Bram had never liked the older maps of Vorr Angrun. They always seemed like half-finished stories, sketched in a time when the mountain’s tunnels were still young and unscarred. Most dwarves treated those maps like holy heirlooms. Bram treated them with caution. They were useful, certainly, but the mountain changed too often and too deeply to trust anything drawn so long ago.

  Tonight, the maps were spread across a long slab of stone that the quarry workers had dragged into what used to be a storage chamber. Lanterns hung from every hook and beam, filling the room with a steady light that pushed back only part of the darkness. The air was dry, filled with floating dust that clung to their beards and coats.

  Gadrik leaned over the largest sheet. The paper looked almost sick, as if it had been touched by one too many damp winters. He traced the runes with slow care.

  “This mark should be a passage,” he said. His finger slid along a faded line. “And this one says forge. I am certain of that. But the stone above that area collapsed generations ago. My grandfather remembered the story.”

  Bram crouched beside him and rubbed dust from a corner of the map. His knees were already sore, but he ignored that. “And here,” he said, pointing to a symbol that looked like a jagged hammer, “this means something important, right?”

  Gadrik let out a breath. “It means sanctum. Sometimes a chapel. Sometimes a vault.” He paused and met Bram’s eye. “And sometimes the old masters just liked to decorate their maps with symbols that made things look more impressive.”

  Bram snorted. “So it could be anything.”

  “Yes,” Gadrik said, “but it could also be exactly what we hope it is. And that is enough reason to keep going.”

  Around them, the quarry workers carried tools and ropes. A few whispered among themselves about the collapse earlier in the week. Nothing dangerous had come of that one, but it still hung over everyone’s thoughts.

  Two stone golems stood near the entrance of the chamber. They were eight feet tall, shaped like dwarves but with rougher edges and glowing runes carved down their arms. Every so often, one of them shifted, sending tiny rocks rolling across the floor. Their presence made most of the workers feel safer, but Bram knew that even a golem had limits. If the mountain wanted to bury them, it would.

  Gadrik straightened and stretched his back. “Where is your mind, Bram? You’ve been quiet today.”

  “Thinking,” Bram muttered.

  Gadrik waited, knowing Bram would explain if he wanted to.

  “I keep thinking about the stories my father told me,” Bram finally said. “About ancient forges hidden deep in the mountain. Places where the early masters shaped metal that doesn’t exist anymore.”

  Gadrik’s expression softened. “He was proud of his heritage. It is no small thing.”

  Bram looked down. “I want to believe there’s something real at the end of this. Something worth all this effort. Worth the danger.”

  “There is,” Gadrik said plainly. “Even if it is not the sanctum or the forge we seek, the mountain holds truths. You and I will not waste this chance.”

  A deep rumble shook dust from the ceiling. Bram and Gadrik both paused. It was not unusual for the mountain to shift, but each sound reminded them how fragile the tunnels could be.

  A group of soldiers marched in, checking their lanterns. One of them, a young dwarf named Rulik, approached Bram.

  “We have two teams ready,” Rulik said. “Both tunnels cleared as far as we dare.”

  “Good,” Bram said. “Keep your men close together. If the mountain shifts again, I want no one separated.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rulik said, then hurried off.

  Bram watched him go. The younger dwarves always tried to look brave in front of the older warriors, but Bram knew better. He remembered being young, too eager to impress anyone who looked like a hero. He never wanted to be the reason one of these dwarves fell in battle or under stone.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Gadrik rolled up one of the maps and placed it into a leather tube. “We cannot delay much longer. The golems are ready. The workers know their assignments. We go forward.”

  Bram nodded, but a knot tightened in his stomach. “I keep thinking of Harbinth,” he said quietly.

  Gadrik looked at him for a long moment. “You lost friends there.”

  “We all did,” Bram replied. “And I do not want to watch any more die today.”

  “Neither do I,” Gadrik said softly. “But fear cannot guide us. Only purpose.”

  Before Bram could respond, a shout echoed from the southern tunnel.

  “Collapse! Collapse in the east passage!”

  Everyone froze.

  Another tremor shook the chamber, louder this time. The lanterns swung wildly. The ground jittered beneath their boots.

  Rulik sprinted toward them. His face was white. “The whole east passage came down! We heard screams!”

  Bram’s heart lurched. “How many?”

  “Six workers. Perhaps more.”

  Bram ran before Gadrik could stop him. Dust choked the air as he reached the entrance of the collapsed tunnel. It was blocked entirely, packed with boulders, shattered beams, and crushed tools. Faint cries echoed from deep inside the rubble.

  He dropped to his knees and began clawing at the stone with his bare hands. Splinters sliced his fingers. He did not stop.

  “Move!” Bram shouted at the two soldiers behind him. “Get picks! Get ropes!”

  He dug harder. His hands bled. The cries were weakening.

  A strong hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him back. Gadrik.

  “Let me go!” Bram yelled.

  “No,” Gadrik said firmly.

  “They’re alive!” Bram strained against him. “I heard them!”

  Gadrik did not release his grip. “Others will dig. Others will try to reach them. You and I have another task.”

  Bram spun and glared at him, chest heaving. “You would leave them?”

  “No,” Gadrik said, and the weight in his voice stopped Bram cold. “But you will. Because you must.”

  Bram stared at him, unable to accept the words.

  Gadrik leaned closer. “Listen to me. If we stop now, if we abandon the search for the forge and whatever lies beyond it, then all of this will happen again. More collapses. More deaths. More chaos in the mountain that Nezzarod is eager to exploit. The workers behind that wall are in danger because the mountain is in danger. And we cannot fix that by clawing through stone with our fingers.”

  Bram looked back at the rubble. He felt helpless, furious, trapped.

  “I cannot walk away,” he whispered.

  “You can,” Gadrik said. He stepped aside so Bram could see the soldiers already moving in. Pickaxes swung at the debris. Ropes were thrown. Orders were barked. They were working.

  “Let them,” Gadrik said. “Let them do their part. And you do yours.”

  Bram bowed his head. His breath trembled. “Stone cradle them,” he murmured.

  Gadrik joined him. So did the soldiers. Their voices formed a quiet prayer that filled the chamber.

  Then Gadrik lifted the map tube. “We go now. Before the mountain shifts again.”

  Bram wiped his face with the back of his hand. His skin stung where the stone had cut him. He nodded once.

  The group moved into the remaining tunnel. Their lanterns made long shadows that stretched across the stone. The golems walked at the front, pushing fallen rocks aside. Their heavy steps made the ground vibrate.

  The tunnel narrowed as the group continued. The air grew colder. Bram’s injured hands throbbed. A few dwarves limped behind him.

  “Are you steady?” Bram asked the injured dwarf.

  The dwarf nodded weakly. “Aye. Would rather be here than back there listening to the rest of the mountain fall on us.”

  Bram gave a faint smile. The dwarves always tried to joke when things felt bleak.

  Gadrik walked beside him. “The map shows something ahead,” he said. “If the old words are correct, the forge is near.”

  “How near?” Bram asked.

  “Near enough that I can almost feel it,” Gadrik replied. He slowed his steps. “The stone here is older. Less touched by the newer mining. It feels like a place the masters would have chosen.”

  Bram felt it too. He placed a hand on the wall. The stone almost hummed under his palm. It felt like the mountain was waiting.

  “Then we keep moving,” Bram said.

  “And before dawn,” Gadrik added, “we will see whatever lies ahead.”

  The group continued into the dark, their lanterns lighting the ancient path the old masters had walked long before any of them were born. The weight of the collapse pressed on their hearts, but so did something else.

  Hope.

  Bram held onto that feeling tightly as they descended deeper into the mountain’s bones.