The gauntlet fighter, his stance rock-solid, let out a guttural yell. He stomped down with a force that seemed to resonate with more than just physical strength. As his boot hit the ground, the earth seemed to pulse in response. A visible wave rippled outwards, surging toward the approaching rock-goats with an inexorable determination of its own. Stone and gravel scattered as the ground convulsed.

  Alph focused on the ripple’s path, anticipating the moment the earth would break. The wave reached the rock-goats' lead, erupting beneath it in a jagged spike of stone that shot skyward. The spike punched through the creature’s nose, its trajectory a brutal precision that propelled it backward.

  Silence fell, sudden and complete, as the beast collapsed without a single cry. Dust plumed up from its fall, hanging in the dull light like a diaphanous shroud.

  The other rock-goats faltered, confusion clear in their wide, panicked eyes.

  The gauntlet fighter took advantage of the rock-goats' hesitation. The shield-bearer remained immovable, drawing their focus, his Heavy Stance anchoring him as a stone amidst a raging river, unwavering.

  Alph’s mind raced, instinct urging him to act, to use his abilities, but he crushed that impulse under the weight of his new identity.

  I'm just an apprentice crafter. Not a fighter. Not here to reveal what I can do.

  The gauntlet dwarf stepped forward, every motion fluid and deliberate. His fist arced downward, a hammer to anvil in its certainty. Crushing Blow met bone with a sickening crunch. Blood spattered, warm and viscous, coloring the air with a coppery undertone.

  Alph watched the second beast crumple, its life extinguished in an instant. The final goat hesitated, the aggression that had driven it now smothered by primal fear.

  The third beast abandoned all aggression after witnessing its companions' sudden deaths. It skirted past the shield dwarf, whose immovable stance prevented him from adjusting position.

  Instead, the goat charged the frozen laborer left of the cart. Alph reacted instantly. He grabbed the terrified man and yanked him behind the cart, left hand braced against the wooden frame for leverage.

  The goat's horns sliced empty air where the laborer's stomach had been moments before. Momentum carried the beast past the cart. Now driven solely by panic, it fled into the distance.

  The gauntlet dwarf assumed a defensive stance near the wagon's rear, anticipating another attack. His caution proved unnecessary—the rock-goat simply bleated once before vanishing into the rock formations.

  The laborer blinked rapidly, as if waking from a trance, then dropped onto the coarse earth, trembling.

  "Thank you," he gasped, voice still shaky, eyes wide with the spectre of the close call.

  The gauntlet guard approached Alph, eyes narrowed with a shrewd understanding of movement and timing. "Professional?" he asked, his tone neither accusatory nor overtly friendly, merely seeking truth in the aftermath.

  The apprentice cover won't hold after that reaction. Tier 1 gives me room. Dwarves believe Tier 1 Artisan as an apprentice anyway.

  Alph nodded, allowing a faint smile to play at his lips. "Newly advanced, Tier 1 Artisan," he replied, the practiced confidence in his voice lending credence to the lie.

  The guard grunted, a flicker of satisfaction passing over his features as his initial scrutiny faded. "You will fit right in with that quick thinking."

  The guard gave a brief nod, then turned his attention to the other travelers. His voice was steady and reassuring, carrying an easy authority that settled the shaken laborers and nervous couple.

  "All clear," he announced, jerking a thumb toward the horizon. "Just a bit of excitement to keep us sharp. Go on, breathe easy now."

  His calm presence worked like warm wax, softening the tension until it melted away entirely.

  While the shield-bearer grumbled under his breath, discontent at the lost opportunity for more sport, he knelt beside the fallen rock-goats.

  With practiced skill, he set about skinning them, his knife cutting smoothly through thick pelts, muscles bunching beneath his leather jerkin as he worked. Pebbled horns, still streaked with dirt and blood, soon lay stacked at his side. The hum of his work and the leather-stripping of knives found rhythm in Agria's mountain winds.

  Alph took an inconspicuous step back, distancing himself as a faint tremble beneath the ground lifted a whisper far too subtle for the guards to sense. The Druidic profession boosted his attuned senses, detecting the hints. It was a creature—moving fast, with a purpose that mirrored a predator’s strike. His skin prickled in response; the earth itself shivered underfoot.

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  The dwarf guards, sharp-eyed as hawks, remained oblivious to the danger skirting just beneath their feet.

  The approaching entity—a juvenile ember mole—focused Alph’s senses, and his heart rate quickened; ember moles were Tier 2 creatures, and juveniles still placed in high Tier 1. Steeling himself, Alph reached out through the Beast Empathy skill, his consciousness merging with the mole’s awareness.

  The creature’s thoughts brushed against his mind: hunger, need... a flare of desire for something imbued with fire. He waded through its primal instincts—a creature ruled by elemental hunger.

  The fire, the warmth, he understood, flashes of molten earth filling his mind.

  He visualized the nearby lava vent in an underground cavern, its hidden heat curling upward, attempting to convey this sensation through his thoughts. He sent this allure through the mental connection—a whisper of home.

  Quiet understanding unfolded. The prospect of untapped nourishment tugged at the ember mole's mind, redirecting its course.

  Its interest waned from Alph's party to the vent. Satisfaction purred through the bond. Alph felt it turn away beneath them, vanishing deeper into the rocky underworld with barely a trace.

  Alph released a long-held breath, and his shoulders relaxed. The tension that had gripped him, cold and silent, finally receded.

  That was too close. Dealing with elemental hunger was perilous, and while the fragile cognitive exchange had held, guiding the juvenile away with whispered promises of superior heat, the gamble was not an easy one; he had gotten lucky.

  The real danger had been diverted for now.

  The caravan lurched forward again, the mountain's shadow grew with each hour. Alph walked along with it, keeping his senses taut for any more surprises.

  The workshop door squealed open, admitting three familiar faces and a burst of mountain air. Varrick Grimforge’s gaze lifted from the workbench’s monotony to the welcome, if unexpected, sight, a burst of life and energy following them into the shadowed space.

  “Look who actually made it!” boomed the broadest of them, a stalwart dwarf whose girth belied his nimbleness in the fray. His eyes twinkled brightly beneath the soot-stained helmet he rarely removed. "Varrick!"

  The smithy’s shadows receded a little at their arrival, and a genuine smile broke through Varrick's usually stoic demeanor. "Could hear you lot coming a league away."

  The two others laughed, scraping chairs across the stone floor to settle in. Fellow Tier 2 warriors who wore their battle prowess with the same comfortable ease as their worn armor.

  A pile of enchanted shields clattered onto the workbench, their polished surfaces gleaming oddly amidst the smithy's usual clutter. "Could use those famous Varrick's fingers," the Thorfin declared, stroking his personal shield like a beloved pet. "Maybe some reinforcing enchantments too. Not exactly your father's level of craftsmanship, but—"

  "Any work's good work right now," Varrick interrupted, placing a heavy scarred hand atop the shield with a measured nod.

  The damage dealer among them leaned in, grin crooked. "Drinks after? Whole crew's gathering at the Bronze Hammer tonight."

  Varrick shifted his stance, casting a glance toward the recruitment notice he'd been drafting. "Can't. Need to post at the guild before it closes."

  The room fell into a gentle hush, carried by understanding deeper than words. "Apprentice search still going?" The question came softly from the sharp-eyed scout, whose lean build and quick movements always reminded Varrick of rustling leaves.

  "Father needs someone with the gift," Varrick answered, exhaling slowly. "All I've got is muscle."

  "There are a lot of new faces at the Gloomwater Docks," the scout suggested, leaning in conspiratorially. "Many new arrivals came in on ships from the Rainbow Archipelago, just looking for quick employment. You should use your father's name to attract some cheap help."

  Varrick scratched his beard, eyes distant but contemplative. "Grimforge name doesn't carry weight like it used to."

  The damage dealer thumped Varrick's shoulder in a solid weight of camaraderie and well-meant jibe. "So find someone hungry. Someone who doesn't know better," he quipped with a rogue's grin.

  Varrick chuckled, a low rumble that resonated through the room. Worth a shot, at least. What do I have to lose?

  His comrades pooled a handful of coppers onto the workbench, a sum larger than their contract warranted, but Varrick accepted it with the humility of one who understood both necessity and pride.

  "Still the best axe-hand in our crew, Varrick," the Thorfin added. "Shame you're here hammering cold steel instead."

  "Ain't that the truth," Varrick murmured, his voice a mixture of pride and yearning.

  The workshop felt emptier when they left, closing the door on laughter echoing toward the tavern down the street. Silence returned, a familiar companion Varrick endured with a grimace.

  He pocketed the coins, feeling their weight—a mixture of gratitude and the heaviness of relying on others' charity.

  Taking up the drafted notice, he cast one last wistful gaze around the cluttered confines of Grimforge Smithy. Varrick knew he needed someone with the gift to breathe life into cold metal, someone who could see the art in every stroke of the hammer.

  Gathering the papers, he stepped out, the door sighing closed behind him. The district's evening shift change began—apprentices streaming toward guild halls, smoke from a hundred forges darkening the twilight sky.

  The guild awaited, and perhaps there, among unfamiliar faces, he would find the spark capable of kindling the forge's forgotten flame.

  Maybe this time, he thought, determination fusing with the cool air outside. Maybe the right apprentice changes everything.

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  Destiny on the Frozen Peak: The Myriad Constellations

  Released on January 1st, 2026