Hafrad Silverstone, son of Hafred Silverstone, prided himself on his composure. It was a trait he had inherited from his mother, and he was grateful for it daily. The ability to stay calm, to move with the mountains, had allowed him grace where his other kin would have faltered, and because of that reason, Darim’s king had allowed him the role of First Diplomat.

Never, in the 150 years where he had dealt with the human diplomats and their strange behaviors, had he faltered.

Until now.

It’s impossible.

It was meant to be impossible. Jack Larson, a human man with a curious heart, was still supposed to follow the rules that Duron imposed on the world. A mortal was never meant to make mithril, to make the most precious metal that the god of the earth had granted them, and yet… the impossible had become possible.

Hafrad faltered. His body stiffened, his eyes widened, and any words he could think of were caught in his throat.

He could do nothing.

Keep your oath.

Those words were chanted in his head again and again, and Hafrad breathed again as he figured out how to spin this back around. If only something like this had occurred after another three bottles. Maybe then he would’ve felt his nerves be loose enough to not hesitate.

“Could I see that, lad?” Hafrad asked Jack. “I need a quick look to be sure.”

There was no need for a quick look. Hafrad knew in his heart that this was mithril. Any dwarf that couldn’t identify that white gold at sight wasn’t worth the air they breathed.

Still, he accepted the ball of gold and took a closer look. As he knew from the start, the top of the sphere had been perfectly transformed into mithril, with the near-perfect purity that the ring in his beard also possessed.

Around a gram in weight.

More than enough to shift current plans.

But if Hafrad had to do something drastic, he had to be more than sure of himself. One final test, one final observation, needed to be made before he would contact the ruler of Darim.

“Wait, what are you— Oh,” Jack exclaimed, as Hafrad chipped a little of the mithril off with his teeth. It was a piece the size of sand grains, but his body responded with glee as it swirled around in his mouth.

And as he swallowed, letting the mithril fall into his stomach, his flesh flexed and strengthened. The muscle fibers in his arms were coated by the energy of his ancestors, Hafrad could hear their wisdom flow through his bones, and it seemed like even Duron looked upon him at that moment.

A glimpse of divinity, far past what the purest gold could ever hope to achieve.

It’s real.

“You won’t need to shed a single tear today, lad,” Hafrad admitted, gazing upon the golden ball in his hand. “You’ve done what my ancestors couldn’t, and for that, you have my respect.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Jack replied nervously. Such a comment would’ve normally caused some flare of anger in Hafrad, as it discounted the achievements of his forefathers, but there was little chance he would ever hold a hand against this human. Jack Larson was worth too much now. “You can keep that even. I can just make more later.”

Make more. Such a casual tone but the words meant more than Hafrad could imagine. This would have consequences.

“I thank you for this honor then, Jack Larson,” Hafrad said, bowing to the man who seemed increasingly uncomfortable. Most of the other humans in the room did seem to share that sentiment as well, as their eyes stared at him unblinkingly. “However… I must confess that this is most unusual. Would you mind if I excused myself for a short time? I must contact my brethren about this discovery.”

Nobody objected. They didn’t dare, for they knew what weight this revelation carried. Even if Jack Larson, a man unwillingly ignorant of dwarven customs, did not know what this successful transformation of metals meant, every other person understood the consequences.

For better or for worse, the world would soon have a hard time keeping up with the changes happening within it.

Hafrad didn’t need to think about such a long-term prospect now, however. He simply had to put one boot in front of the other, as he traveled further down the tunnels. It was deeper than any of the humans ever went, which meant that the glowing rocks planted into the walls slowly faded away. They were no longer needed, as dwarven eyes could see well enough without them.

Better even.

The world was alight with life within the rocks. They sang, they welcomed Hafrad into the depths, and they guided him through the many twists and turns meant to confuse intruders.

And life only continued to strengthen, as the pulses of energy began to be felt in his feet. The pulse of the world, of the leylines that traveled in the walls, reached his ears.

They were the reason these tunnels were dug out, so many years ago. Leylines were valuable to all races, after all. They carried an ocean's worth of Mana inside them, never able to be emptied of energy within any lifespan, but there was also more to them than that. There were aspects that the other races couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, no matter how much they searched.

Traits exclusive to dwarves, only able to be witnessed because of the gift granted to Hafrad’s brethren from Duron.

They could become one with the pulsing heart of the world.

Such an ability came with many positives. It rejuvenated their flesh to some extent, letting those proficient in the craft live for some additional centuries. Not to a level where they rivaled the long-ears in longevity, but most other races couldn’t compete.

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Another, and arguably the most important trait, however, was that it allowed any dwarf to communicate with another.

‘King Fror Trueforge, son of Thror Trueforge, I bring news of utmost importance.’

The message traveled through the blood of the world, vibrating through stone and metal until it was received in the grand halls of Darim. An advisor of the king was quick to respond to Hafrad’s message, and it took only two minutes before Fror was connected to the world as well.

‘Speak, Hafrad Silverstone, for the hour is late and my men tell me you have news most dire.’

It took will to not fall onto one knee.

‘My king, I have met the humans of Serenova, as you ordered. I have bargained with them, and they have agreed to almost double the supply of gold with a minimal increase in cost.’

‘The people of Darim thank you, Hafrad, but I can hear that this alone isn’t what made you contact me. Reveal what it is you dread.’

Truly, nothing could be hidden from Fror.

‘I was not met by a single diplomat as I have in the past, my king, but by an entire group of followers. One of them, a young human man by the name of Jack Larson, was intrigued by my form and the histories of our people. He knew very little, but was very apt to learn.’

‘A good human among many who choose to remain ignorant.,’ Fror idly commented. There was a tidbit of tiredness in the king’s voice.

‘Indeed, your majesty,’ Hafrad agreed. ‘This man was not special in only this aspect, however. After the discussions regarding the trading of gold were finished, he and I spent over an hour discussing the history and traditions of dwarves. This included the gifts that were granted during one’s 250th birthday, where I revealed the ring given to me by my father.’

‘The Ring of the Eraborn,’ the king said, knowing the name instantly. ‘You revealed its history to the humans?’

‘Only a few key details, my king,’ Hafrad assured him. A sense of calm was sent in response, one that Hafrad did feel some regret for causing as it would soon be ripped away once again. ‘I was never able to go more in-depth, as Jack revealed himself to be a mage that carried the Affinity of Metamancy. I do not know if you have heard of it previously, but he believed that he could transmute another metal into mithril if he had a moment beforehand to inspect the ring.’

Booming laughter came through, on the level of what Hafrad had done when he had heard it as well. Only now, it wasn’t as absurd to him.

‘Metamancers have been documented in dwarves hundreds of times throughout our history, but the Affinity is kept secret from the masses. It is not as powerful as it implies, and most who have carried it have fallen for gold sickness within mere decades,’ Fror explained, the mirth lessening as he felt Hafrad’s apprehension. ‘What came of it?’

‘He succeeded, my king.’

‘What.’

The sheer volume of the king’s voice brought Hafrad to the ground. Only his training kept his connection to the leyline intact, as he fought to keep himself composed.

‘He transmuted a part of a ball of gold into mithril, my king,’ Hafrad expanded. ‘It was only a single gram, but the transformation held true. It was no illusion, I checked for myself.’

‘Impossible,’ he could hear the king mutter. It was faint, as even Fror was shaken by the words. ‘Has your mind been twisted?’

‘Every artifact I carry has revealed no malignant forces upon my flesh and mind,’ Hafrad told the king. ‘There is nothing that even hints at this being a falsity, which is why I felt it was needed to contact you directly.’

‘... You made the right decision, Hafrad Silverstone,’ Fror finally replied, after a minute of deliberation. ‘This human, Jack Larson… We need him. How is he affiliated with Serenova?’

‘He was introduced to me as a Follower of Elijah Caede, Serenova’s Royal Healer,’ Hafrad was quick to explain. ‘From what I have been able to gather, he has close ties with the royal family, to the point where Louis Newell, the second son of Mason Newell, trusts him. To attain this man for our own fold would be very difficult.’

For another race, there would be very little dilemma, but dwarves did not bend down to those standards. They would not force another into servitude.

‘So it would seem,’ the king replied. Another minute was spent in silence, as the ruler tried to figure out a solution to this problem of theirs. ‘From your own experiences, are there any factors with Serenova that we could use for them to grant us the services of this man?’

‘...There is one facet of the discussion that could prove useful to us,’ Hafrad said. ‘Before the final agreement regarding the percentage of gold was made, there was a larger offer with very beneficial pricing, but at the cost of Darim promising to assist Serenova if Castilla attacked. From what I can tell, they don’t believe they can currently win if they are attacked.’

‘Are they not still allied with Ethon?’

‘I assumed so, but this offer brings some doubt to my mind regarding the validity of their official partnership with the forest elves,’ he continued. ‘While I will not suggest that we break the pact made with Castilla regarding non-aggression, we could perhaps entice our brethren to grant the new human kingdom more powerful weapons and tools. The prospect of a new source of mithril would not go ignored.’

‘It would be a difficult play to make, but… Oh, you are a cunning dwarf, Hafrad Silverstone. Be proud, for you deserve your role without question,’ Fror announced. ‘Go with the humans to their capital. Make the offer of advanced weapons, tools, and protection for this man, if he visits Darim and helps remake a certain crown of mithril.’

The Crown of Maral?

‘I will do as you have asked, my king,’ Hafrad replied, raising his head with pride. ‘I will not fail you.’

As if Duron would ever allow it.