The rhythmic clink of metal against rock echoed throughout the cave, accompanied by the soft rustle of soil being turned over. Dozens of men labored relentlessly, digging and tossing their finds into carts, their expressions cold and unmoved. Be it gold, emeralds, or even magic stones—gems that could create powerful artifacts—their faces remained stoic, hardened from seeing these precious items countless times. The dim light cast by the cheap, low-quality magic stones scattered around the cave barely pierced the thick darkness, leaving shadows creeping in every corner. The air smelled of dust and minerals, thick with a magical presence that was both subtle and stifling.
Amidst the endless toil, a faint thud and a tired sigh broke through. A skinny young man fell back onto the cold, hard ground, exhaustion taking its toll. His hands, now rough with the beginnings of calluses, trembled slightly as he inspected them. The dim magical light flickered across his palms, making the rough skin seem almost ghostly.
"It's already been a month, huh?"
Bones drew in a deep breath (though the air was thin and dry), his chest rising slowly as he recalled the past few months. His thoughts drifted to his lonely childhood as an orphan. Never adopted, never given the chance for a better life. By the age of 15, adoption was no longer an option, and he was sent to a monastery to help the monks. Just months before his 18th birthday, the world turned upside down. War broke out between the barbarians from the north and the Empire. Every able-bodied man was conscripted, chosen by strength or skill, but Bones had neither. All he had were the teachings of the old monks—wisdom that couldn't save him from the harsh reality of war. So, he was sent to the Albatar mines, his fate sealed as a tool for the Empire.
"Ah, right. It's my birthday today," Bones thought with a wry smile, a pang of nostalgia hitting him as he longed for the fire chicken soup the monks would make him on special occasions.
Monk Henry always used to say, "Most monks give up meat and the pleasures of the world, but we, followers of Goddess Gia, find solace in the simple joys of life."
They would all laugh as they ate and drank, enjoying their rare moments of indulgence. Bones had always admired them for their zest for life. They had taught him nearly everything he knew, especially Henry, the head monk. It was Henry who had taken Bones in from the orphanage and taught him to read and write, giving him the skills and wisdom he would've never had otherwise.
With the knowledge he had, Bones could've had a comfortable desk job during the war, but those roles were reserved for the sons of nobles and merchants—people who were far removed from the dangers of the battlefield. Bones could only lament his fate as he slowly stood up, brushing dirt off his pants before heading back to his digging post.
That day, he had been assigned to a section of the cave suspected of containing a magic stone vein. Alongside him were two dwarves, taking turns shoveling and transporting the unearthed soil. Magic stones were rare, but not so rare as to be impossible to find. They were used to create magical artifacts, for enchanting, restoring mana, crafting—essentially, the cornerstone of any magical endeavor. These stones powered everything in the world beyond the mines.
"Aye, lad! Put your back into it! That cart won't move itself!" shouted Nok, the beardless dwarf with a fiery temper, his voice cutting through the clinks and thuds of their work.
"Hmf," grunted the other dwarf, Bok (yeah, they're brothers), as he heaved another pile of dirt with a grunt.
Bok, with his long, braided beard that fell to his knees, was as calm as the still waters of a deep lake. He rarely spoke, his silent demeanor a perfect foil to Nok's explosive personality. Together, the trio presented a strange image in the cave's dim light—a lanky young man, a beardless dwarf, and one whose beard seemed larger than life.
For hours, they worked, their movements synchronized in silence, until the sky outside the cave began to darken. Only then could they pack up and head out with their findings. Stealing was impossible, thanks to the sensors placed at the cave's entrance, designed to detect any smuggled ore.
The miners had a saying: "You enter the cave with no ore, you leave with none."
It was a simple truth. You worked for the Empire, not for yourself. The pay was barely enough to survive—just a few silver coins a month. After expenses, most miners could afford little more than a few drinks to dull the monotony of their lives. Bones had noticed how many of his coworkers drank heavily. He imagined it was their way of coping. What was the point of hoping for more when they already knew how things would turn out? Might as well spend their meager earnings on drink and forget their troubles, at least for a while.
"Is it even worth it?" Bones muttered under his breath as he stared at his hands, now even thinner than before.
He hadn't always been this skinny. Sure, he'd always been lean, earning him the nickname "Bones," but now he truly was just skin and bones. His condition was a result of months of reflection. He hated this life, hated how it confined him. He longed for freedom, for adventure. The cave, with its suffocating atmosphere and monotonous routine, was draining the very life out of him. But still, he held on to hope—hope instilled in him by the monks.
"Uncle Henry could still hope and live after taking an arrow to the knee, so why can't I?"
"I'm not really living life to its fullest, though..."
His shoulders slumped as hunger gnawed at him once more. He had been surviving on just one meal a day for months, determined to save every coin he could. His goal was to buy an illegal ride out of the Empire, to escape to Estoria—the land ruled by the Dwarven King, far from the war-torn lands of the Empire.
Of course, escaping was treasonous. In times of war, every person was required to stay at their post. That's why it was so expensive to arrange such a passage. He had heard only one tale of a miner who had managed to escape Albatar, told to him by Nok (yeah, beardless—think "N" from Nok, as in "no beard," lol).
"Hear me out, lil' Bones. Years back, there was this guy, Rut, 'bout your size. He wanted out, too. Pay was worse back then, but somehow, he managed to sneak out a magic stone, no sensors catchin' it. Got himself a one-way ticket to Estoria."
"Lucky bastard," grumbled Bok, his voice low and quiet, as he sipped on his homemade dwarven wine.
No one ever figured out how Rut had bypassed the sensors. Bones wished he knew. If he had that kind of luck, he wouldn't need to wait another five years to save enough money. He wasn't sure if he could even survive five more years of this. It had only been a few months, and he was already on the brink.
As Bones walked out of the cave, the sky had already turned dark. He made his way toward his "majestic" dwelling: a small, tattered tent set up not too far from the cave.
"Anything to save some money..." he muttered to himself, ducking into the tent.
Houses were beyond his reach, either inherited or bought with riches. For someone like him, it was either an overpriced inn or this makeshift tent. He had chosen a spot close to the cave for safety. The guards patrolled the area day and night, and as long as he didn't cause trouble, they left him alone.
Lying on his back, he gazed up at the starry sky. Despite the ache of hunger gnawing at him (well, more than an ache—he was starving), the vastness of the stars filled him with a quiet sense of peace. Each twinkling star seemed like a beacon, calling him toward a future he longed for but had yet to grasp.
And so, this was Bones' life, day after day, today just a little different as he let his mind wander to dreams of fire chicken and the freedom that lay beyond.