"What's wrong? Ryder, did you have a nightmare?"
In the cold mine, a faint voice began to echo in his ears. Startled, Ryder instinctively shoved the ring into his pocket before turning to see Ham, the one who had spoken.
"Uncle Ham, how are you feeling?" Ryder asked in a lowered voice, concerned.
"A bit better, it seems I'm not dead yet," Ham said weakly.
"Uncle Ham, why do we have to spend our whole lives in this mine, toiling away just to have some black bread and wheat leaf soup, while those noble offspring don't do anything yet live in vast estates and feast on delicious food?" Ryder asked, puzzled.
Ham was momentarily stumped by Ryder's question, having never considered it before. After a long hesitation, he sighed and said, "It's fate!"
"The poor are born poor, and the nobles are born noble. It's all the will of the goddess, and it is to temper you and me!" Holding the wooden Holy Light Seal to his chest, Ham whispered softly.
