Clink. Clink. Clink. The steady rhythm of Cole's pick striking the cave wall echoed like a heartbeat, a relentless pulse in the silence. Each strike chipped away at the crystals, bit by bit.
The crystals glistened with an iridescence that captured every hue, shimmering even in the dim cave light. As they tumbled from their perch, the sound they made was delicate, like the chiming of distant bells, before shattering into countless sharp shards on the cold stone floor. Cole knelt, carefully sweeping up the glittering fragments, each piece catching the light in a different way, creating a mosaic of color that danced across his hands. The shards were jagged, but calloused fingers, toughened by four years in these caves, moved with practiced precision, avoiding any cuts. Every shard and sliver would be collected by the site manager at the end of the shift, ensuring nothing of value was lost. This section of the cave was nearly cleared, the once-vibrant crystals now reduced to dangerous fragments. Soon, they would move on to a new part of the cave system.
“Shift change!” the site manager yelled down the tunnel.
Cole set the heavy pick down with a clatter and paused to rub his aching hands. Despite the thick, rough calluses that had built up over the years, the relentless labor still left his fingers stiff and throbbing by the end of each grueling day. The deep grooves in his palms were packed with dirt, a testament to the hours spent chipping away at the crystals. He let out a slow breath, feeling the familiar ache radiate through his joints as he bent to sweep up the remnants of the day’s work—fine shards of crystal that sparkled faintly, even in the dim light of the cave.
The sharp shards clinked together as he gathered the fragments and poured them into the waiting cart, the sound of the small pieces hitting the metal sides echoing softly through the cavern. Fatigue settled deep into his bones, but he pushed it aside—work wasn’t done until the last load was hauled out. Turning, he handed the pick, worn smooth from countless hours of use, to one of the fresh workers arriving for the next shift. Their hands, still unmarked by the scars and calluses of the experienced, gripped the tool with a mix of determination and apprehension, ready to face the unforgiving stone.
“Pretty much cleared out this section. We’ll need to move to a new one while this area regrows,” Cole said to the man whose name he didn’t know.
“Thanks. Hopefully, the new area has a bit fresher air,” the man replied with a tired smile.
The section of the caves they had been working on lay deep within the heart of the formation, far from the entrance where even the faintest breeze might reach. Here, the air was stifling and heavy, trapped by the oppressive rock walls that seemed to absorb every bit of moisture and heat. The stale scent of sweat clung to the air, thick and almost tangible, a constant reminder of the relentless labor that had been carried out for hours on end.
As Cole began the long walk toward the exit, the atmosphere shifted. The oppressive heat gradually lessened, and the pungent smell of sweat faded. In its place, the cool, mineral scent of the earth grew stronger, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of the crystals that lined the walls. The further he walked, the denser and more vibrant the crystal formations became. They jutted out in clusters, shimmering with a mysterious light that seemed to emanate from within, casting the tunnel in a kaleidoscope of iridescent colors. The walls, once bare rock, now glittered with fresh growth—an occurrence that baffled even the most experienced miners.
No one he knew could explain the secret behind the crystals' rapid regeneration. You could spend days chipping away at a section until it was completely bare, yet within weeks, the walls would once again be covered in shimmering formations. It was as if the cave itself were alive, perpetually renewing its crystalline skin. Dig deeper into the rock, and you'd find nothing but solid stone—no trace of the vibrant life that clung to the surface. But leave it undisturbed for a time, and eventually, it would sprout crystals once more, like frost forming on a windowpane.
He’d once overheard someone say it was because the cave system was a 'mana well,' though that term meant little to him. He wasn’t a scholar, just a miner, content to work the earth and admire the strange beauty it offered. And beautiful it was—despite the grueling labor and the meager pay of four silver a week, the sight of the crystals lighting up the cave like a thousand tiny stars was a reward in itself. As the iridescent light bounced off the walls, casting rainbow-hued reflections that danced along the stone, he couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of awe. In moments like this, the endless toil almost felt worth it.
Cole had been a miner, or “clinker” as they were called—a nickname earned from the sharp, rhythmic sound of crystal strikes—for four years. It was a job that demanded little in the way of skill, a bonus because he had no skills, but required an abundance of endurance. The crystals weren’t difficult to break, so raw strength wasn’t a necessity, but he had the stamina to swing his pick for hours on end without tiring, a rhythm that had become second nature to him over the years.
Working as a clinker had done more than just fill his pockets with a few silver coins each week; it had reshaped his body. The skinny, almost frail 17-year-old who had first picked up a miner’s tool was gone. In his place was a man with a lean, wiry frame, muscles defined and hardened from countless hours of repetitive labor. His shoulders were broader, arms corded with sinewy strength, and hands rough and scarred from years of gripping the pick. While not bulky, his physique spoke of a quiet, resilient strength that had been forged in the depths of the earth.
Nearing the mouth of the cave, where the air was cooler and fresher, he paused to dip a ladle into the communal water barrel. The cold water was a welcome relief, and he drank deeply, feeling the cool liquid soothe his parched throat. With a sigh, he tipped the ladle over his head, letting the water cascade down his face and neck, washing away the worst of the dust and grime that clung to his skin. The cool droplets traced paths down his temples and over his jaw, offering a brief respite from the day’s heat. Relishing the moment, savoring the contrast between the chilly water and his still-warm skin, before wiping his face with the back of his hand and preparing to step out into the fading light of day.
“Hey, Cole!”
Turning at the sound of his name, the familiar voice cutting through the lingering echoes of the cave. His gaze landed on Edmund Brimsby, his closest friend and fellow clinker, grinning at him from within a small group gathered a bit further up the path. Edmund’s smile was wide and warm, the kind that always seemed to reach his eyes, crinkling the corners in a way that spoke of genuine camaraderie. Tousled hair, dusted with the ever-present cave dirt, caught the fading light as he waved Cole over, a welcoming gesture that carried the ease of years spent working side by side.
“You still joining us at the tavern for an ale or three?” Ed asked him.
“The tavern I live at?” Cole chuckled, a hint of weariness in his voice. “I’ve got nothing planned tomorrow, so why not?”
Cole didn’t drink often. It wasn’t that he had anything against it, but at five copper a glass, there were better ways to spend hard-earned money—or, often, to save it. The end of the working week was the exception. With no special skills to his name, he was stuck in this current job, and the last thing he needed was to jeopardize it by showing up hungover or, worse, still drunk from the night before. In a place where opportunities were scarce, losing this job would be a blow he couldn’t afford. The thought of money brought him back to the present as he joined the line of weary men and women who had just finished their shifts, all waiting to collect their weekly pay.
The man handling the ledgers sat slouched behind a rough wooden table, expression one of practiced boredom. He didn’t bother to look up as Cole stepped forward, voice flat and disinterested as he asked for Cole’s name. After a quick, almost mechanical check of the list, the man marked him off with a scrawl of ink and handed over four small silver coins, the metal cool and reassuring in Cole’s calloused palm.
Next to the ledger keeper stood a representative of the crown, a stern-looking figure in a plain uniform, there to enforce the kingdom's tax law. The rule was simple: one in every four coins earned was owed to the kingdom, a tax to fund the roads, walls, and the military that kept the realm running. Without hesitation, Cole dropped one of the precious silver coins into the waiting bucket, the clink of metal-on-metal echoing softly as it joined the others.
That left him with three coins. One would go to pay for his modest room—a small, bare space that offered little more than a bed and a roof over his head. Another would cover food for the week, a diet that was simple but enough to keep him going. The last, however, would be carefully set aside, each week adding to the small stash hidden away in his room. This was his future fund, the hope to one day afford the apprenticeship that could lift him out of the mines and into a skilled trade. Each coin was a step closer to that dream, a future built on patience and resilience.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Since his arrival in Watersway, Cole had been saving with a single-minded determination. Bo Ackerly, the old military comrade of his father’s, who had agreed to take Cole under his wing as an apprentice, waited for Cole to afford the license required by the Smith Guild. The license itself cost a gold coin—a hefty sum—and Cole expected needing an added eighty or so silver coins to manage his living expenses during the first year, when he wouldn’t earn a wage.
When Cole had set out from Rivermark, his parents had handed him a large silver—a fifty-silver coin that represented a significant boost to his savings and great cost to them. Though this sum was nearly half of what he needed for the gold coin; life's necessities had slowly chipped away at his reserves. Nevertheless, after four years of scrimping and saving, he was tantalizingly close to his goal.
Becoming a smith’s apprentice would mean more than just learning a trade; it symbolized a step up in the world. The average smith’s assistant could earn ten silver a week—a substantial increase from what he was making now. With that kind of income, he envisioned renting an actual house, a vast improvement over the cramped room that had been home since arriving in Watersway. This new life was within reach, and with each passing day, Cole grew more eager to grasp it.
While his thoughts drifted toward the promising future that lay just beyond his grasp, Cole quickened his pace and soon caught up with Ed and another friend, Evan Harrow. To an outsider, Ed and Evan could easily pass for brothers. Both men boasted broad shoulders and stood tall, their physiques testament to the grueling work in the mines. They shared the same deep blue eyes and unruly mops of brown hair that perpetually looked as if they had just rolled out of bed, though Evan carried a bit more bulk than Ed, his frame heavier and more solid.
Cole nodded to each of them while falling into step beside the duo. Words were unnecessary; the weight of the day's labor hung heavily on their shoulders, pressing into them a shared silence. It was a comfortable, familiar quiet that often accompanied them at the end of their shifts, each man lost in his own reflections as they made their way slowly out of the mine’s shadow.
The cave was situated a thirty-minute walk from Watersway, set along a road that, due to frequent travel, was meticulously maintained. Gravel, tightly packed and neatly spread, crunched satisfyingly underfoot. To the west, the expansive view of the ocean stretched to the horizon, the waters calm and vast. Nearer to the city, the bustling harbor came into sight, with trade ships of varying sizes gracefully navigating in and out, their sails like billowing clouds against the sky. On the opposite side, a dense wood lined the road, its edge tapering off a few hundred yards from the city’s imposing walls.
As Cole walked down this well-trodden path toward Watersway, the rhythmic crunch of gravel merged with the distant calls of seagulls. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the ocean, painting the scene with hues of orange and pink. As they neared the city, tall, weathered wooden posts lined the road, each topped with a glowing mana globe. These spheres, fueled by the very mana crystal’s Cole spent his days gathering, began to emit a soft, ethereal light, guiding the way as darkness crept in.
Ahead, the massive stone walls of the city loomed, a testament to the prowess of the kingdom’s finest Earth Elementalists. The gate, an impressive structure of stone reinforced with iron, stood guarded by sentries in chainmail and leather. Their gazes were alert and vigilant, a necessary precaution given Watersway's occasional skirmishes with the hostile kingdom of Tental, despite its distance from any border.
Above the gate, the kingdom’s banners fluttered proudly in the sea breeze, the royal crest displayed in vibrant colors that caught the last light of the sun. To the left, the road gently sloped towards the bustling harbor where masts swayed with the ocean’s rhythm. Docked ships, their sails furled, creaked softly as they bobbed in the water. The harbor buzzed with energy; dockworkers shouted orders, merchants engaged in spirited haggling, and fishermen readied their nets for the night’s work. The air was a rich tapestry of scents—briny sea spray, fresh fish, and the smoky aroma of fires cooking the day’s catch.
As they approached the gate, one of the guards stepped forward to check their names against a ledger of mine employees, allowing them entry to the town without the customary fee. The security was strict but efficient, ensuring that only those who belonged could pass through the threshold into Watersway.
The silence that had enveloped their walk was finally broken when Evan stretched his arms wide, a low groan escaping his lips. “Man, I am starving,” he declared, his voice resonating with a mix of exhaustion and earnest hunger.
Ed chuckled, the sound rich and teasing. “When are you not starving?” he shot back, a playful smirk playing on his lips as he clapped Evan on the back. The light banter sparked a ripple of laughter among the group, easing the weariness of the day’s labor.
Once inside the city, the road transitioned from rugged gravel to meticulously fitted cobblestone paths. Buildings along these streets varied dramatically in construction: the wealthy lived in robust stone structures, magically formed and perfectly joined, while the less fortunate made do with simple wooden houses topped with thatched roofs.
Their destination for the evening was the Laughing Pig tavern, a name Cole thought the owner must have chosen on a whim. In all his years since moving from Rivermark, he had scarcely seen a pig, let alone one that laughed. Nevertheless, the sign depicting a jovially laughing pig lying on its back, hooves clutching its belly, never failed to draw a smile from him.
As Ed pushed open the tavern’s heavy wooden door, a wave of warm, inviting sounds spilled out—conversations melded into a lively hum, punctuated by the clink of mugs and occasional bursts of laughter. Inside, the air was rich with the aromas of roasted meat and freshly baked bread, the scents intertwining with the earthy fragrance of wood smoke emanating from the large hearth at one end of the room.
The interior was illuminated by several mana-light chandeliers that dangled from the heavy beams above, casting a warm glow over the patrons. The wooden floorboards creaked underfoot, bearing the marks of countless visits. Round wooden tables of varying sizes, surrounded by chairs, filled the main area, creating a cozy, communal atmosphere.
Behind the long wooden bar stood the tavern owner, James Thorn, a burly man with a thick beard and a boisterous laugh. He poured drinks and shouted meal readiness across the tavern. Eschewing the use of servers, he used a simple policy: patrons came to the bar for their food and drinks. His philosophy was straightforward—if you were too drunk to walk to the bar, you shouldn’t be drinking; if you were too lazy to fetch your food, you should dine elsewhere.
Off to one side, a staircase led up to the second floor, where Mr. Thorn lived and rented out a few rooms, offering lodgings to travelers and regulars alike.
Cole turned to his friends with a decisive gesture. “Give me your coin, I’ll grab the ales and order for us. Smells like they’ve got roast beef tonight, and it’s always a hit.”
Ed and Evan handed him a medium copper each without hesitation. Cole approached the bar, placing a small silver in front of Mr. Thorn. “This is for this week's rent,” he said, watching as Mr. Thorn acknowledged him with a nod and expertly made the coin disappear with a swift swipe of his hand. The rent was a steal, really, considering that half that amount would barely cover a single night at an inn, minus the luxuries of room cleaning and extras like a bath. Still, the value wasn’t lost on Cole. “And these,” he continued, laying down two medium coppers along with one of his own, “are for three meals and two ales each.”
Mr. Thorn efficiently filled three mugs and slid them across the bar, holding off on the other three until they were ready. Cole nodded his thanks and carefully balanced the drinks as he made his way back to the table.
After a lull in the conversation, Ed suddenly perked up, a teasing glint in his eye. “Hey, Cole, guess what? Evan didn’t even realize tomorrow is the Age Day Festival.”
“It’s just not something I need to keep track of, so it’s not that important to me,” Evan simply stated.
Cole paused, his mug halfway to his lips, then set it down with a thunk. “The decorations and vendor stalls being set up didn’t make you curious?”
“That’s what I was saying!” Ed exclaimed.
“No younger siblings, no young family or friends, and I don’t care for large crowds, so I just don’t pay it any attention,” Evan responded nonchalantly.
“Well, I’m going to go and watch. It’s always exciting when someone attunes,” Ed mused, his eyes lighting up with excitement at the possibility.
Cole’s feelings about the Age Day Festival were mixed. To him, it symbolized lost dreams and considerable anguish. Fortunately, the conversation shifted as Mr. Thorn signaled their food was ready.
“I got the drinks; you two grab the food,” Cole directed.
Once Ed and Evan returned with the plates, Cole inhaled deeply, savoring the rich, spiced aroma of the roast beef drenched in a sauce whose name he didn’t know but thoroughly enjoyed. He planned to savor every last drop with his bread at the meal’s end.
After they finished eating and Ed and Evan fetched a few more rounds, their conversation naturally tapered off.
“I won’t be at the Age Day Festival either,” Cole announced suddenly.
“Why not? What is with you two?” Evan asked, looking at him curiously.
“I use my day off to work at Ackerley Smith’s, earn a little extra coin so I can get my license and not have to work with you two anymore,” Cole explained with a smile.
Evan grinned. “And we can’t wait to not work with you.”
They all laughed at that. Cole stood up, nodding to his friends. “Good night, you two. See you at work if I don’t catch you tomorrow,” he said warmly.
Cole then ascended the narrow stairs to his room—the second door on the left. It was modest, only large enough for a single bed, a table with one chair, and a chest for belongings, but it was dry, warm, and the small window offered a slight view. Perched on the side of the tavern, the building across the alley set back just enough to allow sunlight to spill into the room let him people-watch on his days off. For Cole, it was the perfect arrangement.
Not even bothering to remove his clothes, Cole collapsed onto his small, hard bed. The worn mattress creaked under his weight, the familiar, lumpy surface pressing against him in all the wrong places. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint light of the moon seeping through the window. The narrow beams of silver light cast soft shadows across the room, giving it an almost ethereal quality.
Cole barely noticed any of it, his mind too exhausted to care about the discomfort or the rough texture of the blanket beneath him. As he lay there, any tension slowly ebbed away, his breathing evening out as he began to drift. The small room faded into the background, replaced by the comforting darkness that welcomed him. His final thoughts drifted to the hope of earning a few extra coins tomorrow, inching him closer to his goal. It wasn’t much, but every bit brought him one step nearer to the life he imagined.