The transition from the heart of the mountain to the surface world was gradual, almost reverent. The eastern gate of Volundrheim opened into a long, upward-sloping tunnel, its stone walls slowly giving way to rough earth and exposed rock. With every step, the air grew cooler, fresher. The familiar scents of coal smoke and hot metal faded, replaced by damp soil and the quiet breath of the land itself.

  After nearly an hour, a pinprick of natural light appeared ahead.

  It widened. Brightened.

  Then the caravan emerged fully into the open.

  Null blinked as sunlight washed over him, sharper and harsher than the forge-light he had grown accustomed to. They stood at the foothills of the Sunstone Peaks, beneath a vast, cloudless sky. The wandering sun hung low, casting long, angular shadows across the terrain. Veins of golden quartz threaded through the mountainsides, catching the light and reflecting it outward in warm, radiant bands.

  It was beautiful.

  And unfamiliar.

  The road ahead was rough and unpaved, winding through rolling stone and scrub. The stoneback drakes strained against their harnesses, wagons creaking as the caravan began its slow, steady advance.

  Formation settled quickly.

  Valeriana took point, her massive broadsword resting easily across her shoulder, every step measured and alert. Kael vanished almost immediately, melting into the rocks and trees along the flanks with practiced ease. Eins and Zwei walked beside the lead wagon, their presence unspoken but grounding.

  Null found himself positioned near the rear, close to Bastian.

  Not ordered there.

  Simply… placed.

  Several hours passed without incident.

  Then—

  CRACK.

  The sound split the quiet like a snapped bone.

  The second wagon jolted violently before grinding to a halt, its rear axle twisted at a grotesque angle. Stone fragments littered the road. One of the heavy wheels lay shattered where it had struck a jagged outcrop.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Bastian paled. “By the gods… we’re stranded.”

  Valeriana and Kael moved instantly. Formation tightened. Eyes swept the hills.

  Eins, however, merely sighed.

  “A clean break,” he muttered, crouching beside the damage. He tapped the axle once with his knuckle. “Poor stonework. Nothing to fret over.”

  He glanced at Null. “Lad. Iron patching kit. Bottom pouch.”

  Null blinked, then moved. Eins already had tools out by the time he returned—anvil plates unfolding, a compact hand-forge flaring to life with controlled, rune-fed heat.

  Zwei leaned against the wagon, watching with mild amusement. “You know,” he said lightly, “most folk would panic first.”

  “Panic wastes time,” Eins replied without looking up. “Time wastes iron.”

  His hammer fell in perfect rhythm. The forge roared briefly, then quieted. Heated metal bent and shaped beneath his hands with calm, practiced precision. Less than an hour later, a reinforced brace locked the axle into place—clean, elegant, stronger than before.

  Valeriana studied the work with new eyes.

  Kael nodded once.

  Respect earned.

  With the wagon repaired, the caravan moved on. The mood loosened—only slightly.

  Zwei hopped onto the rear wagon beside Null, producing two pale blocks of wood and a pair of carving knives. “Since we’re traveling,” he said cheerfully, “we might as well make it productive.”

  Null raised an eyebrow.

  “Wood listens,” Zwei continued, handing him a knife. “Metal argues. Stone remembers. Wood… negotiates.”

  Null tried to follow his instruction. His first cuts were awkward, shallow. Then something shifted. His grip adjusted. Pressure changed. The blade glided.

  Feathers formed.

  Fine. Precise.

  Zwei watched, smile fading into quiet interest. “You don’t fight the grain,” he murmured. “You feel it.”

  Across the road, Valeriana glanced back. Her gaze lingered. Disapproval settled in.

  Kael snorted quietly. “Some guard,” he muttered. “Playing craftsman while others stay alert.”

  Null heard it.

  Said nothing.

  The Mountain Hounds struck an hour later.

  Lean, stony hides. Low snarls. Fast.

  Valeriana and Kael dismantled them with brutal efficiency—steel flashing, blood darkening the dirt. Null stepped forward instinctively, iron dagger in hand—

  “Stay back,” Valeriana snapped. “Protect the merchant.”

  The fight ended in seconds.

  Useless again.

  Eins was already repairing damage—straightening Valeriana’s dented gauntlet, restoring Kael’s blade edge with calm precision.

  “Much obliged,” Valeriana said stiffly.

  Kael was already harvesting, his motions swift and clinical. He placed a hand on a corpse. Light shimmered. The body vanished into a small leather satchel.

  Null frowned. “How did you—”

  “Trade secret,” Kael replied flatly, turning away.

  The lines were drawn.

  By late afternoon, the road narrowed into a forested canyon. Shadows stretched long. Wind stilled.

  Kael stopped.

  “No birds,” he whispered. “No insects.”

  Valeriana’s blade slid free.

  Then the world exploded.

  A weighted net crashed down, pinning Valeriana. Arrows rained from the cliffs. And from the trees—

  Kobolds.

  Dozens.

  Sunstone Kobolds.

  Their chittering cries filled the canyon as they surged forward in a tide of rusted steel and scaled bodies.

  The false calm shattered.