Bram walked along the outer edge of the forest trail, his boots crunching softly over roots and fallen leaves. The others kept to the middle of the path, where the ground was smoother, but he liked the edge. It gave him room to think, to keep his eyes moving. The woods were quiet, too quiet for his taste. Birds called every now and then, but it was the kind of silence that felt like something was listening back.

  The sunlight filtered through the branches in thin lines, cutting the air into ribbons of gold and shadow. Ahead, the road curved gently downhill toward Sewen, their next stop before the Green Hills. They’d been walking for hours, and the day was warm, but Bram didn’t complain. He’d spent half his life underground. Even heat and insects felt like freedom compared to the stale air of the lower forges.

  He glanced over his shoulder, checking on the others. Ennett led from the front, steady as ever, her eyes scanning the path for movement. Xonya walked behind her, light on her feet, her bow slung over one shoulder. She always looked like she was ready to shoot an arrow at the first sign of trouble. Maruzan followed in the middle, talking quietly with Nethira, their heads bent close as they discussed something he couldn’t quite hear. Farrin brought up the rear, her braid swinging with each step.

  It was a good team, Bram thought. Strange, maybe, human, elf, dwarf, dryad-born, but good.

  He kicked at a small rock on the road, watching it skip twice before vanishing into the brush. “Bandits’ll love a stretch like this,” he muttered to himself. “Too many trees. Too few places to see ‘em coming.”

  “You expecting company?” Farrin’s voice came from behind him.

  “Always am,” he said without turning. “That’s why I walk the edge. Makes ‘em think twice.”

  Farrin snorted. “You just like pretending you’re the scary one.”

  Bram grinned over his shoulder. “I am the scary one.”

  “Right,” she said dryly. “Remind me of that when you scream at the next snake we pass.”

  He chuckled. “One time, Farrin. One time.”

  Her smirk lingered, but her eyes softened. “You haven’t been talking much today,” she said after a pause. “You’re usually the loudest of us.”

  “Thinking,” he said simply.

  “Dangerous habit.”

  He ignored the jab. “You ever think about home?”

  That made her glance down, her fingers tightening slightly around her belt. “Every day,” she said. “But I don’t miss it.”

  He nodded slowly. “I know what you mean.”

  They walked a few more steps before she said, “You’ve been different since the last time at Kellen-Tir. Quieter. You’ve got that look like you’re carrying something.”

  He hesitated. Then sighed. “Maybe I am. Maybe we all are.”

  Farrin waited. She was patient when she wanted to be.

  Bram finally spoke. “It’s the halls. Every time I go back, I see it. They’re full of people who’ve forgotten how to work. Not because they’re lazy, because the golems do it for them now. They mine, they smith, they haul the stone. All perfect, all efficient, all lifeless.” He kicked another rock, harder this time. “We built them to serve, but now they’ve taken the best part of us. The part that builds, that struggles.”

  Farrin didn’t interrupt.

  Bram rubbed his neck. “When I was a boy, I used to sit and watch my father at the forge. He’d hammer for hours without rest, just shaping one blade. He’d come home covered in soot, coughing from the smoke, but smiling. Said a dwarf without craft is like a river without water, dry and useless. And now…” He trailed off. “Now the forges glow, but the hammers don’t sing. You walk through Kellen-Tir and it’s quiet. Too quiet.”

  Farrin’s brow furrowed. “You think that’s why you left?”

  He nodded. “Aye. Someone needed to remember what it felt like to make something again. To shape the world with their own hands.”

  For a while, neither spoke. The only sounds were the wind and the crunch of their boots. Then Farrin said softly, “Maybe that’s why we’re all here.”

  Bram looked over. “What do you mean?”

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  “We all lost something,” she said. “Home, family, purpose, doesn’t matter what it was. The point is, we didn’t stay still. We came out here looking for something better.”

  Bram considered that. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe we just got tired of the silence.”

  A short while later, the warband stopped by a shallow stream that crossed the road. Maruzan signaled for a break. Ennett checked the trees for signs of movement while Xonya crouched to refill the water flasks. Nethira knelt by the bank, touching the water with her fingertips and whispering something too soft to hear.

  Bram sat on a nearby log, wiping sweat from his brow. Farrin joined him, passing him a piece of dried fruit.

  He accepted it with a grateful nod.

  “You really think the others back home can make changes for the better?” she asked after a moment.

  “I have to,” Bram said, chewing slowly. “If I don’t, then I’ve got no reason to go back.”

  She looked at him. “Would you go back?”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Someday. Maybe when there’s something worth bringing with me.”

  “Like what?”

  He smiled faintly. “Hope. A bit of purpose. Maybe a story or two about what it means to live outside the stone.”

  Farrin laughed under her breath. “You sound like one of those traveling priests.”

  “Don’t curse me like that,” he said with mock horror. Then he smiled again, quieter this time. “I just want to see my people build something again. Something that has meaning. Maybe I can help.”

  Farrin studied him for a long moment. “You know,” she said softly, “you might actually pull that off.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “I’m not. I just think you’re too stubborn not to.”

  Bram grinned. “Stubbornness is a dwarven virtue.”

  She shook her head but smiled all the same.

  They resumed walking once more, the light shifting as afternoon turned to evening. The trees thinned as the land began to slope upward. In the distance, the outline of the Green Hills rose against the sky — dark, uneven shapes that looked almost like sleeping beasts under a blanket of mist.

  Maruzan called for a halt at a ridge overlooking the next valley. He unfolded the map, weighing it down with a small stone.

  “We’ll reach Sewen by nightfall if we keep pace,” he said. “We’ll rest there and resupply before heading toward the ruins.”

  Xonya nodded. “Any thoughts on what lay ahead?”

  “No,” Maruzan said. “But Nethira’s been uneasy all morning.”

  All eyes turned to her. She stood apart, staring toward the hills. Her face was pale, her expression troubled.

  “What do you feel?” Ennett asked quietly.

  Nethira hesitated. “It’s faint. Like a heartbeat under the soil. Something stirring. Old magic, maybe. But it’s not awake yet.”

  “Not awake?” Bram echoed.

  She looked at him. “Everything that sleeps eventually wakes.”

  The words lingered. No one spoke for several seconds.

  Finally, Maruzan folded the map and said, “Then we’ll be ready when it does.”

  Bram nodded, though unease prickled at the back of his neck. He looked toward the hills again, imagining what might be waiting beneath them.

  The group moved again as the sun began to dip. Shadows stretched long over the ground, turning the trees into dark pillars. The road narrowed, forcing them into single file.

  As they walked, Bram fell back beside Winnum, who had been quiet the entire day. The monk’s hood was still drawn low, his face mostly hidden.

  “You haven’t said a word since morning,” Bram said.

  “I’ve been listening,” Winnum replied softly. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, something old and tired.

  “Listening for what?”

  “Anything worth hearing.”

  Bram huffed. “You’ll be waiting a while, then.”

  Winnum’s eyes flicked toward him. “You think I don’t notice? The way you watch the trees. The way you walk apart from the others. You don’t just guard the road, Bram. You’re searching for something.”

  Bram raised a brow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re trying to find a reason to believe again.”

  That caught him off guard. “Believe in what?”

  “Yourself. Your people. Maybe even the world,” Winnum said quietly. “I’ve seen that look before. In mirrors.”

  For a moment, Bram didn’t answer. Then he said, “You’re not wrong. But at least I’m looking in the right direction.”

  Winnum gave a small, knowing smile. “Then you’re already ahead of most.”

  They walked in silence for a while after that, each lost in their own thoughts.

  As the last light of day faded behind them, Bram looked around at his companions again: the dryad scholar, the silent monk, the soldier, the huntress, the craftsman-turned-leader. Each of them had come from different corners of the world, drawn together by chance or fate.

  He realized then that what they were doing, walking forward despite the fear, building something from the ashes of what was, that was its own kind of craft.

  Maybe that was the purpose he’d been looking for all along.

  He smiled to himself as the first stars appeared over the treetops.

  Yes, he thought.

  He wasn’t just a dwarf from the mountain halls anymore.

  He was part of something alive.

  Something that might actually change the world.

  And for the first time in a long while, Bram felt proud of where his feet were taking him.