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Lock sat in the Forge –the dwarven word for their temple– of Smith, the dwarven god.
Contrary to what one might expect, the temple itself wasn’t a heat-filled building, filled with screeching metal and screaming hammers. The building Lock was in looked like a typical church, much like what one might find on earth. Pews arranged in neat lines, the building made out of large solid brick and an empty altar save for a podium where their Head Priest would hold service every ten days.
The Real Forge belonged next door.
After leaving the exit portal, Lock came face to face with his companions who were befuddled, confused by their lack of sleep plus the disorienting effects of traveling through the Fracture Portal. Trees and real dirt greeted them, not the cold embrace of the Twilight Maze. No one had any idea what happened to the boss or how they’d escaped but those questions were tucked away for later. Lock took charge quickly, asking Eltis and Krag where their temples were.
The dwarven temple that sat a little ways outside of Eretia was closer. So in the middle of the night, the eight survivors of the Fracture stumbled into the temple, seeking treatment for their wounded: Dibo and Skaris.
Lock closed his eyes, leaning back against the pew and recalling the conversation.
“...5000 gold.”
“You just charged the elven mage 2000.”
“Yes… but your friend is a beastman.”
“...What?!”
“Also the scars on his neck indicate that he was once a slave. If we find out-”
Aurora and Kyrian held Lock back as he attempted to punch the racist-bigoted priest right there and then.
In the end, Krag took care of the situation. He calmed Lock down and explained to him that it wasn’t up to them. Depending on which race they healed inside the temple, it was either more difficult or less difficult. Lock had no idea but apparently the beastman and the dwarves had a war in the past called the [Singularity War].
They had fought over the remaining artifacts of [Mushin] and the [Blacksmith]. The artifact in question was a gift to [Mushin], the beastman hero, from the [Blacksmith]. But those tales were long lost to legends and no one had any idea what the exact deal was. The dwarves claimed that it was a loan to [Mushin], that they had rightful ownership of it since the hero was long dead. The beastman claimed otherwise.
Lock could care less.
All he cared about was Skaris recovering.
“...the frost has reached his brain. It will be more difficult-”
“If you’re trying to shake me down for gold, don’t bother. I’ll pay whatever gold you ask for. So just heal. My. friend.”
Lock opened his eyes as the last bits of their conversation from three hours ago passed through his mind like an old photograph. Sighing, Lock spun the Dimension Ring around his finger, the Lunar Shield safely tucked away. He did not want to give the dwarves any reason to set their beady little eyes on the Plurality. Lock was sure they’d try their best to get their grubby mitts on it.
Footsteps followed by a creak from the wood as someone sat behind him alerted Lock.
Lock sniffed, getting a faint hint of the person’s scent. Sandalwood, medicinal alcohol and blood, mixed with the faint smell of intoxicating mana.
Dibo.
“You’re all healed.” Lock didn’t bother turning around to check. He trusted his nose.
“Yes. Thanks to you.” Dibo’s voice was raspy, a byproduct of torture at Baran’s hands. “I hear that your friend is still being healed.”
Lock nodded without answering.
“Even an hour later and he would be dead. Or live as a cripple his entire life.” Dibo paused, then continued. “Whoever killed the boss… saved him.”
“Was it you?”
“No. It wasn’t me.” Lock lied. He had no intention of telling the others that he had solo-killed the boss. Oh sure, some might suspect… but without definitive proof –and Lock was sure that no one had seen him– no one could be 100% sure. Lock’s reasoning was simple.
Through this Fracture he had learned first hand just how dangerous it was to be an adventurer. Monsters notwithstanding, betrayal by other adventurers and sheer incompetence of it all had forced the entire raid party into life-or-death situations too many times. Looking back, those situations could have all been avoided with careful planning or simple trust. Being identified as strong would attract the wrong type of people.
People who’d just use him and then leave him at the first sign of danger.
Or worse yet, leave a dagger in his back.
This raid ended without a direct form of betrayal but Lock still considered what Baran did a traitorous act. The elven archer and his sister –Sarai– had left them for dead. Lock’s had a load of things to do now that he was free and surrounding himself with people that he could trust was first on the list. So that brought up the question: Could Lock trust Dibo?
Lock’s instincts answered yes. As long as the relationship remained mutually beneficial that was.
“I hope you remember our deal.” Lock stated.
“Of course I do. That’s why I’m here.” Dibo patted Lock on the shoulder. “I wanted to make sure you remember and that you are still who I believed you are.”
“And who am I supposed to be?” Lock glanced over his shoulder at the elderly mage.
“My Dream.” Dibo smiled, showing teeth.
Lock casually ignored his remark. “When will you answer my questions?”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“Come look for me at the Mage Tower in Eretia after you are done with everything. I will answer all your questions then.” He paused on his way out, leaving me with one final word. “Feel free to bring your mage friend.”
Lock smiled as Dibo’s footsteps faded. If Dibo wanted him to bring Kyrian… he was going to help the younger mage get his 4th Mana Core. It wasn't a part of their deal nor was it something that Lock bothered to mention. Dibo already knew that Kyrian needed one. The fact that Dibo was willing to help meant that he wanted to develop the relationship beyond their bet. Into something resembling-
“Business Partners.” Lock surmised.
“Lock!”
“Speak of the Devil.” Lock turned around to face the mage in question.
Kyrian was sweating through the patient’s robes which the priests had donned him in. He must have sprinted all the way here. “Skaris is awake.”
Kyrian led Lock through the Church’s worship area and to the patient room.
“Have you spoken to him yet?”
“No. One of the other priests just informed me.” Kyrian answered. The mage navigated the church corridors without hesitation.
Lock on the other hand, hesitated.
Kyrian turned around. “Lock?”
Lock opened his mouth to talk but no words came out at first. Why did he stop? He couldn’t put a finger on what he was feeling. Before it had been just worry but now…
Now he was afraid.
“Kyrian.” Lock leaned against a wall. “Maybe… maybe you should see him first.”
Kyrian understood why immediately.
Perhaps it was because Kyrian had grown up in a home where he had to be good at reading people, figuring out whether they were his friend or enemy. Or perhaps it could be attributed to his time with the Akka Xaluds, learning the moods of the Scions before they lashed out at someone. Or it could even be his time spent as an adventurer, as short as it was, he was still more experienced than Lock or even Skaris. Or perhaps… perhaps it was because Kyrian was their friend and knew them better than they knew each other.
“He doesn’t blame you, Lock.” Kyrian whispered.
“I almost got him killed.” Lock muttered. “Not just that Kyrian… I… I didn’t make the right decision.”
“A right decision that would have left Skaris for dead.” Kyrian argued.
“That’s the problem. I disrespected him. His people… Skaris himself. He came into this Fracture willingly, knowing that it might end in death. Yet I just… I just trampled all over that.”
Kyrian waited a moment. “Do you regret it?”
“No. I’d do it again.” He answered without hesitation.
“Just tell him sorry then. You know how he is. He won’t hold a grudge.” Kyrian shook his head. “I am not familiar with Beastman Culture as well as you, Lock. But most people are thankful when someone saves their life.”
Lock sighed. “I hope you're right."
Continuing on their way, they reached the healing wing. A dwarven priest was coming out of Skaris’ room, cleaning his hands on a wet cloth. Without greeting them the dwarven priest pushed past them, trying to leave.
“Wait!”
The priest stopped. “What do you want?”
“...Are you the one who healed our friend?” Lock asked.
The dwarf grimaced. “If yer asking if I’m the one who had to soil his hands stitching together a beastm-”
“Thank you.” Lock interrupted before the dwarf could finish.
The priest eyed him. “Hmph. He’s awake and well but needs a good night’s sleep. Getting your nether regions frozen off ain’t something the mind forgets.” Without waiting for a reply, the dwarf left.
“Pay him no mind, Lock.” Kyrian muttered. “The clergy seems to attract… a certain type.”
“Either hungry for gold or full of hate for other races.” Lock finished. “I know. Still… I wanted to thank him nonetheless. He saved Skaris’ life.”
“That he did.”
Without further ado, the two entered Skaris room.
The room was a plain block of stone, reminiscent of orcish design. But there was a difference that was clear as night and day: the craftsmanship. True to their reputation as master craftsman, every surface had been carved down smooth and the room had an immaculate quality about. Not a single speck of dust, not a corner out of place and not a single angle too big or too small.
Skaris was lying in bed.
“Skaris. How are you feeling.” Lock sat down in a chair next to the bed.
“Alive.” The red-scaled warrior responded.
The sound of Skaris’ voice dropped all the weight, guilt and shame that Lock had been carrying. The burden that came with being responsible for the death of a comrade had been hanging over him, like a rock tied to his ankles, drowning him in an ocean of self-blame and hatred. But hearing Skaris talk, seeing him move and seeing the lizard warrior well again was enough to drop everything.
“Oh. Good.”
“Do you need anything? Soup? Water? Anything at all?”
“Sssssake. And a woman.” Skaris leaned back, closing his eyes.
“Glad to see you're back to your usual self.” Kyrian commented dryly.
Lock cleared his throat. “Skaris, I wanted to say-”
“Twicssse now.”
“Hm?”
“I owe you my life twicsssse now, Ssslaveborn.’ Skaris finished, opening one eye slyly. “You are determined to keep me in debt.”
It was just as Kyrian had said.
It was a strange feeling.
Lock, –no, Han– had never been a social person.
He had too much trauma for that.
The betrayal his parents experienced from their business partners had left wounds in the young boy’s heart. His father’s insistence on continuing to send him to private school full of other wealthy kids looked good for Han’s academics, but there is nothing as cruel as children when it came down to it. Name calling, ostracization, whispers behind his back and the inevitable letdowns… Han was used to it.
So he spent the years, never opening his heart to anyone. Perhaps that was the reason why his one chance at love ended in heart break.
But here and now, in this moment when his friend who almost died played it off as a joke…
Something broke inside of Han today. Something big. Something solid. Something that had been a part of him for a long time.
The word comrade didn’t do justice for what Lock felt.
But he didn’t dare admit it to himself. He couldn’t.
The word [Player] echoed in his mind. That he wasn’t one of them. That he didn’t belong here. That…
Eventually he’d have to go home.
So Lock schooled his face and his heart before it could become something more than just comrades.
Before he could admit to Kyrian and Skaris, that they were more than comrades, that they were brothers that he’d risk his life for –contrary to his actions in the Fracture– Lock stuffed it into his mind where all his happy and precious memories were and kept it there. What he had learned about himself in the Fracture was still true. He was weaker now than he was before.
When he had no comrades he had been stronger, mentally, willing to do everything to survive. Sharper. Leaner. Meaner.
Stronger. More Powerful.
And he had to be strong. With monsters. With deceitful adventurers. With businessmen and merchants trying to sell them off. With Scions of the Turina Empire running amok. Lock had to be stronger than anyone if he wanted to protect his comrades.
It was ironic… that in order to protect his comrades whom he held more dear than most, he had to keep them at a distance. He could not let them get too close. The loneliness would make him stronger. So that when it came time when his comrades were in danger once more… he’d be ready.
“Good.” Lock smirked, playing along with Skaris’ humor; both of them too uncomfortable with admitting the silent friendship that had been tested. “Since you worked hard… I’m sure we can scrounge up a Core or two for you.”
“Finally. It issss about time.” Skaris closed his eyes again, pulling the blanket over himself. Without another word, the warrior fell asleep.
Lock found Kyrian staring at him.
“What?”
“You two are impossible.” Kyrian muttered. “The others are waiting.”
“Right.” Lock stood up and the two changed locations again, walking down the hallways.
They were careful not to bump into any of the candles or steel ornaments. Just from a glance, they could tell that everything here was the work of a master smith. One wrong step and they’d lose their winnings from the Fracture.
The two found themselves inside a large room. There was a couch on one end, Track was lounging on it. Next to the couch was a coffee table and settled around it were the participants of the raid. Dibo. Krag. Aurora. Eltis.
“Mr. Lock.” Aurora greeted. “We were waiting for you.”
“We had to visit Skaris.” Lock took a seat around the coffee table, a bit cramped for the seven of them. Kyrian sat down on the other end of the couch; Track didn’t bother correcting his posture.
“Has he recovered?” Eltis asked.
“Yes. We’ll take him home tomorrow.” Lock briefly wondered if taking Skaris back to the slums would cause him to get an infection or something
“One thing at a time.”
Track cleared his throat. “Let’s get on with this. At this point, it’s just formalities anyways.” He eyed Krag. “Our dear dwarven priest over there got chewed out for bringing so many animals into their sacred Forge.”
Krag turned red. “Lad, I tried my-”
“Krag.” Lock’s voice halted the argument before it began. He tilted his head in a deep bow. “Thank you. Truly.”
“I know it couldn’t have been easy for you to let Skaris into your temple. I know how much you stand to lose here just by bringing us here. But a life was at stake and you saved it. So truly… I thank you.”
Lock meant it too. Except for Krag’s surly attitude or his greed… he was alright.
Krag turned redder, though for a different reason. “I didn’t do it for- ah by the forge! Let’s just get on with it!”
Then one by one, they brought out their loot from the Dungeon.
“If everyone does not mind, I’d like to take a closer look at everything.” Aurora started inspecting the items and Cores one by one. After a while she looked at me. “Mr. Lock. Your shield and the [Neung-uh’s Ocarina] as well.”
“Damn. I was hoping she’d forget about that.” Sighing, Lock brought out the [Lunar Shield] and [Neung-uh’s Ocarina].
After looking everything over, Aurora nodded. “The total cost for everything should come out to about 239,000 gold.”
There was a small gasp from Krag, looking like he was about to keel over and die.
“That’s not counting the Fracture Splinter, since that has been agreed to be given to Mr. Lock to be transferred to Mr. Pointell.”
“He’s also laying claim to the Shield, a Plurality, and the [Neung-uh’s Ocarina] isn’t he?”
“I did not account for the [Neung-uh’s Ocarina] since it should be split five ways, between Ms. Eltis, Mr. Lock, Mr. Skaris, Mr. Kyrian-”
“Yeah yeah.” Track muttered. “So we easy roughly get what? 30,000 gold?”
“29,875 gold to be exact.” Aurora surmised. “Except for Mr. Lock who will have to pay us for our share of the shield.”
“...How much is that?” Lock whispered. He already owed 15,000 to Yousef. He wasn’t counting the debt to Marc Pointell anymore, since he brought the Fracture Splinter back, the debt would be waved.
“Your [Lunar Shield] is approximately 176,000 gold… though I’m estimating it based on another Shield-type Plurality I’ve seen come up in the auction place. You will have to pay each of us 22,000 gold.”
“That’s…”
“154,000 gold.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Lock shook his head. “I don’t mean to accuse you Aurora… but how do I know what you’re saying is true? You’re not a merchant-”
“I have an Authenticator license. Validated by both the Guild and the Merchant’s Association.” She answered smartly.
Lock chewed on his lips. That meant…
Instead of entering the Fracture and coming out debt free, Lock was now 169,000 gold in debt. Deeper than ever before. To Yousef, to Aurora, to Krag and even to his own friends.
“29,875 gold, huh… I’ve been eyeing a new staff.” Kyrian said absently, staring off into space.
“You’re going to make me pay?!” Lock snapped.
Kyrian shrugged, smiling mischievously. “I could use a nice new staff and robe.”
If Lock didn't catch the playful glint in the Mage's eye, he would have thought Kyrian was being serious.
Still, less than an hour after having made his oath to keep his friendship with Kyrian and Skaris at a distance, Lock wondered if it was worth calling them friends to get a ‘friendship’ discount.
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