(Day 1)
Zane stood at the mouth of the cave. It was a giant, moss-covered monster, ready to swallow him whole. Cold air. Damp. Reeking of regret.
He shivered. Partly from the chill. Mostly from his common-sense screaming at him to nope out of there.
“You know, if I leave right now, I could be in another village by nightfall. Nobody would bother me there with this thing.” Zane glared at his “pickaxe.” It was really just a stick trying to cosplay as a mining tool.
He sighed. “Yeah, this is going to be a disaster.”
Mining. Of all things, it had to be mining. Why couldn’t he be that guy in the village who just sat around and gave advice? He was good at that. Practically a pro. But no. Here he was, about to become a cave-dweller.
“Who thought this was a good idea?” Zane took a lazy swing with the pickaxe and instantly regretted it. A shockwave of pain shot up his arm, making him wince like he had just touched lava. “This is manual labor! I’m not built for manual labor!”
Zane had tried to explain all this to Lyra yesterday. He even gave good arguments. Like how he was a “deep thinker.” And how manual labor could lead to serious injuries... like... death, probably.
But Lyra just grinned at him. “Oh, Zane, it’ll be an adventure! You’ll discover things!”
“Yeah, like how much pain I can handle before passing out,” he grumbled.
Then there was Darius, who gave him his usual serious stare. “It’s for the good of the village, Zane. The blacksmith needs ore.”
“Maybe the blacksmith should take up knitting,” Zane suggested. Apparently, nobody thought that was a good idea.
Deep breath. Zane stepped in. Sunlight vanished. Darkness wrapped around him like a wet blanket of doom. “Alright. Here goes nothing.”
Zane swung. Thud. Pain. Regret. “Ow, ow, ow!” He dropped the pickaxe like a flaming porcupine.
“Okay, new plan,” he said, rubbing his aching hands. “Find a weak spot. Don’t die.”
Zane squinted at the rock wall, searching for anything that looked easier to break. A crack? A dent? Anything?
Hours crawled by. Each swing, a debate with his own existence. A sad pile of dust gathered. A monument to failure.
“I’m never getting out of here…” Zane slumped onto a nearby rock. “They’re going to find my bones here someday, still holding this stupid pickaxe.” He could almost hear the future explorers: “Wow, look at this poor guy. The Fossil of Failure.”
(Day 2)
Zane dragged himself back to the cave like he was going to a dentist who was also planning to punch him in the face. Every muscle screamed. Arms were spaghetti. And his hands looked like he had been trying to high-five a cactus.
“This is it,” he groaned. “This is how I go. Death by mining.”
Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Zane thought about just collapsing for dramatic effect. Maybe they would leave him alone if he did it right. Or maybe he could fake his own death.
But before he could decide, a giant shadow blocked out the sun.
Zane looked up, squinting.
Garrick. The blacksmith. A huge guy who looked like a wall with arms. He stared down at Zane, his face impossible to read. “Having trouble?”
“Just doing some professional mining. As one does,” Zane replied.
Garrick stepped into the cave, frowning at the sad little dents Zane had made in the rock. “You’re hitting the wrong spots. These rocks are tougher than a troll’s skull. You’ll be here until next winter.” He pointed to some rocks deeper in. “Try over there. That’s where you’ll find the good stuff.”
Zane looked at the spot doubtfully. “And if you’re wrong?”
Garrick shrugged, as if to say, “Then you’ll learn something.” With that, he left, leaving Zane alone with his doom.
Zane sighed. Shuffled deeper. Colder. Shadows darker. Could someone die from pure misery? Probably.
Zane swung, trying to be tough. The pickaxe hit something shiny. “Wait... is that...?”
He swung again, chipping away more rock. The shiny spot got bigger. He swung again and again, feeling a tiny bit of hope.
After a few more swings, he uncovered a small streak of bronze ore. It glinted in the dim light, shiny and brown.
Zane felt... proud? Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t useless.
By the end of the day, a small pile of bronze ore sat in his blistered hands. Not much. But something. Proof he could do more than just complain.
Garrick was waiting outside the cave.
“It’s not much,” Zane said, holding out the ore. He felt like a kid handing over a macaroni art project.
Garrick grunted, looking it over. “It’s a start.”
“A start? At this rate, it’ll take a year just to make a bronze spoon,” Zane groaned.
Garrick shrugged, a tiny smirk appearing. “Then you better get back to work.”
Zane threw his hands up. “Of course. Why not? More suffering, please.”
Garrick chuckled. “See you tomorrow, Zane.”
Zane blinked. “Wait… did you just laugh? Are you even allowed to do that?”
Garrick shook his head, still smirking. “Only when someone earns it.”
Zane rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile on his face. He looked down at the small pieces of bronze ore in his hand and sighed. “Guess it’s you and me now. Hope you’re worth it.”
(Days 3+)
Days blurred together. Pain. Hope. Grumbling. Swing. Miss. Swing. Hit. Sometimes, he found something worth keeping.
He tried different techniques. An over-the-head swing that bounced off the rock and almost hit him in the leg. Great, he had almost mined his own foot.
He tried a sideways swing and spun around until he got dizzy. Mining: 2, Zane: 0.
He even tried a golf swing. Why? No idea. But if it worked, he would call himself a genius.
Spoiler alert: it didn’t work. The result? A weak clink and a lot of embarrassment. The rock was definitely getting the last laugh.
On Day 5, Garrick appeared again. He watched Zane as he swung the pickaxe, the small pile of ore at his feet growing steadily. “You’re improving.”
Coming from Garrick, this was basically a standing ovation. Zane beamed, feeling a rush of pride.
The next day, Zane found himself humming a mining song he made up. It wasn’t great, but it kept him motivated. “Smash the rocks, don’t break your back. Find the ore, avoid an attack.”
He even announced dramatically to the rocks. “Alright, you sneaky metal, I’m back!”
Eventually, Zane found a rhythm. Swing. Clink. Swing. Clink.
For once, he understood why people liked this kind of work. It was oddly satisfying.
Until it wasn’t.
One moment the ore was there. The next it was gone. Replaced by ordinary rock.
“No, no, no!” Zane yelled, swinging wildly. “You can’t just disappear on me!”
By the time Garrick showed up, Zane was on the ground. Covered in sweat and dirt, glaring at the rock. “The ore ran away.”
Garrick nodded like this was totally normal. “It happens. Sometimes the good stuff runs out.”
Zane sighed. “Of course it does. Because I’m cursed.” He rubbed his sore shoulders, utterly defeated.
On Day 7, Zane woke up feeling like he had been hit by a cart.
He stared at the cave entrance and seriously considered running away. He could be baking bread in another village by sundown. Living the soft, doughy life… No monsters. No caves. Just carbs and peace.
But no. He wasn’t a quitter. And the bread thing? Total bluff. He didn’t even know how to bake bread.
Maybe he needed help. Real help. And maybe that wasn’t so bad.
When he left the cave a few minutes later, Zane had a new plan. He would talk to Garrick, to Lyra, and yes, even to Darius. He needed to learn about mining, about ore, and about this mountain. He needed their help. And maybe, just maybe, he could become a real miner.
----------------------------------------
Chapter 8 Video/Audio version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNk4llaUi2w