The caravan had finally limped past the crater by morning.

  No one spoke much.

  Merchants complained about wasted time, and pilgrims prayed silently for safer roads.

  The young mage noticed the quick glances they cast toward Faná during their prayers.

  They were probably asking the Goddess to send the brave nun as far away from the busy roads as possible.

  The caravan continued on its way, but the party broke off from the main road.

  Their destination lay further east, beyond the beaten paths, in wildlands few dared to traverse.

  They pushed through.

  Liora picked the paths through the undergrowth, while Thrain handled the map.

  Fana eagerly suggested that she could lead them further "With Goddess lightning the way!", but they all uniformly refused the proposition.

  Even though they have made a good progress, they still couldn’t reach their destination before the sun started to set.

  They made camp in a small clearing, surrounded by pines, the tree's shadows stretching long across the forest floor.

  Fire was happily crackling above a small campfire.

  Liora had already vanished into the branches overhead, a bow across her lap.

  Gorzod sat on a felled tree, and sharpened an axe with slow, rhythmic strokes.

  Erian poked the flames with a stick, restless. He dug into the fire edge, drawing patterns in ash.

  Thrain sat apart from the crew, back against a tree, staring into the embers.

  His warhammer rested across his knees like an old friend.

  The iron rings in his beard glinted faintly with each breath.

  Erian hesitated, then scooted closer.

  “Thrain?”

  The dwarf didn’t look up.

  “I’ve been wondering… about your debt. You know, the one written in the Church Ledger. Everyone says the story about mining rights and dynamite.

  But… it doesn’t fit. As strangely like this sounds, I went to check, and there was no mining dispute listed in the city council archives.“

  Young mage delivered a final hit, "Most distuped are mediated by these guys."

  Thrain’s hand stilled on the hammer haft.

  A long silence followed, broken only by the pop of sap in the fire.

  Finally the dwarf spoke,

  “The church ledger lies because the truth is uglier. And dwarves doesn't like to air clan shame to outsiders.”

  Erian asked: “But wouldn’t mining dispute be quite a big shame for a mining clan?”

  Thrain exhaled through his nose.

  “You may not belive me, lad, but there are more important things then money in life."

  Boy blinked. A dwarf that was pretty money-obsessed saying this wasn't something he anticipated.

  Dwarf continued:

  "There are no holds anymore, no more dwarf kings.

  We’ve scattered since the old kingdom fell.

  And clans survived by contracts, by being useful - we are miners, smiths, traders.

  It’s just endless toil in the human lands.”

  He picked up a twig and snapped it. Threw it to the fire.

  “I was young.

  Idealistic.

  Kept saying the ancient holds weren’t gone - that they were just waiting.

  That if we could reclaim even one, we’d have permanence again.

  A proper legacy.”

  Gorzod paused, sharpening mid-stroke, listening now.

  It was like a dam holding back the words was finally broken, their grumpy companion continued.

  “I begged the elders. To grant me maps, to organize expeditions.

  They called it folly. ‘We live. We are valued. That’s enough.’

  So I stole the maps from the vaults.

  Picked fifteen good comrades - engineers, fighters, even a historian.

  They were no drunks. No fools. We were prepared. We believed.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  His voice dropped.

  “We travelled for days. Couldn’t find the place that was on the maps.

  Until we stumbled by it by sheer accident.”

  The young wizard saw the flames of the campfire reflected in the dwarf's eyes.

  But the dwarf cleary saw no fire, but memories.

  “We found the hold. It was breached long ago.

  Its wards were shattered.

  And monsters had nested in the halls.

  But we pushed deeper anyway."

  A pause.

  "Thought we could clear it. Reclaim it.”

  He stared blankly.

  “But it wasn’t a battle. It was chaos.

  We fought toward the main hold through damp, dark, abandoned tunels.

  The monsters came from every crack.

  Some of us held passages so others could push.

  Some... were dragged screaming. Into the dark.

  I survived.

  They didn’t.

  All bloodied, I entered the main hall.”

  Erian swallowed.

  “And… what was there?”

  Thrain’s laugh was short, bitter.

  “Nothing.

  No throne. No relics. No sleeping king.

  Just dust and bones.

  There was nothing worth dying for.

  I came back alone.”

  Erian said softly:

  “Alone. That’s… very tragic.”

  Gorzod grunted.

  “Aye. That’s tragic and stupid.”

  Thrain smiled wryly, “Mostly stupid.”

  The dwarf shifted his gaze to the horizon, and continued.

  "But Clan law is cold.

  If a leader’s ambition gets his men killed, he pays in blood.

  His own, unless he can pay the families instead.

  And the sum was… immense.”

  Thrain rubbed a scarred knuckle.

  “But my father had contracts with a Church bishop.

  Some old favors.

  So the Church paid it.

  But it wasn’t charity. It was a leverage.

  A dwarf who knows mountains and fightning is useful,

  and it bound me to them.”

  He met Erian’s eyes.

  "They assigned me to Faná.

  She was younger then.

  Zealous, effective, devout. Not yet… this.”

  He gestured vaguely toward the road they came from.

  They understand what he meant.

  “I tracked the debt at first.

  Obsessively.

  Every repair and collateral we paid, and every bounty we earned.

  But the number barely moved.

  Eventually I realized: I’d never pay it off.

  So I stopped caring about the ledger.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees.

  “But I stayed.

  Not because I must.”

  He smiled wryly.

  “But because when I watch her… she still believes. Absolutely. There is no emptiness. There is no doubt in her eyes, that she's doing the right thing.”

  Silence settled again.

  Erian spoke quietly.

  “So… you don’t hate your clan?”

  Thrain shook his head. “No, they followed the law. I broke tradition. I led. They died. And that’s on me.”

  He picked up the hammer, turned it slowly in his hands.

  “But if I can’t restore the dwarven legacy… maybe I can try to keep her from burning everything down. Or at least shovel the dirt afterward.”

  Gorzod chuckled low.

  “You stood your ground. That’s enough.”

  Thrain snorted.

  “Don’t make it sound noble.”

  Faná’s soft humming drifted from the other side of the fire.

  She was polishing her maul, halo dimmed to a gentle glow, utterly content.

  Thrain watched her for a long moment.

  Fanática looked back at Thrain, and smiled toward him. “If you ever wish to reclaim a hold again, I can clear it. I would be very thorough.”

  Thrain leaned back against the log and closed his eyes.

  “That’s not helping, ye hear, lass.”

  The fire crackled on.