Zane stood awkwardly in front of Garrick’s blacksmith shop, shiny new bronze pickaxe in hand. It felt like it weighed a ton. Or maybe that was just the weight of, you know, saving the village. Seriously, why did it always have to be him? Couldn’t someone else step up for once?

Beside him, MiningMole stretched its tiny limbs. It looked way too comfortable for the task ahead.

Zane tightened his grip on the pickaxe. Something stirred inside. Was it confidence? Nah, more like confidence’s cousin who only visited on holidays. “We’re gonna crush this, right, buddy?”

MiningMole squeaked with excitement. “Mole! MiningMole!” It had enough confidence for the both of them.

Garrick stepped out of his shop. His face was smudged in soot like he had just come from battle. “You plannin’ to mine with that pickaxe, or just admire how shiny it makes your face look?”

Zane fumbled the pickaxe, nearly dropping it. “Oh, I’m using it! Best miner this village’s got, right here!” He puffed out his chest, then deflated almost immediately. “Though, you know... mining’s kind of a two-person job, if we’re being honest...”

Garrick snorted. “Get going, Zane.”

***

Deep in the woods, Darius stared down the towering pines. The bronze axe felt heavy, but in a good way. Like it was made to do something epic.

TimberTail flicked its tail, waiting.

Darius’s expression was one of... mild approval. Acceptable efficiency lately. But today? Today was about maximum output.

“Begin,” Darius commanded.

TimberTail bowed its head slightly.

Together, they vanished into the forest shadows. Like it was all some highly classified ninja mission.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

***

The first week? Sweat. Hope. A fever dream of it all.

Zane grumbled non-stop but found his rhythm in the mines. At first, the bronze pickaxe felt like swinging a boulder. But soon it clicked. His swings were faster. Sharper.

MiningMole was a blur of fur and sparks. It sniffed out ore faster than Zane could swing.

Darius, meanwhile, moved through the forest like a surgeon with an axe. Every swing was precise. Calculated. Devastating.

TimberTail kept pace, cutting down trees with grace.

They worked like a machine. A very, very serious machine. Probably competing with nature itself. Because why not.

Every night, Zane and Darius met at the forge, dropping their loot into Garrick’s bins.

“This operation’s really taking off, huh? Might need a bigger bin soon,” Zane said.

Darius just nodded. Words were overrated.

TimberTail said nothing but somehow judged them both.

***

By week two, the grind hit. Hard. Shiny tools? Now just heavy. Cool factor? Gone.

Zane dug deeper. The mountain closed in. Darker. Colder.

At least MiningMole was having a blast, chipping away with little sparks flying everywhere.

One afternoon, Zane finally snapped. He slammed his pickaxe against a stubborn rock. “This is impossible! Like trying to eat soup with a fork!”

MiningMole’s nose twitched. Blue light flared. It attacked the rock with intensity.

Cracks formed until… A hidden vein of bronze appeared!

Zane blinked, then laughed. “Alright, you win.” He patted MiningMole, who looked way too pleased with itself.

Meanwhile, Darius had his own problems. The deeper he went into the forest, the tougher the trees got. Almost like they were challenging him.

Darius’s muscles were burning, but he wasn’t going to let some tree beat him. TimberTail’s eyes had the same stubborn look.

One evening, Darius paused, leaning on a tree. “Maybe... a little rest is okay.”

TimberTail shot him a look that clearly said, “Weak.”

Darius chuckled. A sound so rare it could have been bottled and sold as a treasure. He lifted his axe again. “Alright. We keep going.”

***

By week three, the piles of ore and wood were growing. And the villagers started to notice.

Zane and Darius worked like machines. Non-stop and determined.

Zane’s hands, which used to be soft, were now rough and strong. He swung the pickaxe with surprising confidence. MiningMole led the way, always sniffing out the next ore.

Darius carved through the forest. Trees fell clean. Stacks of logs piled high. Like devastation. Beautiful, controlled devastation.

One long day, Darius dragged a huge log back to the village. His lips curved. Barely. “We are getting somewhere.”

TimberTail nodded. “TimberTail.” It almost sounded proud.

***

By week four, the village buzzed. Storage bins overflowed with bronze, wood, and stone. Garrick was busy making more bins.

Zane and Darius? Legends now. People whispered their names like they were heroes in some epic story.

Zane puffed out his chest. Darius? He just nodded, like this was what he expected all along.

And TimberTail? Still judging everyone.

The village hummed with excitement. Whatever came next, they felt ready. Or at least, they hoped they were.