"An injured human adventurer stumbled into the smithy yesterday," Remicra growled with a hateful look. "He wanted to sell some metal insects."

"You've offered him the lowest price possible, yes?" The crystalline Overseer demanded authoritatively.

"Yes," Remicra replied, nodding her red mane. "I know the rules! I offered him two coppers… for 32 bugs."

The Overseer's armored fingers, hovered menacingly over the rune dial designed to inflict a world of pain upon her serf. "And how, pray tell, did this battered adventurer find himself lingering at the very edge of the smithy's protective ward all night long?"

"He was exhausted and it was getting late! The idiot refused to leave!" Remicra growled exasperatedly. "What would you have me do? I am, after all, unable to leave the ward myself to drag him to town."

"Fair enough," the Overseer conceded with a note of reluctant understanding. "Should it happen again, be more resolute."

"I was very insistent, damn it!" The dragoness protested. "I threw him beyond the boundary of the ward!"

"This is not a public house for vagrants!" The Overseer arched a crystalline brow, her voice cold and distant. "As a consequence of your failure and deception, a week's worth of food delivery shall be withheld from you."

"What?" Remicra barked, her scales bristling orange with indignation.

"If it happens again, knock the vagrant out and let the shadows claim them," the Overseer said impassively. "We cannot allow vagabonds to loiter at the edge of the ward, stirring the shadows and depleting the ward's battery!"

"I understand," the blacksmith lowered her head in begrudging submission.

"Good," the stone-faced Overseer bid farewell to Remicra with the nod, "I'll see you in a week if nothing else unexpected occurs."

She rapidly departed from the scene, silver cape fluttering behind her, jagged crystal formations glittering atop her head like a diamond crown of regal authority.

Dave lingered in the shadows, waiting until the echo of the Overseer’s footsteps had faded into the distance before he cautiously stepped into the smithy. Remicra, her scales shimmering with the colors of the setting sun, was rubbing her neck and trembling ever so slightly.

"Now I feel bad for haggling with you yesterday," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "I understand why you gave me such a low offer."

Remicra raised her violet-gold eyes to meet his, a myriad of emotions clearly swirling within their depths, but she remained silent.

"I brought dinner," Dave said, placing a net filled with a bundle of fresh groceries upon the worn wooden table.

"Take it and go," she said, her voice strained. "If Burgundy or his minions discover that you're staying here and aiding me, they will feed you to the shadows."

"I ain't afraid of a little shadow kitten," Dave declared resolutely. "I am not going to abandon you."

"You're an idiot, Dave," Remicra sighed. "You're free. You have a bit of money now. Rent a room at the Guild, do jobs there and forget about this place. Forget about helping me."

But even as she spoke those words, a quiet unsaid plea lingered in the air.

Hope, that elusive promise of a brighter future, kindled within Dave's chest like sparks blossoming into a forest fire, growing into a raging inferno. It was mirrored by the soaring crescendo of Sherlock's phantom violin resounding in his soul.

"No," Dave said defiantly.

In that singular moment, as their eyes locked, the air between them seemed to shimmer with an unspoken understanding, a silent pact forged in the fires of adversity. As if guided by an unseen force, an invisible pendulum swung between the pair.

"Six years ago, I was merely a lost cog in a vast, uncaring machine, a wheel that spun without much purpose or function," Dave confessed, thinking of his job at Serv0tek. "I got into an accident and a… mm... healer named Lari pulled me from the brink of death. She became my best friend, my guiding star, and taught me not just how to float about, but how to truly live, how to take chances and make a difference in the world. This smithy, and you, Remicra, represent my chance to repay that kindness, and I'll be damned if I simply abandon you to what I see as clear, absolute villainy!"

The words hung in the air, charged with the gravity of his solemn vow.

"Tell me the truth," Dave said with sincerity, extending his hand towards the dragoness. "Do you want to be free? I promise I'll do whatever it takes to help you break that collar."

"If the collar is broken, the hexagrammic runework chain within it becomes interrupted," Remicra shook her head. "When this happens the collar gives me a powerful magical shock, disabling me long enough for the Overseer to gate here."

"She can teleport around?" Dave’s eyes widened.

"Lord Burgundy has many dangerous wizards working for him, including a Waymancer," Remicra explained. "An entire hunter team with a tracker and an enforcer is immediately dispatched via a gateway to my last known location if I use my tools or hands to rip this thrice-damned collar off me!"

Dave sighed, his shoulders slumping momentarily before steeling himself.

"Then I'll find a way to free you through legal means," he said.

"You're gambling your life on a foolish, unattainable goal," the dragoness warned. "You'll get yourself killed."

"There's a rather high probability of me getting killed if I adventure without support of a skilled blacksmith anyway," Dave shrugged. "A few bugs nearly tore me to shreds."

Remicra sighed.

"I'm not hearing an answer," Dave insisted, his gaze never wavering from her eyes.

The dragoness came up from the floor on unsteady legs, her scales turning a shade of violet blue, as if reflecting her inner turmoil.

"I obviously want to be free," she admitted softly, snapping her twisted finger back into place with a wince. "But unlike you, I am being realistic about my chances."

"Is your hand going to be okay?" Dave glanced at her finger as she wiggled it with a hiss.

"I'll be fine, my Vitality is pretty high," Remicra said. "Not the first time she's done this."

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Dave fell silent for a minute. The dragoness didn't say anything either.

"So... worst, I'll get killed, and you'll get pain-zapped for a bit, right?" Dave said, trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes," Remicra answered. "I'm an expensive slave with a highly coveted blacksmithing skill, so I wouldn't be executed for disobedience. Most slaves are free to visit the town from their stations. My boundary leash is only so tight because I refused to bow down, tried to run away many times. I was confined here due to my insubordination."

As the words spilled from her mouth, Dave couldn't help but admire her resilience. And in that moment, he knew that he would do everything in his power to help her regain her freedom, no matter the odds that stood against them.

"I'll help you, promise," he said and held out his hand waiting for her.

A clawed hand, covered in pearlescent scales, wrapped around his own. The handshake between the dragon and human lasted but a few heartbeats, yet to Dave, it felt like a big leap forward.

As Dave began to unwrap the groceries, a trace of a genuine smile graced Remicra's lips, softening the edges of her fierce visage.

"See? We're a step ahead of your Overseer," Dave said with a wink. "Thanks for not ratting me out, by the way."

"Thanks for getting me food," Remicra nodded. "The usual fare Overseer Princess brings me is the cheapest, nearly rotting stuff."

"Princess, huh," Dave mused, raising an eyebrow. "Is she royalty?"

"Just her hunter nickname, since her crystal hair looks like a crown," Remicra rolled her eyes, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Now, hand over the meat. I shall fry it to perfection."

"I'll peel the potatoes," Dave offered.

Side by side, the dragoness and the human shared a moment of domestic reprieve as they made dinner in the smithy.

As they savored their dinner, Dave regaled Remicra with tales of his childhood spent in the Midwestern prairies. He painted vivid images with his words, describing the vast expanses of golden fields, where the wind whispered secrets to the swaying grass and the blue sky stretched endlessly above.

He spoke of the great human cities that rose like monolithic giants from the earth, their skyscrapers piercing the heavens, casting long shadows over the bustling streets below. He described London, Chicago, Philadelphia, New York and San Francisco, each teeming with life and the ceaseless hum.

With his eyes alight with the fires of nostalgia, Dave shared with her the wonders of Earth, a spherical planet spinning through the void, encircling a distant sun.

He told her of a place filled with humans and animals of endless variety, living out their lives amidst the grand tapestry of existence. A world where magic, as Remicra knew it, was but a figment of imagination, the stuff of legends and storybooks.

As Dave spoke, the dragoness listened, entertained by the tale of a world so different from her own.

He spoke of machines meticulously crafted from inert materials, marvels of human invention that defied the need for magic. Dave recounted how humanity, through sheer ingenuity had uplifted itself from the quagmire of war and ignorance to create artificial life without the aid of sorcery.

He delved into the realm of large language models, entities birthed from the intricate weave of code, probability mathematics and algorithms. He shared with Remicra his greatest passion - the art of programming - and how he had devoted countless hours to honing his skills, shaping the very mental fabric of these artificial beings with the power of his mind and the dexterity of his fingers.

He regaled her with descriptions of cars, planes, ships and satellites, of inventions that soared across land, sea and sky, conquering distances previously thought insurmountable. Dave's words painted a vivid picture of the internet, a vast and intricate web of information that connected lives and minds across nations.

He spoke of the industrial and digital revolutions, eras that reshaped the very foundations of human society, ushering in an age of unprecedented innovation and prosperity.

The dragon blacksmith listened intently.

In the warmth of their shared meal and the magic of their conversation, the gap between their worlds narrowed, bridged by the universal language of wonder.

As the cliff side became awash with the warm orange hues of a setting sun, Dave looked to the nearest window.

"Is there a way to the roof?" he asked. "I wasn't paying attention the last couple of evenings and it was very cloudy but I wanted to understand why it looks like the sun is setting when we're basically inside of a giant sphere."

The dragoness nodded, and with a graceful sweep of her tail, she led the ex-programmer to the top of the lighthouse. Together, they ascended a rickety ladder, emerging onto the top floor that lay exposed to the elements.

Dave stepped out onto the windswept, crumbling platform, and his heart stopped to the sight before him.

The clouds rolled over the chasm, encircled by the majestic snow-capped mountains, bore the reflection of a long, brilliant orange streak.

"The degree of refraction in those clouds is extremely high," Sherlock's violin sang. "A sun is mirrored within them, creating the illusion of a sunset."

Dave raised his eyes, following the celestial ballet towards the center of the Dyson sphere.

As the clouds above cleared, he beheld a sight so monstrous and awe-inspiring that it left him speechless. There, in the heart of the sky, a gargantuan black hole lay ringed by a shimmering orange corona.

A massive yellow star, like a celestial dancer, spun gracefully around the black hole, its fiery hue deepening as it moved past the rim of the singularity.

"Holy shit," Dave whispered. "This isn't a Dyson sphere... its a Birch world."

"That's Nihilim," Remicra murmured, pointing at the sky. "The void engine built by the old gods that holds our world together."

"Incredible," Dave breathed.

He turned to his companion, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. "You know, now that I think about it, I have no idea what this world is called."

"Arxtruria," Remicra said.

"Does that stand for something?" Dave asked.

"Arx Tru Ria," Remicra intoned, her words stretching like a somber song. "Symphony of the Damned."

Upon hearing the name, Dave couldn't help but feel a a chill running down his spine.

"Well, that's an uplifting name," he attempted to infuse some levity into the conversation. "I suppose 'Harmony of the Merry' was already taken?"

Remicra let out a soft laugh. "Indeed, the Gods have a penchant for the dramatic."

As they headed back down and passed by the decrepit space right beneath the roof, Dave cast a glance at his former, awful, raggedy cloth bed.

"Guess I can't stay here without triggering the ward?" He asked.

"Follow," the dragoness said.

She led Dave down the stairwell to the loft space located above the smithy.

With a graceful sweep of her claw, the dragoness pushed a wooden door open, revealing a tidy, cozy apartment.

The loft, though simple, emanated a sense of warmth and comfort. Sunlight filtered through a circular, gothic window, casting dappled patterns upon the wooden floorboards and thick wooden beams.

A modest yet inviting bed, adorned with a soft, homespun quilt and a fanciful frame beckoned from the far corner of the room, offering the promise of restful slumber. A small, sturdy table stood nearby, accompanied by a single hand-carved chair, perfect for enjoying a quiet meal.

On the walls, a few wood carvings of dragons devouring armies and setting cities alight added a touch of personality to the space, each one weaving a curious narrative of destruction.

"You can sleep here," the dragoness offered, pointing at the cozy space beneath the circular stained glass window, its vibrant colors casting a kaleidoscope of light upon the floor. "This room is very deep in the ward and the shadows will not be able to sense you so easily."

"Thanks for letting me stay at your place," Dave quipped, his eyes taking in the charming details of the loft.

"It's not really my place," Remicra shrugged, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "It's a prison, one that I've tried to make somewhat tolerable with the limited resources at hand."

"I judge it as exceptionally cozy," Dave said, his tone genuine. "You've got a talent for making rustic furniture and art. You carved those, right?" He glanced at the wooden carvings, the chair, table and bed frame.

"I am a blacksmith," the dragoness responded with a modest shrug.

Dave carefully unrolled the bedroll he had carried on his back, placing it into the offered space with a sense of gratitude. He had purchased the sleeping bag from the Adventurers Guild tent, a small investment in his own future comfort. As he settled into his new home, he couldn't help but appreciate the warmth and solace that Remicra had managed to create within the confines of her cage.

"Did you get a job as an adventurer?" Remicra asked, noticing the copper plates dangling from Dave's wrist.

"Yeah," Dave nodded. "I'm going to kill a hundred metal bugs for the Divaliss Smithy!"

"What?!" The dragoness growled, her scales rapidly turning a fiery red, betraying her agitation.

Dave swallowed, suspecting that the dragoness was upset at the prospect of him bringing metal to another blacksmith.