The city was already awake. Dwarves moved with purpose, as if productivity was simply the natural state of life underground. The muted glow from the forge channels painted the cavern with long streaks of orange and gold. Somewhere deeper within the mountain, hammers rang—steady, rhythmic, like the city’s heartbeat.
Eins was waiting at the Heart Forge entrance, wearing a plain leather apron rather than the ornate insignia of a Guildmaster. “You’re punctual, lad,” he said with a nod of quiet approval. “Good habit. Forge won’t wait for anyone.”
Null followed him through the main hall. The new receptionist nearly bent in half bowing, but Eins didn’t spare him a glance. They walked deeper into the forge complex, down a corridor where the noise softened into a steady, comforting rumble.
Eins opened the door to a private workshop—a wide chamber lit by controlled heat and glowing runes. Tools hung in perfect order. Tables were spotless. And at the center stood a flawless mithril anvil, gleaming like captured moonlight.
“This is my personal forge,” Eins said in a softer tone. “Not many get to see it. Here, titles don’t matter. Only the fire and the craft do.”
Null swallowed and nodded.
“Lesson starts simple,” Eins said. “Not with a hammer. With the fire.”
He ignited the forge, coaxing the flames with practiced ease. “Metal speaks, lad. If you’re patient enough to listen. Dull red is a whisper. Cherry red, a conversation. Bright orange, a shout. White-hot… well, that’s metal screaming its lungs out.”
Null leaned closer, trying to track the subtle shifts in heat and light. The theory felt dense, almost overwhelming—and yet his muscles twitched, as though they already knew how to read each glow.
Eins tossed him a hammer. “Try it.”
The moment Null gripped the handle, something inside him pulsed.
Eins let out a low whistle. “That’s quick. Haven’t seen a skill evolve that fast since my beard was half this length.”
Null practiced under Eins’s patient eye. Every strike of the hammer, every adjustment in posture, every quenching felt half-learned already. It was as though his bones remembered the craft his mind had never learned.
By midday, he had forged an iron dagger—simple in shape, clean in form, balanced enough to feel alive in his hand.
[Tier: Rare]
[Attack: 38–45]
[Durability: 110/110]
Eins tested its weight. “This is solid work, lad. Better than what half the apprentices here can make on a good day.”
Leatherworking followed. Null took the remaining pieces of [Tough Rabbit Hide] and shaped them into armor. Not flashy—functional and neat.
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(2/3) – Stamina consumption -5%
(3/3) – Stamina consumption -10%, Crafting speed +5%
A soft warmth spread through Null’s limbs.
He stared at the notifications, still getting used to the idea that creation itself made him stronger. Eins noticed his expression.
“Aye,” he said, “keep working at something long enough, the body start rememberin’. Drifters have the Status Screen to see it proper. Folk like me have to guess.”
Null nodded, digesting that.
After demonstrating a series of slow, powerful breaths, Eins guided him through the rhythm. “This is Forge Breathing. Helps keep your stamina from crumbling like old stone.”
The improved endurance was immediate. Eins watched him with something like pride, though he hid it behind a rough grunt.
“That’s enough for a day. Go wash up. We’ll take dinner at the Stout Anvil.”
They ate roasted boar and thick bread, the atmosphere warm with heat and noise. Eins drank like the ale was nothing more than water.
“Tomorrow we head deeper into the mines,” Eins said. “Good ore’s down there. Monsters too, aye, but nothing we can’t handle. You move quick as a startled hare. That helps.”
Null didn’t argue, though part of him tensed at the idea.
Eins patted his shoulder once. “Worry not. Forge needs good ore if you want to make somethin’ worth wieldin’. And you will.”
Over the next week, Null’s life fell into a simple, relentless rhythm.
Each morning, he joined Eins in the lower tunnels of the Ironvein system. Bioluminescent spores lit their path in soft blue light. They hacked through Cave Crawlers that dissolved into particulates upon death. Cave Bats swarmed from ceilings, only to be dispatched with quick strikes from Null and crushing blows from Eins.
Once, a Rockback Beast barreled toward them. Eins stopped it with one swing.
Null stared in disbelief.
Eins shrugged. “Regressed or not, lad, I’m still a dwarf.”
They collected rare ores—Bluequartz Iron, Emberstone, Star Iron—hauling them back to the workshop. Their afternoons were filled with forging simple items: chisels, nails, cookware, basic components. Repetition refined Null’s skill and his stats.
He began to see why dwarves lived long, unbreakable lives.
Sometimes Eins brought him to the side caverns where merchants gathered, letting Null trade excess materials. Sometimes he asked Null to help reinforce mine supports or repair equipment from neighboring tunnels. Once, they spent an entire afternoon chasing a stubborn Tunnel Ram out of the marketplace, earning laughter from half the dwarves and applause from the rest.
Every night, they returned to the forge or the inn, the days blurring together in heat, metal, and muscle.
By the eighth morning, Null found himself feeling… settled. Purposeful. The routine suited him in a way nothing in his real world ever had.
He and Eins stood at the mithril anvil, examining a chunk of pale-blue ore that pulsed faintly beneath their fingertips.
“Bluequartz Iron,” Eins murmured. “Rare. Conducts mana well. Could make somethin’ special out of—”
The heavy stone door slammed open.
A tall silhouette stood framed by the forge-light. Silver hair, too perfect to belong underground, spilled down elegant armor of forest-green. A bow hung across his back, crafted with a precision that bordered on artistry.
An Elf. But nothing like the silver-haired scholars Null had glimpsed in Volundrheim. This one radiated power and history.
His eyes found Eins, and his face split into a massive, joyous smile.
“Brother! By the roots of Sylvas, I finally made it! You will not believe the trouble I had—three border checkpoints, two patrols who nearly cut me down for ‘trespassing,’ and one very offended treant—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
His gaze shifted.
It locked onto Null.
The smile vanished.
His breath caught.
Shock—raw, unguarded, and absolute—hollowed his expression. His pupils dilated. His jaw slackened. The energy in the air crackled, as if something had been struck but not yet broken.
“…you,” the Elf whispered. The word carried too much weight for its size.
Eins blinked, confused. “Zwei? Lad, what’s gotten into you now? You look like you’ve seen—”
But Zwei didn’t hear him.
He couldn’t look away from Null.
Not even for a heartbeat.