Draco suddenly stopped in his tracks, holding still in a way that caught John off guard. After a moment, Draco spoke, “Sorry, I just received a telepathic message. I need to take care of some important matters, but it would be dangerous to leave you alone here. I will contact a friend of yours.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, concentrating, then turned back to John with a smile. “She is coming.”

  With that, Draco handed John a small, strange flute. The flute was carved from a pale, smooth wood with intricate silver inlays spiraling around its length like tiny dragons curling in flight. It felt oddly warm in John’s hands, humming faintly as if alive with its own magic.

  Draco explained, “There are not just dragons and dwarves here. You’ve flown on dragon backs, but that’s not the usual way non-flying citizens get around. Blow into this flute whenever you need to reach places too far for your human legs.”

  John looked at the flute, sensing it was more than just a simple instrument—an unexpected key to the mysterious ways of Golddeep.

  Soon, Kira, the young dragoness and Kael’s sister, appeared in the sky above. She swooped down gracefully and landed before Draco and John, shifting fluidly from her draconic form into a humanoid shape as she touched the ground.

  Her smaller stature even in draconic form allowed her to move and dwell in spaces where larger dragons could not venture, a subtle advantage that kept her close and agile. Draco’s earlier warning echoed in John’s mind—it was dangerous for him to be alone in Golddeep. Some dragons might see him as nothing more than a snack. While they tolerated dwarves, John was not one of them, and those distinctions mattered.

  But there was an unspoken rule: no dragon would harm one of their own just to satisfy a fleeting hunger for human flesh. John, being tied to the dragons in ways yet to be fully understood, was afforded that fragile protection as Kira stood watch by his side.

  Draco soon departed, leaving John in Kira’s company. “Draco told me to show you around,” Kira said with a gentle smile.

  But before they could move, a voice called out, breaking the moment. “Kira, you’re back! ...And who’s this?”

  John turned to see a young female dwarf approaching. She was shorter than John but far broader in build, with fiery orange hair that cascaded in waves down her back. Her bright eyes sparkled with a mischievous light, and her face was framed by a few strands of hair tucked behind slightly pointed ears. Despite her stoutness, there was an undeniable energy and warmth in her presence.

  Kira introduced them quickly, “Dagda, meet John. John, meet Dagda.”

  Dagda grinned and greeted John warmly. “Ha! Kira, you’re a strange dragon for befriending me, a dwarf, and now you’ve even befriended a human. Let’s go celebrate!”

  “No,” Kira replied, “you just want to get drunk.”

  Dagda laughed and pulled John by the hand, “Just one sip,” she promised as she tugged him toward a nearby tunnel. Kira hesitated but followed, unconvinced.

  As they moved into the tunnel, Dagda explained, “Dwarves travel through these tunnels because we can’t fly, and dragons typically dislike these cramped paths.”

  Kira’s discomfort was clear as she glanced nervously around the narrow, dimly lit tunnel, confirming Dagda’s words.

  Dagda chuckled as she continued, “In these tunnels, no dragon can take his or her true form, and sometimes they have to duck — heh, we didn’t exactly build this for tall folk.”

  They pressed onward, and soon the narrow tunnel opened into a vast underground zone lit by an array of glowing crystals embedded in the walls. Their soft, multicolored light cast shimmering reflections across the cavern, illuminating a busy and bustling network that was both a city and a mine entwined.

  Dwarves moved rhythmically along worn stone pathways, their footsteps accompanied by the clatter of cart wheels on rough rails, the rhythmic clang of pickaxes striking ore, and the low murmur of trade and conversation. Wooden scaffolds rose in layers, supported by heavy beams reinforced with iron. Everywhere were carts piled high with precious metals and gemstones, while forges glowed dimly against rock faces, filling the air with the scent of fire and earth.

  This underground world was a complex hybrid, where industrious dwarves lived, worked, and thrived in tight harmony with the mining tunnels that had carved their home deep beneath the surface. The place pulsed with life — a testament to the resilient spirit of its inhabitants.

  With a sudden kick, Dagda flung open a heavy metal door and called out loudly, “Roll the barrels, we’ve arrived!”

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  John stepped inside to find himself in the warm, bustling heart of a tavern. The room was filled with dwarves, mostly male, their voices rising in cheers at the arrival of the unusual visitors. Despite the rarity of seeing a human and a dragoness in this place, the dwarves seemed undisturbed, welcoming them with hearty enthusiasm as if strangers were simply uncommon guests in their lively subterranean world.

  Both John and Kira refused the offered alcohol and settled for some water.

  As John slowly grew accustomed to the tavern’s lively atmosphere, he found himself in conversation with Dagda who was drinking from a gigantic keg of beer. The exchange was easy, filled with the warmth and camaraderie of shared stories and mutual understanding.

  At some point, Dagda’s eyes lit up with realization, and she suddenly shouted to the gathered crowd, “Guys, this is Orwen’s apprentice! The old hermit finally took on an apprentice.”

  The tavern erupted in cheers and laughter, the dwarves raising their mugs high in celebration of the rare and noteworthy event. John felt a new sense of belonging as the tacit acknowledgment of his connection to Orwen was met with enthusiasm and respect.

  Then the present dwarves intoned a song about the half-dragon.

  Here begins the tale of a dwarf so stout, Who stomped through woods with a mighty shout. His legend’s sung in taverns loud, With mugs of ale and beards unbowed!

  We are the dwarves from under stone, We dig all day, we drink till dawn. We scoff at sunlight’s blinding glare, And raise our tankards in the air!

  Come on, heat it up John!

  One day old Orwen, pickaxe in hand, Was told to search the forest land. “Perhaps there’s mithril below those trees!”

  Though dwarves prefer caves, if you please!

  He built a shack near elven halls, Where veggie feasts lined banquet walls. “Salads only?!” he gave a groan, “Where’s the meat, the marrow, the bone?”

  More beer!

  “Begone, stout beard!” the grass-munching folk did cry, “Your noisy boots disturb the sky!” They hurled their arrows with leafy rage, So Orwen stormed off, disengaged.

  He met some nymphs by a brook, They offered water from their nook. He spat it out with thunderous roar: “Beer, not bathwater, I implore!”

  Oh, that’s for sure.

  Through brambles thick he found a town, Where humans sold their ale brown. But one barkeep turned him away, So Orwen smashed a stool on his head that day.

  Back to the mines he marched with pride, “No elf, no man shall turn my stride! I’ll drink my beer, I’ll dig my ground, And never leave my mountain mound!”

  Friends, let’s feast in caverns deep, With roasted boar and ale to keep. Up there they nibble leaves and pears— Down here we toast with hearty cheers!

  John listened as the dwarves in the tavern sang that rowdy song filled with tales about Orwen. He gleaned new details about the enigmatic blacksmith, though he wasn’t certain how much was fact and how much was dwarven exaggeration or legend.

  Despite the uncertainties, John enjoyed himself, caught up in the warmth and camaraderie of the evening. But as the night wore on and the dwarves grew increasingly drunk and rowdy, Kira gently took John’s hand. Without a word, the two slipped away from the tavern, leaving behind Dagda, who was still reveling in the festivities far too enthusiastically to notice their departure.

  When they were outside, John’s gaze swept across the dwarven marketplace bustling nearby. He turned to Kira and asked if she knew where he might find Bluecap Mushrooms, Stream Water, and Wild Honey—items he hoped to gather to see if he could still brew his potion.

  Kira admitted she was not familiar with the dwarven market’s intricacies but offered to guide him back through the labyrinth of tunnels from where they had come toward the place by the crystal tower.

  John felt fortunate to have Kira’s keen memory steering their path, knowing well that without her guidance, he might have easily become hopelessly lost in the confusing maze of underground passages winding beneath Golddeep.

  As they stepped outside, a lady dragon approached John and silently handed him a basket. Startled, John looked down to find the basket filled with Bluecap Mushrooms, Stream Water, Wild Honey, and a few other common items.

  Kira smiled and said, “I asked a friend to gather the common items you needed.”

  John felt a quiet gratitude for the unseen kindness as the lady dragon vanished into the crowd, leaving him and Kira ready with the supplies he sought for his planned experiments.

  Soon after, Draco caught up with them again. Taking advantage of his presence, John voiced a question that had been on his mind for some time. “Why was I sent to Orwen? I understand his connection to the system is sealed just like mine, but he doesn’t seem to have a solution for it either.”

  Draco smiled knowingly and replied, “Orwen is an expert—he knows far more than it appears.”

  The words hinted at hidden depths and unspoken plans, suggesting that Orwen’s role in John’s journey was more significant than it seemed on the surface.

  Draco expressed his gratitude to Kira for taking care of John and said, “It’s time to return to Orwen.” Kira offered to take John there herself, and with a teasing smile that unbeknownst to John made Kira blush slightly, Draco bid his farewell once more.

  The flying Kira led John down into the depths of the crevasse and then left him at Orwen’s home. Upon entering, John noticed Orwen appeared to ignore his presence, as if he hadn’t noticed John had been away, or maybe the dwarf just did not care.

  John, feeling not quite tired enough to rest, decided instead to head toward the anvil to continue his training, the rhythmic clang of his hammer echoing through the forge as his determination burned bright.

  When the ache in his arm grew persistent, John asked Orwen if he could use a cauldron to try brewing a potion. Without a word, the dwarf conjured a small flying metallic drone that hovered before John, ready to guide him to the kitchen.

  In the dim kitchen, John gathered the ingredients from the basket he had received and began the brewing process he remembered all too well. Lacking the system’s magic to empower the potion, what he created was nothing more than a strange, murky brew. It was neither toxic nor did it grant any special negative experience points. The color was off—dull and unappealing—and the taste was equally unpleasant and different from his famous brew.

  Still, it was worth a try, a first attempt to learn how to navigate the arcane arts without relying on the system’s powers. John knew his potion was very special and unique, so it was no surprise that the collar prevented him from brewing it, even if he did it just as he always had.