The room was quiet, thick with the kind of silence that only came after an argument. Astrid sat on the edge of the bed, arms folded tightly around herself as she stared down at her useless phone.

  The lock screen lit up faintly—her and Charlie, caught mid-laugh. It didn’t matter that it had no signal. Just holding it helped her breathe.

  Across the room, Kurai leaned against the wall, one foot braced behind him, arms crossed, shoulders tight. He flicked his gaze toward her a few times, but never long enough to meet her eyes. He looked like he wanted to speak. But whatever the words were, they never came.

  Something about his silence stung more than it should’ve. She was used to him being moody, blunt, grumbling about everything from tree bark to moonlight. But this… this was different.

  It felt like a tether between them was being pulled too tight. Like he was stepping away before she could.

  He is defiantly pissed.

  Astrid broke first.

  “So… we’re just going to sit here and stew in silence?”

  “Yes,” Kurai replied flatly.

  Before she could come up with a smart retort, the heavy wooden door creaked open.

  A young dwarf stood there, unimpressed. “Alright, you two. Elder’s ready for you. And, uh… be respectful. He’s… a little strange.”

  ---

  They followed the dwarf through narrow stone corridors lit by glowing blue fungi and the occasional lantern. The air smelled of ash and old earth.

  They were getting close—she could feel it. That same low dread that always hit before a confrontation, curling cold in her stomach.

  Astrid was preparing herself, remembering the time she had gotten in trouble off her parents for touching things when she was told not to while they were out doing the weekly grocery shop. Being yelled at in the isle, everyone looking on the verge of tears.

  The memory made her stomach drop.

  At the end of a long, arched hallway stood a domed chamber. Scrolls and relics littered every available surface. Suspended crystals hovered in midair, gently rotating. A floating orb blinked lazily in their direction. And at the centre of it all sat an ancient dwarf with a beard like braided smoke, hunched over a pile of dusty parchment, wearing five monocles stacked across his face like some demented optician.

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  He glanced up.

  Then gasped.

  With surprising speed for his age, the dwarf nearly toppled off his stool in his scramble to stand. He stared at Astrid, eyes wide with manic glee.

  “Praise the flames! She has arrived! The prophecy breathes again!”

  Astrid blinked, taking a hesitant step back. This wasn’t the gruff, sharp elder she’d braced herself for. He looked like someone who should be selling pipeweed at a fair.

  “Uh… what?”

  The Elder shuffled forward, arms out as if preparing to hug her but stopping short. He turned to the floating orb beside him. “You see? I told you she’d be wearing boots! Sensible footwear always foretells greatness.”

  Kurai groaned softly. “Oh for gods’ sake, kill me.” Almost a whisper.

  The Elder finally turned his attention to him. “You, however, are very dramatic.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Kurai muttered.

  “Sit, sit, sit!” the Elder chirped, gesturing to two mismatched chairs made from stone and metal. “We have much to discuss. So much history, so many scrolls! And tea—do you drink tea? It tastes like burnt moss, but it’s good for circulation. Oh dear me where are my manners? I am Rundrin Cragspire, official old fart of this forge”

  ---

  They sat. Or at least, Astrid did. Kurai hovered near the back, never quite relaxed.

  Rundrin unfurled a long scroll and dramatically tapped it with a metal pointer.

  “One without the gift, untouched by the flow, born from a world without magic. A bridge where none should stand. That is you, child.”

  Astrid stiffened. “Okay, hold on. I don’t know who told you I was part of a prophecy, but I’m not. I just want to get home. That’s it.”

  She gripped the edge of the stone seat. Everyone was staring at her like she was a puzzle piece finally slotting into place. But she wasn’t. She was just… stuck.

  Rundrin waved her off like a buzzing fly. “Yes yes, the home talk—we’ll get to that. But first, celebration! One chosen by the dragons of old returns to us!”

  Galgur, who had entered quietly at some point, folded his arms. “Should we really be shouting that from the rooftops, sir? You’ll have every eye on us.”

  “Oh hush, Galgur. History has walked into my chambers. I will shout if I want. And besides, it’s been ages since I’ve had a reason to celebrate.”

  ---

  As Rundrin continued to ramble, Astrid glanced toward Kurai. He stood apart, shadowed by a hanging tapestry, his jaw tight. His hands were hidden in his sleeves, but she noticed the faint twitch in his coat—his tail, restless.

  A younger dwarf near the back leaned toward another. “That one’s dangerous. Look at his eyes…”

  Kurai turned away.

  He looked on bitterly. Everyone’s looking at her like she matters. Like she belongs. And I... I don’t know where that leaves me.

  ---

  Eventually, they were dismissed—exhausted, frayed at the edges. Galgur walked them back in silence, the scroll still clutched in Astrid’s hands.

  She noticed he gave Kurai a long look before they left. Not hostile. Just… watching.

  “I managed to talk him down,” Galgur muttered. “Postponed the celebration… for now.”

  --------------

  “The chosen one needs rest,” he added dryly.

  Rundrin had simply nodded. “Rest! Of course. How foolish of me. Go, my dear—sleep well. Tomorrow, the festivities begin!”

  --------------

  Finally, they reached Their room it felt colder this time. Quieter. If that was even possible in this place of forge and fire.

  Astrid dropped onto the bed with a heavy sigh. “Well, that was something. I’ve never felt so exhausted.”

  Kurai sat more calmly, lowering himself onto his cot like it was any other day. “Now you know how I feel.”

  She sat up and shot him a look. “Oh, get lost.”

  He didn’t answer. Just lay down, turning his back to her. Not cold—just distant. Like he’d already decided she wouldn’t be around much longer.

  “Oh no,” she muttered. “He’s brooding again.”

  “I’m not. Just tired,” he muttered, not turning to look at her, his tone making it clear he wanted to be left alone.

  “Mm-hmm. Sure,” she said, curling under her blanket.

  He stayed quiet.

  Outside, the mountain rumbled—faint, deep, like something shifting far below.

  Something ancient.

  Something waking.