The discovery of the new ore—Mithril, as Elmore had named it after the fantasy metal—quickly took the blacksmiths to a new level of excitement . Elmore happened into the forge the day they figured out how to shape the rare metal, his curiosity piqued when he saw one of the blacksmiths, his hands covered in soot and his face lit by the flickering glow of the forge. The air shimmered with heat, but the metal he was working with held a strange, ethereal quality, gleaming with a subtle turquoise light even under the orange glow of the coals.
“You got Aither in that fire Will ?” Elmore asked, watching the blacksmith’s hands work with skill and precision. And seeing a new strange flow in the forge fire
Will grinned, wiping sweat from his brow. “yeah. Turns out it’s the only way to keep this stuff from hardening up on us. Once the Aither burns out, it’s harder than any metal we’ve ever worked with—light as aluminum, dense as osmium, and tough as tungsten. Perfect in every way I can think of. Only thing we can tell is wrong with it is direct Aither will liquify it if under strain”
Elmore couldn’t help but marvel. This mithril was more than a metal; it was an invention of this new world, born from Aither and skill alike. When he suggested they craft a new pick and axe for him, they wasted no time, eager to see what the metal could do in the hands of someone who understood its purpose.
After that day, Elmore took a well-earned break from his duties, letting the road-building team handle the grueling work while he turned his attention to his family. The small pleasures of life, things he hadn’t been able to savor as often lately, became his focus for the next two weeks. With Ash, Edward, and Ditzy at his side, he soaked up the simple joys of life, rediscovering just how rich their world had become.
---
The first night of his vacation, Elmore set up camp in their backyard, gathering around the fire with Ash, Edward, and Ditzy. Though they weren’t far from home, the feeling was genuine—crickets chirping in the cool night air, the stars scattered above them. Edward excitedly poked the fire with a stick, casting little sparks into the night, while Ditzy lay curled by their feet, her ears occasionally flicking at the sounds of the night.
Ash leaned back on her elbows, smiling at him across the fire. “You know, this is almost as good as a mountain hike. Maybe better—no risk of running into any Aither-mutated bears out here.”
Elmore chuckled, reaching over to take her hand. “You’re not wrong about that. I am really glad you started to go out hunting on occasion so you can get your own level up past level 2”giving her a warm smile” anyway, this view’s all I need.”
As they settled in, roasting marshmallows and sharing quiet laughter, a faint blue light flickered from over the trees and passed the edge of their yard towards the center of town outside his property. Curious, Elmore trotted over and saw one of their neighbors, a young woman, sculpting ice in the shape of a terrifying swan, her fingers leaving trails of frost as she worked. A few townsfolk watched from a safe distance, clapping quietly as she shaped the monstrous bird with effortless precision, her skill giving life to something as simple as ice.
“Didn’t know we had an ice sculptor in town,” Ash whispered, watching with fascination. “Wonder if she takes requests.”
As they watched, Lucy finished the sculpture, the swan’s frozen wings catching the starlight, making it glisten like a nightmare made of jewels. Elmore made a mental note to invite her to their next big gathering; a skill like hers was worth showcasing, and he wanted Edward to see the wonders people could create.
---
The next day, they treated themselves to a night out, heading to one of the valley’s three cozy restaurants for a family dinner. The place was a warm, inviting little spot with simple wooden tables and a chalkboard menu by the door, listing hearty dishes made from local game and garden vegetables. Halfway through their meal, Elmore’s attention was drawn to a man across the room whose lips glowed while singing a poem.
Elmore watched, fascinated, as the man gently passed his words over a block of wood, its touch so delicate it seemed like he was singing life into the wood itself. Gradually, the block took shape—a deer with intricate antlers, its body delicate and precise, as if crafted by invisible hands. When it was done The man hummed a low, quiet tune, each note seemingly coaxing the wood to transform and begin to walk.
Ash leaned in, whispering with awe, “Did you see that? He’s actually singing his sculpture life.”
The sculptor finished his work, leaving the deer on the table for the children nearby to admire, its wooden eyes glistening. Elmore and Ash exchanged a look, marveling at how even simple, everyday moments in this world were tinged with magic.
---
One night, Elmore took Ash and Edward to the town square. Music filled the air, a lively tune that had people swaying, their feet tapping in time to the beat. At the center of the square, a young man moved with a dancer’s grace, his feet gliding across the stone in fluid, sweeping arcs that seemed to defy gravity.
The crowd watched, entranced, as Tim’s dance became more than movement. His steps painted emotions across the square—joy, sorrow, triumph, and peace—all conveyed through his body in ways words couldn’t express. Elmore felt a stirring deep in his chest, emotions surfacing that he didn’t even know he could feel. Ash squeezed his hand, her eyes bright with awe as they watched the man convey raw emotion through every graceful turn and leap. All while sparks of electricity danced across his body in tune with every emotion and the static buzz feeding a song of heartbreak to the crowd.
When the dance ended, the crowd erupted in applause, Tim bowed deeply. When tim turned and saw the Chief and his drinking buddy standing there with his family his smile dropped, face turned a new shade of red, and a spark of lightning shot from his head to the ground with a loud pop then he stood still. Only for everyone to laugh and Elmore to walk over laughing and complementing the showing to Tims horror.
---
Another evening, while walking with Ash and Edward through the main square, they encountered one of the town’s eccentric elders, a gentle man named Jasper who had developed a peculiar skill: he could see people’s auras, and with a quick glance, he could offer them insights into themselves.
Jasper approached them with a twinkle in his eye, looking each of them over in turn. He tilted his head, his gaze lingering on Edward. “That boy has a strong aura,” he said, his voice a soft, contemplative murmur. “Curiosity, resilience… and something else. A strength that isn’t from this world. Keep an eye on him, Chief. He may surprise you.”
Elmore exchanged a glance with Ash, his chest tightening with a mixture of pride and confusion. Jasper’s words stayed with him, a reminder that Edward was growing up in a world unlike the one they had known, and that his future might hold more than they could imagine.
---
Throughout the week, Elmore and Ash took quiet pleasure in witnessing the unique skills of their community. From a blacksmith who could heat metal with a flame that he can hold in his hand, to a baker whose bread never went stale, to a gardener who could coax flowers to bloom in mere moments and bend in shapes they weren't meant to, each skill brought a new layer of wonder to their lives.
At home, they continued their small family rituals—movie nights where they gathered around the computer and casting old classics onto the TV, laughter filling the room as Edward marveled at stories from his father’s childhood. Camping in the backyard, exploring the woods with Ditzy trotting faithfully by their side, making sure Edward knew how to recognize the calls of different birds, at least the ones Elmore knew of, as there were an awful lot more birds around and they didn't stop singing very often.
One evening, as they watched a movie together, Edward looked up at Elmore and asked, “Dad, are you like the people we see? With the fire and ice and the dancing?”
Elmore ruffled his son’s hair, smiling. “Something like that. We all have a little magic, kiddo. Some of us just find it in different ways. And mine come from here” tapping his own head “ and here” and tapping Edward onto the chest over his heart.
After a moment of thought with a twinkle in his eyes he looked up at his dad and said. “So your is your brain and me? How do i give you magic?”
To say that conversation took a long time to explain would be an understatement, as it included the birds and the bees, but also the hive and nests and time and death and wow did elmore struggle with this as he learned even with 40 intelligence parenting is fucking difficult even more so when you need to tell your son you could be his son one day.”
Even so As the days passed, Elmore found himself more grounded, more connected to his family and his people.
_____
After his vacation, Elmore took his new mithril ax and pick out to the surrounding woods for some testing, eager to see how these enchanted tools would perform. The mithril seemed to hum with energy, a steady pulse of Aither that felt entirely different from his iron tools. After a few days of practicing strikes and swings on old tree stumps and fallen logs, he realized that the mithril tools were always empowered, although the level of empowerment was lower than when he actively hunted or fought. Curious to see if they could draw in more Aither through combat, he took his hunt a bit further.
It wasn’t long before he encountered a pack of wolves that could slip through shadows, their bodies shifting in and out of the twilight like living darkness. The creatures seemed a worthy enough target to test the true strength of his new tools. The fight that followed was brief but intense; the wolves leaped and lunged, trying to close in from all sides, but Elmore’s empowered axe cleaved through them with ease. Each swing felt smooth, the weight perfectly balanced as he moved from one wolf to the next, slicing with deadly efficiency. When he finally decapitated the last one, he noticed something interesting: despite the extended fight, his tools hadn’t drawn on his Aither reserves as much as his iron ones had.
Stolen novel; please report.
The mithril had held more Aither without weakening, and although he expected the metal to soften or liquefy on impact, it remained solid and sharp, slicing through each wolf as if they were made of cloth. Satisfied, he returned home and made his way to the smiths, eager to share what he’d discovered.
The blacksmiths were intrigued when he explained the behavior of the mithril tools, surprised by the efficiency and the retention of Aither. "You've been out two weeks, Chief, and already made more headway than we have," Will remarked, scratching his head. "We’ve been tryin’ to test this stuff, but haven’t gotten it to hold Aither that steady for us yet.”
After discussing his findings, they led him to a small back room where they showed him something they’d been working on—a set of armor plates made from mithril, each crafted with varying thicknesses. The smiths wanted him to test the armor against different weapons and tools to see how well it held up.
"Normal iron tools don’t put a dent in this stuff," one of the smiths explained, patting the thinnest plate on the workbench. "And even with our own mithril tools, we haven’t managed to slice through any of these. But we thought you might have a better shot with that new ax of yours."
Elmore took the hint, gripping the haft of his ax and focusing, letting the Aither flow into the spike until it glowed faintly. He raised the ax, then brought it down in a clean arc on the thinnest mithril plate. The spike slipped through it effortlessly, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the forge as the plate was punched through. The smiths watched with awe, nodding as he moved on to the next plate, which resisted slightly more. With each subsequent strike, the plates showed progressively less damage, until he reached the one-inch-thick plate. His pick left only a shallow mark on its surface.
He picked up the final plate, surprised at how light it felt for something so dense and resilient. It was far stronger than anything they’d worked with before, yet as easy to handle as lightweight steel.
“Well, boys,” Elmore said, inspecting the plate with appreciation, “if it can hold up like this, I reckon a full suit of armor outta this would make someone near untouchable. Think you can swing it if I bring you the supplies? I'm lookin’ to go full medieval with my old leathers holding it together under full plate mail, at least this thick” pointing at the 1 inch ingot. Knowing it will be heavy but with his new strength that won't be an issue.
The smiths nodded, already brimming with ideas. They agreed to forge a suit of armor for him, as well as some extra sets for his crew for when they were ready to delve into the dungeon. The idea of a team clad in mithril armor had everyone in the forge buzzing with excitement. As the nerds of the group had what can only be described as a fangirl moment, only its dirty grown men about making medieval gear. Eventually they asked him if he wanted a sword and Elmore turned them down for now. Saying he is still training with the mattock
With his new goal in mind, Elmore left the forge and headed down to the mine, his shirt discarded in favor of his pick and a heavy jug of water slung over his shoulder. As he walked, he could feel the weight of his responsibility and his own determination to ensure his people would be prepared for anything that came their way. This armor would be their safeguard, their defense against the mysteries and dangers that lay in the dungeon’s depths.
For the next months, Elmore dedicated himself to the grueling, backbreaking work of mining mithril. Day in and day out, he swung his pick, the steady rhythm of his strikes echoing through the narrow mine tunnels along with loud dubstep to keep his head clear. The other miners had quickly realized that their primary job for those days was simply clearing the ore and rock debris that Elmore left in his wake, hauling load after load up to the surface as he uncovered thick veins of the precious metal. He didn’t set a goal in terms of tonnage; his only metric was time, working every day as hard as he could until he reached his limit and with 10 endurance he was pulling 12 hour days and walking away only sore with no breaks outside of drinking water and dumping it over himself . Under his labor the turquoise veins gave way, yielding a seemingly endless supply of mithril, and by the time he stopped, Elmore had dug through more mithril ore than the rest of the miners put together from iron and coal.
When he finally emerged from the mine, sweat-streaked and sore, he made his way back to the forge to finally see what progress had been made. The blacksmiths, their hands dusted with soot and eyes wide with a mix of awe and exasperation, informed him that they’d barely managed to melt down 10% of the ore he’d mined. And that was after moving over to only refining mithril.
“Chief, you’ve gone and brought us… well, tens of tons of the stuff,” Will admitted, shaking his head as he wiped his hands on a cloth. “We’re still figuring out how to handle this much mithril, let alone work it into full suits of armor.”
Elmore chuckled, satisfied. “Didn’t set out for a weight goal, just put in the hours. Figured that’d get us somethin’ worthwhile. So I’ll leave y’all to it, and we’ll see where we’re at by the time that road’s done.” before he left he stopped and told them to have the blacksmiths make a bucket for an excavator out of mithril and see if that works in his stead if not let him know when they need more.
---
After the six month wait, the long-awaited day arrived. The road was finally complete, cutting a direct path through the dense woods and rocky slopes, leading straight to the dungeon entrance. The town was buzzing with anticipation, and nearly everyone who owned a vehicle had piled in, eager to see this strange otherworldly place they’d heard so much about. For most, it was their first time seeing a dungeon, and the road itself was already a little rough, cutting through the thick forest with sturdy stone and gravel, a smooth surface that felt like a lifeline connecting them to an unknown.
People from outside Elmore’s valley, those who lived up in the nearby town, showed up as well, their curiosity just as intense. Some had driven over to attend the debut of the new road, hoping for a chance to catch a glimpse of the rumored dungeon. But upon arrival, they quickly learned that the dungeon’s entrance didn’t exactly welcome outsiders. The system allowed only members of Elmore’s faction to enter, meaning anyone outside the chiefdom would be met with a giant fish able to throw up small tornadoes and Spears of water that can punch through trees and that was before it grew 10 feet and whiskers.
Some townsfolk from the towns in this county grumbled in frustration, feeling shut out from the opportunity, but there was a level of understanding; Elmore’s valley had effectively become their lifeline. The abundant resources, the surplus of crops, and the freshly mined iron from the mines had all transformed the larger town’s economy and ensured their survival. Elmore’s people, through hard work and cooperation, had built something that benefited the entire region.
Over the past few months, there had been a steady stream of people trying to move into the valley, but space was limited, and the land had reached its capacity long ago. The only solution anyone could come up with was to start building taller, sturdier multi-family homes. Some of the valley’s residents, possessing Aither-granted strength, could lift obscene amounts of weight, while others used their unique skills to accelerate the construction process in other ways. Walls of carefully carved stone rose quickly, feet thick and durable like the ancient structures of old, but equipped with modern amenities—wiring, insulation, internet, and running water. The juxtaposition was striking: beautifully ancient buildings with every modern comfort nestled in a valley of wilderness and wonder. Mithril already starting to be used to replace iron wherever possible.
For the few outsiders who visited, the sight was nothing short of shocking. The rest of the country had been stagnating, stifled by tensions and halted progress, but Elmore’s valley was thriving. Their abilities, once ostracized, had become essential tools, each person’s skill woven into the fabric of the community, bettering lives and ensuring the valley’s continued prosperity.
The impact of these changes rippled beyond the valley as visitors shared their stories on social media. Photos and videos of the thriving community—stone buildings straight out of ancient times, yet filled with lights and laughter, people using their abilities openly, working together to make their world better—spread quickly. Word traveled fast, and soon the valley found itself in an unexpected spotlight.
With fast forethought Elmore used his third chief level he has been holding onto to raise the Aither Law skill to level 2. Letting him make theft the next law he added. Simply you can't take anything that isnt yours without permission and the right of that item is within the owner's best interest. And nothing borrowed or lent may be taken out of his lands without the owner's express permission.
From all this there were People across the country who were captivated by the stories, and online speculation ran rampant. Elmore’s valley was seen as a kind of utopia, a place where magic and modernity intertwined to create something uniquely powerful. People marveled at the way everyone seemed to have a role, a purpose, each individual’s abilities cherished and put to use. In a world that was struggling to come to terms with the reality of Aither, Elmore’s community had already embraced it fully, integrating magic into daily life as naturally as breathing.
Elmore, observing the buzz, felt a strange mix of pride and apprehension. He’d set out to protect his people, to help them grow stronger and more resilient, but now they were drawing attention—attention that could bring curiosity, envy, or even hostility. For now, though, he took comfort in knowing that his people were thriving, their hard work turning a simple mountain valley into a sanctuary of magic and community. For however long that would last.
As the months passed, Elmore’s valley continued to draw attention from across the nation. The dungeon became a focal point of interest, with his own people venturing in and out, and tourists arriving to witness the marvels firsthand. Word of the valley’s unique culture spread, and soon, not only locals but visitors from all over the country arrived, bringing with them both money and curiosity. Every establishment in town, from the small shops selling hand-carved trinkets to the blacksmiths offering custom-forged iron weapons and armor, felt the surge in business.
What had started as a tight-knit community found itself adapting to an influx of new faces. The valley’s economy, which had nearly hit a standstill with wealth being so evenly distributed among its residents, now saw new life as outside money flowed in. People saw opportunities to build homes, open businesses, and carve out a space around this growing, bustling valley. What truly drew these visitors, though, wasn’t just the dungeon or the thriving marketplace; it was the structure itself, a place where Aither laws governed daily life, manifesting in visible, unbreakable consequences.
The valley’s laws, imbued with Aither, enforced themselves with quiet, absolute authority. Those who sought to steal from, or harm others found themselves unable to act, a tangible force stopping them cold. While many visitors marveled at this and praised it as a model for future communities, others saw it as an infringement on free will, a restriction that went against the very core of individual freedom. But in the valley, the residents didn’t care about the opinions of the outside world—they’d built their lives on mutual respect, and the Aither-enhanced rules only strengthened their resolve.
The concept spread across the land, and other thrones began experimenting with similar approaches. In some places, it was received with enthusiasm; in others, resentment and tension grew. Some thrones adapted the rules thoughtfully, integrating them as Elmore had. Others imposed harsh, restrictive Aither laws, bringing out the worst in leaders who used Aither to enforce power over freedom. Elmore had expected this; Aither was a double-edged sword, one that brought both harmony and danger, depending on who wielded it.
What Elmore hadn’t expected, however, was the next twist: Charleston, the capital of West Virginia, had declared war.
Throne wars had become an accepted fact across the nation, a phenomenon that neither the federal government nor any other authority could contain. Hidden rules seemed to govern these conflicts, with boundaries and limits that no one fully understood. As the capital of the state, Charleston’s throne was powerful, well-connected, and populated with individuals as skilled as they were ambitious. Their leader’s statement was clear: they wanted Elmore’s independence—and they wanted the secrets of his people and his dungeon even if they had no idea what it did. And most likely it's also because they had just defeated every other throne in the state and made them subordinates.
This time Elmore received a message asking him to set his terms, to declare what would befall the losing side should he win. Without hesitation, he chose Excommunication. He would sever Charleston’s access to his valley, ensuring they would have neither the resources nor the knowledge they craved if they lost. He expected a quick turnaround, maybe a few months to prepare for the inevitable, but what followed caught him off guard.
A notification appeared in the system for everyone in his territory, marking the start date of the war as one year from now, based on the differing levels of both thrones. This, it seemed, was the system’s way of granting time for those with a weaker standing to ready themselves. Similar notifications had been sent to the people of Charleston, giving both sides time to prepare, gather their strength, and sharpen their skills. But no side was declared as the favored party.
At the next town meeting, tension was thick in the air. People murmured anxiously, exchanging worried glances and hushed conversations. The familiar energy of these gatherings, normally full of warmth and camaraderie, had been replaced by fear, unease, and anticipation.
Elmore took his place on the simple wooden throne at the front of the Hall of Beginnings, the seat itself little more than a large chair on a wooden dais. Unlike the true throne that lay hidden in his backyard, granting him the power and authority of his title, this was symbolic—a place where he could meet his people face-to-face, grounded, as one of them. But tonight, the weight of leadership felt heavy as he looked out over the gathered faces of his friends, neighbors, and family.
He cleared his throat, and silence fell over the crowd. “I know you’re all worried,” he began, his voice steady but carrying the depth of his own concern. “This war declaration—it’s not somethin’ we ever wanted. Charleston thinks they can come here and take what we’ve built, that they’re entitled to our resources, our knowledge. But they’re wrong.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, but the anxiety was still palpable.
“Now, we’ve got a year to prepare,” he continued, scanning the room. “A year to make sure we’re stronger than we’ve ever been. I don’t expect any of you to go into this lightly, but I know you all have the same fire in you that built this valley in the first place.”
From the back, one of the younger men called out, his voice shaking but resolute. “Chief. Can… can we even win against Charleston?”
Elmore met his gaze, then looked out over the others. “We’ve got somethin’ Charleston doesn’t—community. Every one of you has stood beside your neighbors, your friends. Every one of you has helped build this valley, brick by brick, with your hands and your hearts. And that means more than any weapon they’ve got.”
He felt a swell of determination rise from his people, a flicker of the resilience that had seen them through every challenge thus far. But he knew it would take more than words to calm their fears, to give them the courage they needed to face the days ahead.
As the meeting continued, they discussed plans—training regimens, stockpiling supplies, strengthening defenses. His people were anxious, yes, but as the night wore on, that anxiety began to transform into a quiet, hardened resolve. They had a year to prepare, and they wouldn’t waste a single moment of it.
When the meeting finally ended, Elmore remained on the dais, watching as his people filed out in small groups, talking in hushed, determined tones. They were scared, yes, but they were also resolved. And Elmore knew, deep in his bones, that they would fight for each other, for their home, and for everything they had built.
As the hall emptied, he leaned back in his wooden throne, taking a moment to steady himself. The year ahead would test them all, challenge their strength and their unity. But he was ready. His valley had faced darkness before, and together, they would rise to meet it once again.
