't quite hide reluctance. James blinked.

"You're coming?" Irla's gaze narrowed.

"I was asked." He glanced at Lumen, which was hovering innocently, and knew immediately what had happened. Someone, probably Rogan, or Marla, or Selathi, had decided it would be foolish to go underground without a healer.

"I won't let anyone take stupid risks," Irla said, as if reading his thoughts.

"If you're bringing eager fools into tunnels, you want someone who can keep them alive." Kerrin grinned at that, entirely unoffended. James nodded slowly.

"Alright," he said.

"Thank you." Irla's expression softened by a fraction, but she didn't look pleased. She looked… tense. Like she was bracing herself for something she didn't want to face. James filed that away. They needed supplies before they left. He found Marla by the cookfire near the Circle, stirring a pot with one hand while directing two helpers with the other. She looked up as he approached, eyes sharp and knowing.

"You're going underground," she said, not as a question. James sighed.

"I'm taking the dwarves to the mine and exploring deeper. Just a look. We'll be careful." Marla made a sound that was half a grunt, half a sigh, the noise of a woman who had learned that worry didn't stop men from doing foolish things.

"Dry rations," she said, already reaching for a sack.

"Simple. Filling. Don't complain. Don't give them to Kerrin all at once or he'll eat everyone's share." Kerrin, who had followed James, protested loudly.

"I would never." Marla gave him a look. Kerrin stopped. She handed James a bundle, then added another without him asking.

"And take extra," she said more quietly.

"If you get turned around down there, you'll need it. Water barrels are full. Take what you need." James swallowed, warmth tightening his throat. Marla's care was never dramatic. It was practical. It was the kind of love that showed itself in sacks of food and extra cloth and steady hands on shoulders.

"Thank you," he said. James filled waterskins from the communal barrels, the water cool and clean, then headed north toward the gardens. He expected the garden to look bigger. He did not expect it to look like something that had decided to become a small kingdom of green overnight. The patch of cultivated earth that had once seemed ambitious now stretched wide, rows and beds expanding in neat patterns. Skyblue Stalks rose high, their tall stems swaying gently, the blue sheen catching sunlight like water.

Along one side, saplings had been planted in a careful line, a small orchard in the making, their leaves glossy and healthy. In the beds closer to the Heartroot's influence, unfamiliar plants thrived, thick-leafed greens, delicate herbs, and flowering stalks James couldn't name. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. New elves worked among them with quiet grace, hands in soil, moving like people who understood plants as companions rather than objects.

Elira looked up from a bed of flowers and beamed as if James had arrived with good news instead of an expedition plan. Ollen stood nearby, sleeves rolled, dirt on his hands, wearing the content expression of a man who had been given work that mattered. James stared.

"Elira," he said slowly, "what did you do?" Elira laughed, bright and delighted.

"We listened," she said, as if that explained everything. She spread her arms toward the growing abundance.

"The soil here… it's alive. The Heartroot's influence is like a gentle hand. It encourages everything." James had the sudden absurd thought that his "small garden" had turned into farmland while he was distracted by goblins and walls. He cleared his throat.

"I'm going underground," he said.

"Mine exploration. I need anything that might help with mana, stamina, or healing. Anything you've found that can be used quickly." Elira's excitement shifted into focused thought.

"I know a couple," she said, then shook her head.

"But you should speak to her." She gestured toward a female elf crouched among herbs near the edge of one bed. The elf's movements were precise, fingers loosening soil around roots with careful pressure, as if she could feel exactly where the plant would bruise.

"Elira?" the elf asked, looking up.

"Can you help James?" Elira said.

"He's going underground." The elf rose smoothly, brushing soil from her hands. She was calm in a way that made James think of quiet streams and deep shade. She introduced herself as Ilyndra.

"I can identify properties," the elf said, reading his request in his expression.

"Not by guessing. By sensing. Plants speak if you know the language." James blinked.

"That's… incredibly useful."

"It is," she agreed, without pride.

"And you are fortunate. This place has rare herbs. Their effects are limited when eaten raw. Brewing changes them. A proper potion can turn a trickle into a river." Her face strained slightly, frustration flickering.

"But I do not have alchemy. I do not have recipes." James lifted his hands.

"That's okay," he said quickly.

"We'll get there. We're building a Herbalist's Hut soon. I'm hoping the structure itself gives us boons, maybe even knowledge. For now, I just need anything that can help us survive and test what we have." The elf studied him for a beat, then nodded. She crouched, moved with swift efficiency through several beds, and returned with her arms full. She laid the items out on a cloth. First, delicate petals, pale and almost translucent, smelling faintly sweet.

"These," she said, "will feed the body small warmth. A little healing every few seconds. Not much. But it stacks with time." Next, leaves with faintly glowing veins, the green threaded with subtle light.

"These restore mana," she said.

"Ten each minute, if eaten slowly. Do not eat too many. The body will react. Headaches. Nausea. Distortion in perception." James frowned.

"Distortion?" She nodded, very serious.

"The world tilts. You will not enjoy it." Then she produced small milky-white spheres, like beans but smoother, almost like candy.

"These are rare," she said, and for the first time her calm cracked with something like reverence.

"They replenish stamina quickly. But five per day only. More will poison you." James stared at them like they were treasure.

"You're handing me an entire expedition kit in plant form," he said, and couldn't keep the awe out of his voice. Elira smiled proudly, as if the compliment belonged to the soil. James bowed his head slightly to the elf.

"Thank you," he said, sincere.

"Truly." He gathered the herbs carefully, tucking them into separate pouches.

"And when the Herbalist's Hut is built," he added, "we're going to see just how far we can take this. Potions. Salves. Maybe more." The elf's eyes brightened with quiet hunger.

"Yes," she said, and it sounded like a promise. James headed back toward the clearing with his supplies, feeling lighter despite the weight in his pack. Growth wasn't just buildings. It was knowledge. It was craft. It was a village learning how to feed itself. He did not expect to be intercepted by a thundercloud. Varn rounded the corner of the workshop area like a storm given legs, broad shoulders tense, jaw clenched.

His arms were wrapped around Irla, holding her close with such possessive protectiveness that James stopped short. Irla looked mortified. Varn looked ready to wrestle the world.

"Chief," Varn said, voice thick.

"I respect you." James blinked.

"Okay." Varn leaned forward a fraction, eyes dark.

"But you will no longer take my woman into danger." James stared at him, then at Irla's apology-stricken face. Confusion rushed in fast.

"Varn, I..."

"No," Varn said, and it was the first time James had heard that word from him directed at James in a way that carried weight.

"You will not." Irla squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, as if gathering courage, then looked at James.

"James," she said softly.

"I… I'm pregnant." The words landed like sunlight through storm clouds. James froze. Then the warmth hit him all at once, bright and sudden, as if something inside him had unclenched after days of tension.

"You're..." he began, then laughed, helplessly joyful. He stepped forward and hugged them both before Varn could object, arms wrapping around iron and softness and the fragile new life no one could see yet.

"Oh," James breathed, voice rough with emotion.

"Irla. Varn. That's… that's incredible." Varn went bright red, pride and embarrassment warring in his face. He tried to stay stern and failed. His arms tightened around Irla, and the tenderness in it made James's chest ache. Irla's eyes shone, and she looked both terrified and happy, as if her future had shifted shape overnight.

"I won't bring you," James said immediately, pulling back to look at her.

"Not underground. Not anywhere dangerous. From now on, you're working in Hearthweaver's Lodge, in safety, with walls around you. I'll make sure of it." Irla let out a breath that sounded like relief. Varn's shoulders dropped a fraction, tension easing as if his body had been waiting for that promise. James grinned at them both.

"Congratulations," he said again, softer this time.

"We're growing in every direction, aren't we?" Varn cleared his throat, looking away.

"Aye," he muttered.

"We are." James left them standing together, murmuring to each other in low voices. He didn't linger. Some moments deserved privacy, even in a village where privacy was becoming a rare luxury. He walked to the eastern edge of the village where his expedition team was already waiting. James adjusted his pack, addressed the group.

"Alright," he said.

"We're going. Dwarves, you're with us. Warriors, stay close. No heroics. This is exploration, not a glory march." Dorgrun grunted approvingly. The two young bowmen exchanged a look and straightened, as if reminding themselves they were meant to be brave today. They set out east. The walk to the mine took about twenty minutes at an easy pace, the path familiar now, worn by villagers carrying timber and ore. Sunlight filtered through branches overhead, dappling the ground.

The air smelled of sap and leaf mold, of a forest that did not care about the lives moving through it. Conversation rose and fell. Finni asked the dwarves what kinds of metal they had mined back home. One dwarf launched into an excited description of iron veins like they were beloved family members. Another scoffed and said he preferred copper because it "behaved better under hammer." Dorgrun listened with half a smile, the expression of someone who enjoyed watching people talk about what they loved.

Selathi walked quietly, eyes scanning, posture relaxed but ready. Kerrin hummed under his breath like someone trying not to explode with energy. Aelthir and Faelor moved with youthful caution, hands drifting toward their bows when branches shifted in the breeze. James walked in the middle of them all, feeling something rare. Anticipation without dread. When they reached the mine entrance, two elven bowmen were posted on guard duty.

They looked bored in the way that meant nothing had happened and they were grateful for it. They straightened at Selathi's approach, saluted, then relaxed again when they recognized James. The platform and pulley system stood at the entrance, sturdy and cleanly built. A wooden frame supported the pulley, rope coiled neatly, and the platform itself sat ready to lower people into the earth. Four villagers worked below, pickaxes ringing faintly up through the tunnel mouth. The dwarves stopped and stared.

"That," Dorgrun said slowly, pointing at the pulley, "is… clever."

"Safe," another dwarf added, voice grudgingly impressed.

"Not elegant. But safe." James couldn't help grinning. Praise from dwarves seemed to come in the form of insults that meant the opposite. They descended. The tunnel swallowed daylight quickly. Cool air wrapped around them, damp and earthy. The sound of pickaxes became clearer, echoing off stone in rhythmic clanks. Their footsteps scuffed along packed soil, and the smell of metal, raw, sharp, promising, began to creep in. Near the base of the platform, crates sat half-filled with iron ore.

Tools leaned against the wall, and a lantern hung from a hook, casting amber light across rough stone. The dwarves took one step onto the tunnel floor and froze as if struck. James watched their faces change, the way their eyes widened, the way their nostrils flared as if they could smell metal through stone. Every dwarf had that sense. Metal Sense. Mining Skill. It wasn't a vague claim. It was real, and James saw it in the way their heads turned in unison like a flock of birds catching wind.

"By the Deep," Dorgrun breathed. The elder dwarf's voice was quieter.

"What kind of place is this?" James scratched the back of his neck.

"A mine," he said. The dwarves stared at him like he'd said the sky was a puddle.

"There is high-tier metal here," Dorgrun said, voice rough with awe. James blinked.

"How can you tell?" Dorgrun tapped his chest.

"You don't ask how you can tell the sun is on your face." James opened his mouth, closed it again, then decided to lean into honesty.

"There are aetherium veins nearby," he said casually.

"Plenty of them." The dwarves went so still it was like the tunnel had turned into a statue gallery. Then, as if speaking a prayer, they said together, "Aetherium." The word rolled through the stone like reverence. James glanced at Selathi. She raised her eyebrows slightly, as if to say, so that's what this means. The elder dwarf turned slowly toward James, eyes sharp.

"Aetherium is not 'nearby,'" he said.

"It is not 'plenty.' It is myth for most clans. A whisper told to apprentices to make them dream bigger." Dorgrun swallowed, then spoke with a smith's certainty.

"It is light as promise," he said.

"And it drinks enchantment like water. You can carve magic into it and it will hold." Another dwarf nodded rapidly.

"Weapons that sing," he murmured.

"Armor that moves like cloth. Relics that outlive kings." The elder dwarf's gaze didn't leave James.

"What god guided our feet here?" James looked back at him, baffled, and felt Selathi and Kerrin and Finni all turning their eyes toward him as well, as if expecting an answer. James had none. He glanced at Lumen, hovering faintly near his shoulder, and the little flame pulsed as if amused by the idea of gods being involved in what had mostly been James trying not to die since arriving in this world.

"I don't know," James admitted honestly.

"We… found this place." The dwarves exchanged looks that held a mixture of awe and suspicion, the way practical people reacted to miracles. They moved deeper into the tunnels. The pickaxes rang from farther down, villagers working a vein of iron, sparks flashing occasionally when metal struck stone just right. As the group passed, dwarves scattered like children in a sweet shop, hands running along walls, noses nearly pressed to stone, calling out to each other in delighted bursts.

"Iron," one announced, voice thrilled.

"Clean, too!"

"Copper traces," another said, tapping the wall.

"Not much, but good quality!" The elder dwarf chuckled, deep and warm.

"They'll be insufferable for days," he murmured to James.

"Let them. They have earned it." James found himself smiling despite everything. Then Dorgrun stopped so suddenly James nearly walked into him. The dwarves went quiet. Ahead, the wall shimmered faintly, not with light the way a lantern cast it, but with something that seemed to rise from within the stone itself. A thick vein ran through the tunnel wall, pale and luminous, threading like frozen lightning through dark rock. Aetherium.

The dwarves exhaled in unison, and for a moment James thought they might actually fall to their knees. One did. He pressed his palm to the stone as if greeting an old friend.

"Look at the size of it," he whispered.

"So thick," another breathed, voice reverent.

"It glistens," a third said, sounding like he was about to cry. James bit back laughter, not because it was funny, but because it was so pure in its joy it made him want to laugh the way people laughed when something beautiful caught them off guard. The elder dwarf stepped closer, eyes softening.

"This," he said quietly, "is why dwarves dream." He rested his hand on the stone. His voice shifted into something like storytelling, like he'd been waiting for a moment like this to speak from his heart.

"You humans love fire," he said, looking toward James.

"You build around it. You gather near it. It keeps you alive." James nodded slowly.

"Elves love forests," the elder dwarf continued, glancing toward Selathi.

"They hear the world in leaves and wind, and it makes them patient." Selathi's expression didn't change, but her gaze grew thoughtful.

"And dwarves," the elder dwarf said, "love what is hidden. What is deep. What waits. Stone does not change quickly. Metal does not lie. Underground, the world feels… honest. Safe." One of the dwarves let out a content sigh that sounded like agreement in its purest form.

"All of us know smithing," the elder dwarf said.

"Even if we do not love it equally. All of us know mining. We carry skills like bones. Mining gives us strength in our hands, steadiness in our breath, a sense for veins and faults. It makes ore yield more when we strike true, makes fatigue take longer to catch us. It is not magic like yours, Architect, but it is a gift all the same." James listened, absorbing it, and realized he was learning something more important than aetherium lore. He was learning what these dwarves were. They weren't prisoners or refugees.

And they were not extra hands for his village. They were people with a culture so intimate with stone it was like a language.

"For dwarves," the elder dwarf said, voice warming, "finding the perfect metal is the ultimate dream. The kind of joy you cannot explain to those who live under open sky. Each time we strike a vein, we feel it. Right here." He thumped his chest.

"A thrill. A promise. A piece of the world saying, yes, you were meant to be here." James's throat tightened unexpectedly. All he could think, selfishly and honestly, was that he had stumbled into the perfect workforce for his mine. The village would not run short on metal again. Armor and weapon production, things that had been slow and precious until now, could become steady. Reliable. A foundation. He pictured Rogan's shield line with better armor. Selathi's bowmen with stronger arrowheads.

Kerrin with a weapon that didn't chip. Even tools, nails, brackets, hinges, becoming abundant instead of rationed. Heartroot's growth would accelerate, not just in wood, but in iron and beyond. Dorgrun pulled James slightly aside, away from the other dwarves who were still murmuring prayers to the vein.

"I like mining," Dorgrun said, voice low.

"But I prefer shaping." James glanced at him.

"I guessed," he said, remembering Dorgrun's hands, thick, steady, more suited to hammer than pick. Dorgrun's eyes gleamed.

"Do you need a smith?" James hesitated, then nodded.

"I have Varn," he admitted.

"He's good. He's learning fast. But… he's at the start of his profession. We need weapons and armor yesterday." Dorgrun's grin was slow and proud.

"I learned two schematics from my old master," he said. James blinked.

"Schematics?" Dorgrun frowned slightly, then realized James genuinely didn't know.

"Not blueprints," Dorgrun said, and there was something almost amused in his voice.

"A schematic is a taught design. A way to shape metal so it holds more than form. When I craft with a schematic, the work carries an effect. Permanent. Not a spell you cast after. The craft itself becomes the enchantment's cradle." James's heart kicked hard. It was exactly like a game system mechanic, except it lived in the hands of a dwarf and the heat of a forge.

"So… it's like," James began, then stopped himself from sounding too excited. He failed.

"It's like crafting progression. Like a learned recipe that makes better gear." Dorgrun nodded, satisfied.

"Yes." James swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I want you," he said plainly.

"As a smith. And if you're willing, I want you to teach Varn. Help him unlock faster. We need a forge that can keep up with what's coming." Dorgrun's expression softened with something that might have been gratitude, though dwarves hid it behind practicality.

"I want to work," he said.

"Badly. Because I need to unlock my profession. Only then can I work with aetherium." James's eyebrows rose.

"You can't yet?" Dorgrun shook his head.

"There is an ability. High-tier handling. Exotic metals. You don't touch aetherium until you've earned the right. Otherwise you ruin it." James nodded, impressed. He liked that. It meant aetherium wouldn't just become a cheap resource. It would remain precious, even as Heartroot discovered veins of it. Behind them, one of the dwarves had picked up a discarded pickaxe leaning against the wall. He hefted it, tested its balance, and made a face.

"This is terrible," he muttered, as if personally insulted by the tool's existence.

"Who forged this?" Finni, who had been admiring the pickaxe as if it was impressive, looked suddenly defensive. Dorgrun barked a laugh.

"We will make better," he said, loud enough for the others to hear.

"Once we have a forge worthy of us." The dwarves straightened like soldiers offered a banner. James turned to the group, raising his voice.

"Alright," he said.

"You've seen the mine. You've seen what's here. If you want to work it, you have my permission. We need ore extracted, sorted, and stored properly. We need tools improved. We need someone who understands stone and metal better than we do." The dwarves didn't need encouragement. They nodded, already talking among themselves in low, excited tones. James looked at Selathi, Kerrin, Finni, Aelthir, and Faelor.

"We're going deeper," he said.

"Not far. Just enough to see what lives beyond the worked veins. There are underground beasts in these tunnels. We clear what we find, keep the path safe, and learn the lay of the earth." Kerrin's grin widened.

"Finally," he said. Selathi's gaze sharpened, the hunter in her rising.

"Stay close," she warned the young bowmen. Aelthir and Faelor nodded quickly, hands tightening on their bows. James took one last glance back. The dwarves were already spreading out with barely restrained eagerness, hands on stone, voices overlapping as they argued about vein direction and ore quality. It was as if the tunnel had become their home the moment they stepped into it.

Heartroot's future was taking shape underground, not in speeches or plans, but in the way Dorgrun's eyes shone at the thought of shaping metal into something that would protect this village. James turned toward the darker passage ahead, where lantern light faded and the earth waited. He felt the quiet hum of possibility in his bones. For once, it wasn't just wood and walls and roofs. It was iron. It was stone. It was craft. It was depth.