--Dwarf POV--
They say you don't know the value of home until you're banned from it.
I am Smarl. Son of Smorg. I'm thirty years old a mere beardling by dwarf standards. Barely past my first ale, really.
Being thirty years old, I'm just a young sprout by dwarf standards but tell that to my parents, who saw fit to ban me from the forge for two whole years.
You heard that right!
TWO WHOLE YEARS!!
All because I may have allegedly nearly turned the family forge into a crater with my little artifact experiment.
Which, I'd like to point out, almost worked. Keyword being almost.
"You're banned! Two years, no forge! Not even a whetstone!" That's what my father bellowed after the explosion knocked out our furnace chimney.
To be fair, it was a small blast. The floor only cracked a little, and it barely singed my beard.
Besides, who could've known the mana compression chamber couldn't handle a second infusion?
I had dreams, you know? Grand adventures!
Sipping ale on top of the world's highest peaks!
Making friends! Selling artifacts to rich surface dwellers and retiring early!
What I created aren't failures, I call it a "learning experience."
Yet they call it a disaster.
So, I did what any misunderstood genius would do.
I left.
Did I leave a note?
Nope. Did I pack sensibly?
Also no. What I did do was stuff my bag with every failed artifact I could sneak past my mother's overly-sharp nose.
Which, by the way, could sniff out burnt mithril from three halls over.
My prize haul included :
A lighter that has a slight chance to explode when lit.
A cloak that resists magic but smells a whole lot like sulfur.
A ever hot flask filled full with ale. (Hot as in boiling)
And Model V-5B: a creaky, outdated golem guardian powered by an unstable core and sheer spite.
It was going to be my adventure. My time to shine.
A coming-of-age tale where Smarl the exiled inventor journeys the world, finds his destiny, and proves his worth.
That was the plan.
But plans, as it turns out, don't mean squat when you're hopelessly lost in a cavern that looks the same in every direction.
Seven days.
Seven cursed days I've wandered these tunnels. No sun, no stars, just wet stone and glowing moss.
Even the golem started looking judgmental by day three.
I tried leaving breadcrumbs scratches on walls, stone piles, even peeing in specific corners (don't judge).
But it was no use, this cave is a spatial joke played by whatever god oversees dwarven misfortune.
I dropped some stuff along the way too didn't even notice.
That cracked staff? Slipped out.
That old robe? Fell when I tripped over a rock.
I didn't care, its all junk anyway. Didn't think anyone would ever see it.
On day four, I was ready to give up and eat dirt.
Then came the coin.
Shiny. Gleaming. Pure gold.
Lying right there on the ground like it wanted to be found.
I stared at it for a long while, suspicious. Maybe I'd finally gone mad. Maybe the rocks were playing tricks on me.
But I picked it up. And then I saw another one. Just a few paces further. And another after that.
A trail.
A trail of actual coins. Real gold. Not fool's gold or some illusion.
Who does that?
That's when hope returned.
Where there are coins, there are people. Someone was out there.
Someone dropping their wealth like breadcrumbs, either a fool or someone in real trouble.
I followed the trail. For days. Sometimes it vanished abruptly ending like the person disappeared mid-step.
Those moments were the worst.
The hours of waiting, praying the trail would pick up again.
But every time it resumed, I followed. Picked up each coin like a sacred relic, the faint scent of civilization urging me forward.
Then today on the seventh day I saw it.
Or… them?
At first, I thought it was a monster. My heart sank like a dropped anvil.
It stood tall humanoid, yes but unlike any being I'd ever seen.
Its skin shimmered with a strange, endless cosmos, like the night sky compressed into a body.
No eyes. No nose. No ears. No mouth. Just a face-shaped void.
Yet it moved like a person. Exhausted, slow, dragging its feet as it dropped another coin with a sigh.
"What in the stonefather's name…" I whispered, ducking behind a stalagmite.
I watched it pause. Look up at the cavern ceiling. Then speak.
"I'm as lost as you," it muttered voice soft, distorted, and seemingly from nowhere.
The voice came not from a mouth it simply was. As if the very space around it decided to form words.
I shivered.
Was it a spirit? A demon? Some celestial being punished to walk these halls?
I couldn't tell. But if it could talk, maybe it could be reasoned with.
Or maybe it was just good at pretending to be human before sucking out your soul.
I needed to know.
"Golem," I hissed, "Activate. Standard engagement."
My guardian stirred with a creak and whir. The runes lit up on its body, and it stepped forward. The ground trembled beneath its weight.
The being, or thing? Turned to look.
Or rather, it tilted its head. Hard to tell if it saw anything at all.
Then the golem struck.
Boom!
The punch hit only air. The entity dodged like it knew exactly when the strike would land. A flick of the hand arcane energy surged.
*Whoosh*
The arrow flew from his hand, flying towards my golems arm.
*CRACK!*
One spell. A simple Tier 1 Magic Arrow.
And it blew the golem's arm clean off.
The construct's core whined before it collapsed, defeated.
"Why is it so fragile?" the thing muttered again. And that's when I shouted, unthinking:
"A GOLEM IN ONE HIT?!"
I slapped both hands over my mouth.
But too late. Its head turned now facing my direction.
And for the first time in seven days, I felt something click within me.
Somehow I felt an emotion so familiar from it
Confusion. Wariness. Mutual exhaustion.
I stepped from my hiding spot, hand raised.
My heart thumped like a smith's hammer.
But deep down, something told me this wasn't a monster.
This was a lost soul just like me.
Only, a lot weirder.
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If only I could find some gold laying around in real life, maybe I wouldn't have written this novel...
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