Alph stepped onto the bustling pier, the salty air thick with industrial smoke and the chatter of dockhands. The Maiden's Glory seemed to shrink behind him, its voyage now a fading memory.

  He wore a slightly worn, homespun tunic in muted greens and browns, sturdy leather boots scuffed from travel, and rugged trousers that spoke of a life far from city comforts. A tattered cloak, more for disguise than warmth in the clammy air, hung from his shoulders, and a patched-up leather rucksack rested securely on his back.

  He was now Alph, aspiring blacksmith’s apprentice from Swiftwind Island. He blended. That was the goal—just another face among the throng of new arrivals and seasoned laborers.

  His sharp mind cataloged the sounds, smells, and myriad faces—a kaleidoscope of humanity and dwarvenkind, each etching their own story into their expressions.

  He merged with the current of pedestrians, and headed toward the dock town’s central square. Alph calculated reaching the mountain’s base, the starting point for the counterweighted that ascended to the city itself, would take nearly half a day. His immediate objective was locating a caravan making that journey so he could integrate himself amongst its travelers.

  Corbin mentioned that while the approach up to the main gates was pretty well maintained, natural predators like horned rock-goats, cliff wyverns, and burrowing ember-moles feeding near geothermal vents still plagued it. The cliff wyverns might pose the only threat, but he could not travel alone if he wanted to maintain his cover among others.

  The central square of the dock town hummed with a frantic energy. Alph wove through a cluster of fishmongers, his gaze scanning the disparate wagons and groups for a specific signature of movement. Near the northern exit, he spotted a single horse-drawn cart, its suspension groaning under the weight of bulging grain sacks.

  A dwarf with a braided beard sat prominently on the bench, his fingers rhythmically tapping a ledger against his thigh. Beside him, a lanky human driver held the reins with practiced indifference.

  Alph slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing as he took in the group clustered by the cart. Six travelers stood in the muddy tracks, each telling their own story through posture and attire.

  Two men wore homespun serf clothes nearly identical to Alph's own. Their stooped shoulders and weary stances spoke of hard labor and resignation. Nearby, a young human couple leaned into each other, oblivious to the world around them. The woman rested her head on the man's shoulder as he murmured something that made her giggle. Their clumsy affection marked them as newlyweds—likely seeking a fresh start in the mountain city.

  The last two were different. They were dwarves clad in toughened leather armor, thick steel axes strapped securely across their broad backs. They scanned the surrounding crowd with bored but professional gaze. These were the muscle.

  The combination was unmistakable. Grain for the mountain granaries, a merchant seeking profit, and armed blades for the ascent. The mountain road was a marvel of dwarven stonecraft—smooth, leveled, and durable—but the dwarves viewed regular patrol duty as beneath their artisan dignity. They built the road to last, then left the dangers of the ascent to test the vigilance of those who used it.

  Alph adjusted the strap of his rucksack and approached the merchant.

  "Looking for another hand for the climb?"

  The merchant looked down from the bench, squinting through the mountain fog. He gestured vaguely toward the back of the cart.

  "Twenty coppers for the protection and the space, lad. You walk when the horse tires, and you keep your eyes peeled like the rest. You look new here, first time on the mainland, aye?"

  "Indeed Mister," Alph lied, his voice steady. "Born and bred on Swiftwind Isles, headed for an apprenticeship in the upper city."

  “Ah, youth! Well, you make your payment upfront and worry nothing about security on the road. Those two hunks will not let anything scratch you.”

  Satisfied by the modest ambition, the merchant grunted and held out a gnarled hand for the coin. Alph felt the two guards stare as he fished the copper from his pouch. He was just another pair of eyes to watch the cliffs and another mouth to feed.

  Alph tossed the copper coins to the merchant. The metal clinked against the dwarf’s ledger before disappearing into a greasy leather pouch. As he moved toward the rear of the grain cart, a sharp ripple of movement from the young couple caught his attention.

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  The man leaned toward his bride, his lips curling into a derisive smirk. He didn’t bother to lower his voice beyond a theatrical stage whisper, assuming the distance and the rhythmic groan of the departing wagon would mask his words.

  "Look at him, honey," the man said, casting a sideways glance at Alph’s scuffed boots. "Fresh off a boat from that backwater island. Just another poor serf hunting for scraps."

  The woman pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders shaking with a fresh bout of giggles.

  "I’ll show you my mansion once we’ve reached the city," the man continued, his chest puffing out beneath a silk-lined coat. "There, you can lord over people like that as you wish. They’re born for it."

  Alph’s enhanced senses caught every syllable. His expression remained a mask of dull, peasant exhaustion, but his analytical mind cataloged the man’s vanity as a predictable variable. He didn't care about the insult; arrogance was a loud trait, and loud traits made people easy to read.

  Alph heaved his worn leather pack onto the cart's splintered wooden bed, the weight of his tools clinking softly against the iron fittings. He lingered by the roadside, boots crunching on loose gravel as he turned toward the two sun-leathered laborers leaning against the cart's rear wheel.

  "Waiting long?" Alph asked, his voice carrying the practiced cadence of someone accustomed to filling empty hours with idle talk.

  The flatlands stretched endlessly beneath a pallid sky. Stone-paved paths, worn smooth by centuries of merchant caravans and dwarven supply runs, cut through the rocky terrain in a network of faint grooves. Scattered boulders jutted from the earth at irregular intervals, forcing the cart to weave between them in a rhythm that made Alph's legs ache with each lurching adjustment.

  The mountain still seemed impossibly distant, though they had been traveling for hours. It rose ahead like a colossal monument, its peak shrouded in mist.

  Alph walked alongside the cart's rear wheel, his boots crunching against loose stone fragments that carpeted the gaps between the paved sections. The two laborers had long since fallen silent, their breathing steady and mechanical. The guards rode ahead, scanning the barren expanse with practiced disinterest.

  The young couple sat on the grain sacks, the man's silk coat already dulled by dust. His wife dozed fitfully against his shoulder.

  Alph's enhanced perception tracked everything—the subtle shift of wind across the flatland, the distant echo of loose rock settling, the merchant's occasional curse as the horse stumbled over uneven ground. Away from the port's chaos, his senses felt sharper and cleaner.

  Movement flickered at the edge of Alph's perception—not the subtle shift of wind-scattered debris, but something deliberate. Three massive silhouettes emerged from the boulder clusters ahead, their horned heads rising above the stone like peaks themselves. Rock-goats, each the size of a cow, their flanks rippling with muscle beneath brown fur.

  Tier 1 life signs, unmistakable to his enhanced senses.

  Alph's hand tightened on the cart's wooden frame. The creatures charged across the flatland in a wide, coordinated spread, their hooves striking stone with rhythmic impacts that grew louder.

  The laborer beside him noticed nothing. Neither did the merchant or the silk-clad couple.

  The armored dwarf turned sharply to face the threat. His hand lifted, fingers pointing at the approaching beasts, and his eyes focused intensely, having already sensed the danger. He shouted something in Dwarvish to his companion.

  The human driver cursed and tugged the cart's reins, causing the cart to lurch forward with renewed urgency.

  Alph noticed the tremor that rippled through their small group when the dwarf guard's shout pierced the air. Fear coiled around the nervous glances exchanged between the laborers—their lips pulled tight against their teeth, knuckles pale as they gripped the cart’s edge like a lifeline.

  “Stay close,” one advised, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  The young man pushed his wife behind him, his arm stiff with manufactured bravado. His voice cracked when he declared, “I’ll keep you safe,” the words hollow, their promise lacking certainty.

  The merchant's colorful swearing cut through the air, blending with the cart's abrupt stop and the steady drumbeat of hooves as the horned creatures closed in. That illusion of calm shattered, laying bare the fear gripping the group.

  The axe-wielding dwarf took up position beside his gauntleted companion, shield at the ready. Amidst his own heightened senses and the ragged breaths of the others, Alph felt an odd detachment; he was both part of and apart from the scene unfolding.

  The shield-bearer planted his feet, drawing a deep breath before roaring a challenge that echoed across the desolate flatlands, reverberating like a drumbeat in a muted hall. It was not merely a sound but an intent, imbued with power.

  The three rock-goats halted mid-surge, large eyes snapping towards the dwarf, as if caught by an invisible lasso. Instinct seemed to unravel, replaced by a singular focus drawn not from their own wild impulses. Alph recognized the technique, a hallmark of the combatants skilled in the art of battlefield manipulation—Taunt, mass-target.

  Their pounding hooves faltered only a moment before they charged anew, this time unified in determination on the shield-bearer. The dwarf stood firm, shield angled and weapon ready, an anchor in the chaos.

  Every detail solidified in Alph's mind—the ridge of muscle on the rock-goats, their rhythmic approach—and he prepared himself for whatever this sudden, unexpected encounter might require.

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  Destiny on the Frozen Peak: The Myriad Constellations

  Released on January 1st, 2026