Of all the other races, I find the dwarves closest to true men. Though slightly longer lived, they are not as eternal as the elves; yet for all of that, they have always seemed to be more solid, more grounded in the now. What truly brings us close is our love for the fruit of the deep ground, the sparkle of gems, and the lure of gold. It is through mutual greed that we find common parlance.

  — Attributed to Duchess Jessalyn, the Unifier of the Lost Duchy, circa 240 AC.

  I gripped my mining pick tightly in my hands, finding comfort in its solid weight. Attacking the Guards at this moment would be foolish; I needed more information before making a move. With a firmer grip on the handle, I trudged forwards, vowing to someday be free.

  As we descended further down the gaping maw of the mine shaft, the air grew cooler. Wooden support beams held up the shaft at ten-meter intervals, and the echoes of our footsteps and clanking chains reverberated down the passage. A dull blue light emitted from the ceiling of the shaft, a blue opal gem pulsing softly. My curiosity got the better of me, and I cast Identify on it.

  Despite the drain on my Mana, I didn’t feel as debilitated or sluggish as the last time I had pushed myself magically. With my curiosity momentarily sated, I observed that none of the other slaves even cast a glance at the gem as we passed.

  After another ten minutes of descent, I could hear the sound of mining picks striking stone, mixed with voices exhorting slaves to give greater effort. We reached a fork in the mine system and the Guards separated us again, my group funneling down the right-hand passage.

  As we continued down the right fork, I could not help but feel a sense of dread. Suddenly, there was a small tremor, and fine rock dust fell from the ceiling. A light pattering of soft alabaster dusted the slaves in front of me as the whole line paused. After the tremors stopped, we continued further down, urged on by a cracking whip. I forced away my claustrophobia.

  The clinking sounds grew louder as we passed mining slaves on either side of the shaft. They chipped away at the soft white rock under the watchful eye of another group of Guards. Their mining tools rose and fell in a steady cadence. Some of the older slaves shoveled what looked like raw, rough metal ore into large wicker baskets. Once the baskets were full, they were hoisted onto the slaves’ backs with straps around their shoulders, like primitive backpacks.

  A man spoke to the slaves, calling an end to their shift. His features were difficult to discern in the pale blue light, but I recognized him as a preferred slave or foreman, unshackled except for an iron collar with gold trim around his neck. Three-quarters of the slaves grabbed the wicker baskets full of heavy ore and made their way back up the way we had come from. The man with the special iron collar barked out orders for the remaining workers to instruct us in our duties, then confirmed that they understood with a stern, questioning look. One of the slaves was a little slow in his reply. The whip cracked out close to him, more for intimidation than inflicting pain.

  Those who remained came over to us then. One of them, a burly man who was shorter than me, demonstrated how to use a pick. He grabbed it with hands wide apart, rolled it across his shoulders, then brought his hands together as he struck the white rock. I watched closely as he worked, noticing he was wide but without an inch of fat on him. A long braided beard of indeterminate color fell down to near his waist, tied at the end with what looked like a small disc of metal that followed the movements of his body.

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  “Now do,” my new mentor said slowly, as if instructing a child in the guttural language of the Children, gesturing for me to follow his actions.

  I gripped my tool as he had and brought it down against the rock, cutting deep. The burly man grunted in confirmation, and we worked together, striking almost in rhythm with one another. As we toiled away, I felt my Stamina gradually depleting, but I wasn’t sweating as much as I used to from similar exertions in my previous life.

  After an hour or two, I lost track of time in the soft blue darkness of the mines until I saw a boy going down the line, passing a ladle of water for us to drink. Though the water was stale with a distinct coppery aftertaste, when it was finally my turn, I greedily slurped it up like it was sweet ambrosia. When I had finished, the boy whispered a surprising “Thank you” to me before hurrying down the line to give another worker his fill of the water.

  In a surprisingly shrill voice, the foreman barked, “Break now! For only two turns of the glass!” before taking a swig from a small hip flask at his waist, drawing stares of envy from the other slaves.

  I took this as an invitation to sit down on the cool rock floor, laying my tool by my side. My hands were chafing from the strenuous activity, but my Stamina had recovered a little. Looking at the dwarf, who had now worked a double shift, I decided to speak to him.

  “Would you”—I drew another shallow breath—“mind telling me your name?”

  “Manners be to introduce yourself before asking for someone’s name,” he replied brusquely, eyes pointedly avoiding me before he sighed through gritted teeth. “Though I reckon manners be different in the lands of men. Name’s Durhit Coal, of the Beacon Mountains. Your own?” He spoke the last with a raised inflection, still refusing to make eye contact.

  The lands of men? I wondered what he meant by that. His comment caught me a little off guard before I forced myself to think about his question. My subconscious mind was almost able to grasp my old name, but then hit a dead end when I focused on it. Grasping at straws, I remembered my moniker in this world.

  “Gilgamesh of Uruk,” I said haltingly, the unfamiliarity of my new name leaving a strange taste on my tongue.

  “Never heard of an Uruk.” He raised a bushy eyebrow. “Sounds too foreign for my liking. You’re from far away from here, little manling? Across the seas, perhaps?”

  “Further than you could ever imagine. Across a sea of stars,” I replied, trying my best to sound mysterious and poetic. The dwarf’s face contorted as he tried to make sense of my words, but we were interrupted.

  “Back to work, dogs!” The words lacked anger, more said out of rote. They were lines repeated so many times they had lost most of their bite. However, the crack of the whip that soon followed had not.

  We continued our work in silence. My Stamina dropped low, and my arms had begun to feel like lead weights when I received a notification.

  I was not too thrilled about gaining the Mining skill, but an increase in Strength was always welcome.

  The foreman called for the end of our shift in an almost high soprano, and our group began to gather the ore in wicker baskets before starting our march out of the mines. At the previous fork, we met the other group and formed a long line up the shaft, our footsteps echoing in the soft blue darkness.

  We continued upwards and finally reached the entrance, the cool night air a balm for our exhaustion. The sound of the forges and smelters had grown somewhat dimmer than during the day but had not stilled completely. A slave stumbled at the entrance, exhaustion finally taking him, but he was helped along by his fellows. It was a show of blossoming camaraderie from the shared forced labor, and a fitting end to my first shift as a slave.