I let out the sigh I'd been holding and watched as the white mist danced around in the frigid winter air. It wasn't hard to make out the dazzling stars twinkling above the roofs of the dwarven village. The lack of light pollution was a likely culprit to the spectacular show up top.

Although no matter how clear the stars were, they seemed a bit foreign. It didn't take long for me to realize the reason. It wasn't the same sky I'd grown up looking at. None of the familiar constellations were present, nor was the faint outline of the milky way instead replaced by a much brighter chaotic nebula.

It was strange how even aft- "Oi lad! How long are ya goin' to piss for?" A now so-familiar bellow came from the tavern behind me, followed by a chorus of drunken laughter. I sighed again and tottered back into the warm tavern's embrace, it being one of the only buildings with the lights still shining through the windows at this ungodly hour.

The moment I entered, my ears were blasted by drunken cheer, and I was directed next to Bassir with a wooden mug of dwarven beer in hand. Though it was a stretch to call it beer, resembling more a strong whiskey if judging purely by the alcohol content. I suppose such was the reality of attempting to get drunk with the vitality of five men, yet I, a mere mortal, only had the vigour of two.

The tavern was a large, two-story building with long rectangular tables and a counter area on the first floor. It smelled of smoke, rising from the dozen or so candles, a couple haphazardly placed lanterns, and a large fireplace built into one of the walls. One of the corners had stairs for the smaller second floor, which only covered about half of the floor space, the rest left open so you could spectate the happenings of the first floor. The second floor was a bit less rowdy, so most dwarves, Bassir and me included, were naturally seated on the first floor.

It seemed to be the favourite pastime of the dwarves to watch me, a human, struggle with their "real" dwarven beer. Thus there was no such a thing as a light night or a headache-free morning in my vocabulary anymore. Though I suppose my pain had been rewarded with my newly gained poison resistance skill and the rare trickles of vitality and endurance stats.

"I'm telling ya, it was a dragon! A dragon!" roared one of the older dwarves, Revir, lifting me from my daze. They worked at a mine by the mountain, above the cliff the city hugged.

After hearing Revir's sincere plea, Bassir couldn't help but let out a booming laugh. "Oh, trust me, friend. I believe ya ain't lyin'. I'm just curious if you have the eyes or the state of mind to even distinguish a dragon from a mere Flare," he articulated exaggeratedly, much to Revir's chagrin. Apparently, the phoenix-looking birds from earlier were called Flares. "Friend, I don't think you've been sober a day in your life!"

The taunt instantly made me doze back off. I could already predict how the rest of the altercation would go. Soon a friendly brawl would erupt, after which, chased outside by the frustrated barmaid, Revir would gain a new coat of freshly fallen white snow.

I didn't know this at first, but Bassir's profession had granted him quite a formidable set of stats. He was a master trapper, and to my great initial surprise, I was now this master trapper's apprentice. He had taken me under his wing after the whole Lurker affair. Apparently, I passed the "test".

After that happened, the last three months of my life were quite eventful, to say the least. During that period, I learned a lot from Bassir, both about hunting and the world. He taught me how to set up traps, track animals, and how to process the carcases.

The lessons also helped me gain insight into the different creatures and plants these forests had to offer. The dragons Revir spoke of would be unlikely to be seen here. Not only were they rare, but they also tended to prefer warmer climates.

"Hey chap," a voice called out from across the table, pulling me out of a daze yet again. It was Gornik. Another dwarf who worked at the mine with Revir, though I often wondered if it'd be the right time for him to retire, seeing his weathered face and nearly all-white mane. He was a friendly and talkative fellow who often asked about my life. "How's the tailoring business going? Got any new ideas in that dome of yours?"

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I nodded with a smile. "Ehh, you know. Been getting a lot of orders lately. Winter and all. Thinking of delving into made-to-measure clothes. They should be more comfortable."

Gornik raised an eyebrow, a bit concerned. "Made-to-measure? Ain't that the high-class stuff? Don't know if you'll make coin with it 'ere?"

"Hmm, it shouldn't be too expensive. Won't take too much effort if I make presets and take quick measurements at the shop," I pondered aloud.

I had resumed my old profession as a tailor, using Bassir's shop as my workplace. It had provided both of us with some good income, as clothes sold effortlessly but needed a lot of materials, while Bassir had plenty of materials but was having a hard time selling them.

As it turns out, when superhumans, or in this case, superdwarves, were out there fighting monsters and hollowing out mountains, their clothes tended to wear and tear quickly.

"Cheap made-to-measure clothes? First I've heard of it," Gornik stated, a bit excited. "Say, you really are a blessing to this city. Having a talented tailor like you 'round that doesn't charge exorbitant prices is truly a gift from Thuldrin."

The genuine praise warmed me up to the core. Starting the tailoring business seemed to have gained the dwarves' respect and friendship, as now they saw me as one of their own. The curious yet apprehensive glances I'd received at the beginning had seemingly effortlessly morphed into warm nods and greetings.

"Sure ya ain't a dwarf, 'cause you sure got a knack for making things all nice and sturdy. Like that jacket, you made me. Ain't had nothing so strong before," Gornik shamelessly continued the praises.

"I'm glad you like it," I replied promptly, hoping to quiet him down. I was getting a little uncomfortable by the steady sounds of agreement those tuned into our conversation kept making. The last time things went down this route, I'd even been offered one of the drunkard's daughter's hand in marriage. Though I doubt they seriously meant it. "I double-stitched and reinforced it, so it should last you well in the mines."

"Ah, that's smart," Gornik expressed. "You really do have a good head on your shoulders, chap. Remind me of Bassir when he was younger."

This time, instead of embarrassment, I felt pride at the compliment. Bassir was my mentor, and although, at times, he could be a bit rowdy, he was a man of great character. To be compared to him was an honour.

"Thank you," I replied sincerely.

Gornik nodded and took a sip of his beer. He similarly seemed to be mulling over something, as his eyes were left gazing at nothing, and his face gradually morphed into a bit more serious look. He then leaned closer to me and lowered his voice.

"Tell me, chap," he said. "Are you happy here? In Melgir?"

I blinked at the sudden question. It caught me off guard.

"Happy?" I repeated.

"Yes, happy," Gornik said. "Are you content with your life here? Do you feel like you belong? The longer you've stayed here, the more you've dazed off and the quieter you came. You'd think it ought to be the other way 'round, right?"

I paused for a moment, unsure how to answer. Gornik did have a point, though. Even I'd noticed how often I'd been spacing out recently.

I assumed I was happy in Melgir. I had a good friend in Bassir and a supportive community. I had a comfortable home and a shop. I had a steady income and could afford to relax. I had everything I could reasonably ask for.

And yet...

If I was honest with myself, sometimes I felt this nagging sensation in my chest. A feeling of discontentment. A feeling that something was missing or wrong.

'Was I happy?'

I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could say anything, the tavern door slammed open with a loud shout. "Did y'all miss me?"

It, of course, was Bassir.

He strode into the tavern, the slightly snowy clothes not hiding his wide grin. He was soon shadowed by Revir, who was evidently a lot more "snowy" than Bassir. I suddenly felt grateful for the warm, dry fabric pressing against my skin.

Just as Bassir was parading toward the table, showering in attention, he noticed the barmaid was still giving him the stink eye. That single gaze turned the victorious warrior into a defeated puppy, yet the barmaid's stare didn't falter, and Bassir had to reconsider his next move very carefully.

Hesitantly, he gave in. "Or... maybe I'll retire for the night." In a dwarven city with only one good tavern, the barmaid might as well hold more power than the king.

Turning, overthrown, he yelled back at me over his shoulder: "Ya coming with, lad?"

I contemplated finishing the drink but decided against that and bid farewell to the other dwarves. Gornik was gazing at me contemplatively, causing me to recall our previous conversation.

Was I happy? That was an important question I hadn't considered. Perhaps the most essential question of them all.

After an acknowledging nod to Gornik, I began walking back home with Bassir along the icy cobblestone alleys. It was too late for the street lanterns to be blazing, yet fortunately for us, the bright starry sky painted the world blue.

'Was I happy?'

...That question could wait til tomorrow. I found that it was always best to contemplate these things on a clear head anyways.