The teleportation vortex collapsed like a snapped rubber band, spitting Null into reality with enough force to rattle his bones. He hit the ground on his hands and knees, breath knocked out of him. For a moment, all he could taste was copper, all he could hear was the lingering hum of arcane distortion.
He coughed, sucking in heavy, humid air thick with coal smoke and the faint tang of burning metal.
Okay… still alive. Mostly.
When the world stopped spinning, he forced himself upright and looked around.
He stood at the foot of a colossal mountain.
Not a hill. Not a peak.
A towering black monolith that rose into mist-shrouded sky, its sheer cliff faces carved smooth by ancient tools and covered in glowing dwarven runes. The road beneath him—wide, paved, and meticulously maintained—led directly to a massive gate embedded in the mountain’s face.
Two titanic metal doors—each easily fifty meters tall—were carved into the stone. They glimmered faintly, layered with geometric engravings that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Null inhaled sharply.
He’d seen this place before.
In the Cerberus Tech promotional trailer—one of the sweeping cinematic shots had shown the entrance to Volundrheim, the Dwarven capital. But the real thing dwarfed the advertisement. The screen had never captured the weight, the oppressive majesty, the living presence of a city carved into the bones of the earth.
“The Iron Concordance…” he murmured.
He almost couldn’t believe he’d actually arrived.
His HUD flickered—reminding him of something he hadn’t had time to check earlier.
A quest window he’d ignored when Barcus disintegrated.
[Quest: The Anomaly of the Four Heroes]
Rank: ???
Description: Four Ego Weapons have simultaneously reset to infancy. Their wielders—Eins, Zwei, Drei, Vier—have regressed. You are the epicenter of this anomaly.
Objective: Locate the Dwarf Eins in the South. Show him the Sage’s Pendant.
Reward: ???
Null stared at the quest, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach.
“Great. No pressure.”
He followed the road toward the gate, joining a slow-moving line of carts, miners, and metal-laden beasts of burden. The gate stood slightly ajar, just enough for commerce to pass through—but even “slightly” left room for ten men to walk abreast.
Two armored Dwarves flanked the entrance, standing as if carved from the mountain itself. Their armor was a marvel—interlocking plates of dark iron trimmed with glowing rune-lines that flexed with each breath.
One guard noticed Null approach.
“Welcome to Volundrheim, traveler,” the guard rumbled. “State your business.”
“I’m… new,” Null said. “A Drifter.”
The guard’s gaze sharpened.
“Aye. Word came through the Guild Council that your kind would start arriving. You’ll follow our laws. All contracts binding. All debts paid. No trouble in the Concordance—understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good. Enter.”
Null stepped through the gate—
—and the world changed.
He entered a cavern so massive it felt like stepping into the hollow heart of a god.
The ceiling arched high above—so high it vanished into darkness. Countless stalactites glowed with pale blue phosphorescence, casting a ghostly twilight over the entire expanse. The air vibrated with sound: hammers striking anvils, gears grinding, molten rivers roaring in stone channels alongside the streets.
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Buildings weren’t buildings.
They were chambers carved directly into the cavern walls—multi-level workshops, guild halls, granaries, barracks, and marketplaces, each lit by runes etched into stone.
Dwarven engineering.
Ancient. Brutal. Beautiful.
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
Null blinked. “Right. No pressure at all.”
He turned back to the guard.
“Excuse me. I’m looking for a Dwarf named Eins.”
The guard’s eyes widened slightly—barely noticeable beneath his helm, but noticeable enough.
“You don’t aim low, Drifter. Master Eins is the pinnacle of dwarven craft—the Chief Forgemaster himself.” The guard lifted his chin toward a glowing molten river winding deeper into the city. “Follow the Great Flow. It leads straight to the Heart Forge. If he’s anywhere, he’ll be there.”
Null thanked him and followed the river’s orange glow.
The deeper he went, the busier the cavern became.
Beastkin haulers trudged past with crates of ore.
Elves with silver hair consulted floating runetables.
Dwarves marched in precise columns toward the workshops.
It wasn’t chaos—it was industry. Pure, roaring, disciplined creation.
Following the Great Flow, Null eventually reached a massive tunnel archway lit by a lattice of glowing runes. Stepping through it, he emerged into a new chamber—one even larger than the main city hall.
And there it was.
The Heart Forge.
A gigantic industrial complex carved into the mountain’s deepest layers. Towers of iron rose on multiple tiers. Steam belched from rune-sealed chimneys. Giant bellows pumped molten ore into crucibles the size of carriages. Catwalks and bridges spanned every direction, connecting forges, workshops, armories, and smelters in a dizzying three-dimensional lattice.
An iron heartbeat pulsed through the chamber.
The heat was intense.
The noise was overwhelming.
The sight was awe-inspiring.
Null whispered, “How do I even find one guy in all this?”
He located the primary entrance—an arched opening with a rune-lit emblem above it: the insignia of the Smithing Guild. Inside was a reception hall carved directly into the stone.
Behind a stone desk sat a Dwarf with a ledger and an expression made entirely of irritation.
Null approached. “I’m looking for Eins.”
The Dwarf’s eyes flicked up, scanning him from boots to hair. Basic clothes. No armor. A crude obsidian dagger. No visible wealth. No prestige.
Recognition sparked—followed by disdain.
“You? Looking for Master Eins?”
Null nodded stiffly. “Yes.”
A scoff.
A sneer.
A laugh that grated like metal scraping bone.
“Drifter, Master Eins is Guildmaster of the Smithing Guild, Chief Forgemaster of Volundrheim, and the busiest man in the South. He doesn’t give audiences to children who think a shiny stone knife is craftsmanship.”
Null’s jaw tightened.
“What would he give an audience for?”
“Oh, that’s easy.” The receptionist leaned forward, eyes glinting with malice. “Bring him something worthy. A flawless gem. Rare ore from the Deep Dark. A divine-tier fragment. Or—”
He gestured mockingly at Null’s dagger.
“Forge something that could make even Eins pause.”
The implication was obvious:
“You? Impossible.”
Null felt the heat of humiliation creep up his neck.
He could have shown the pendant.
He could have mentioned Barcus.
He could have argued.
But he didn’t.
He turned on his heel and left, the Dwarf’s snickering echoing behind him.
Outside, Null stopped, fists shaking.
Craft something worthy…?
Forge something Eins would notice…?
His rational self said it was impossible.
His gamer brain told him he was underleveled and undergeared.
His instincts—the strange, ancient muscle memory whispering from deep inside—said something else.
He could do it.
He somehow knew he could.
Null exhaled slowly. “Fine. I’ll earn it.”
He followed glowing runes along the cavern wall to the Adventurer’s Guild—the dwarven emblem of hammer and quill etched above its carved doorway.
Inside, a warm, tidy hall greeted him.
A bearded Dwarven woman behind the counter smiled brightly.
“Welcome to the Guild, Drifter! Looking for work?”
“Yes,” Null replied. “I need a mining quest. Something with iron ore.”
“Smithing, hm?” she said with a knowing grin. “We’ve got a contract with Ironvein Mine. Just east of the city. Fill a crate with raw ore and bring it back. Simple, straight work.”
She slid a contract toward him.
“Upper tunnels are safe. Lower tunnels…” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “Noisy. Strange things crawling about. And rumor says rare ores grow down there. Star Silver. Mithril. Things the nobles drool over.”
Null nodded. “I’ll stay in the upper sections.”
She winked. “Every Drifter says that before curiosity kills them.”
He accepted the contract.
Objective: Gather one crate of iron ore.
Reward: 150 C-Creds + Material Bundle (F-rank).
“And if you need a forge,” she added, “there’s a public workshop near the mine entrance. Decent tools for beginners.”
“Thank you,” he said sincerely.
Null stepped back into Volundrheim’s molten-lit streets, feeling the heat on his face and purpose in his chest.
The Heart Forge had rejected him.
The receptionist had mocked him.
The city had swallowed him without noticing.
But he would carve his name into this mountain.
He would forge something worthy.
He would make Eins see him.
Null adjusted the obsidian dagger at his hip and set off toward the eastern tunnels.
A new path awaited him in the Ironvein darkness.
One he intended to shape with his own hands.