《Hammer and Rune》


 Waking up In a New World

    Okay, real talk: I never asked to be reincarnated as a short-stack fantasy dwarf kid, but apparently fate thought it¡¯d be hilarious to drop me into this situation. Seriously, I can¡¯t even remember how I died. Last thing I recall from my past life is flipping through TV channels in some late-twentieth-century apartment¡ªcable news, maybe some cheesy sitcom rerun¡ªthen boom: New world, new life, and, as I¡¯d soon find out, new height issues.


    When I say ¡°soon,¡± I mean years later because for the first few seasons of my new childhood, I didn¡¯t catch on to the whole ¡°I¡¯m a dwarf¡± thing. I know, I know. You¡¯d think I¡¯d notice that everyone around me had squat, chunky builds and beards that sprouted early (including some of the women, by the way¡ªno judgment, just noting the cultural differences). But I was a kid, and everyone looked pretty much the same. Plus, I was only five. Perspective is limited when your eyes barely clear the kitchen table.


    So there I was, five years old and living in what might as well have been a real-life fantasy MMO town: stone cottages tucked under grassy hills, forges belching smoke, people shouting about ale and axes at seven in the morning. Honestly, it was kinda cozy¡ªif you could tune out the constant hammering and accept that ¡°tavern stew¡± is apparently code for ¡°mystery meat surprise.¡± I was still getting used to the whole ¡°I guess I¡¯m a dwarf now¡± vibe before I even knew what that meant. Everyone was roughly my height, waddled around with stocky builds, and gave me that familiar small-town side-eye I¡¯d come to expect in any world.


    In my head, I was this modern millennial soul dropped into some Tolkien-esque neighborhood. I remembered things like Game Boys, MTV, and low-rise jeans (ew), but none of that did me much good here. We didn¡¯t have screens, we had stone tablets. We didn¡¯t have Wi-Fi, we had Wi-who-are-you-staring-at. But I rolled with it. What else could I do? I was five. You try explaining reincarnation to your new parents and see how far you get. ¡°No, mom, I don¡¯t want oats and turnips for breakfast. How about some cereal and milk?¡± Yeah, that suggestion went over about as well as a lead balloon. Oats and turnips it was.


    It¡¯s not like I was miserable. I mean, sure, I missed a lot from my old life, but there¡¯s a weird serenity in having zero responsibilities besides growing up and trying not to trip over your own stubby legs. I wasn¡¯t so much reborn as rebooted. I got a second chance at life in a place where no one had even heard of smartphones or fast food, and ironically, that second chance mostly consisted of trying not to look bored while my ¡°dad¡± taught me how to hold a hammer properly.


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    But the big moment of clarity¡ªwhen I finally realized I wasn¡¯t just short, but capital-S Short¡ªcame on a trip to the next village over. We were hauling a load of freshly forged pickaxes (a hot commodity, apparently) to trade with some travelers. I had my suspicions something was off because everyone around me had these big, beefy forearms and stout legs, yet I just chalked it up to ¡°that¡¯s how people are here.¡± Then we arrived at the trading post and who do I see waddling around with annoyingly graceful strides? Humans.


    Tall. Lanky. Freakishly elongated humans. Each one of them was a walking basketball player compared to us. I tried to not look shocked, but my jaw basically hit the dusty ground. They towered over me¡ªand I mean they looked like fashion models strolling through a preschool class. That¡¯s when the penny finally dropped: I was the weird one here, not them. I was the dwarf in a world that definitely included bigger specimens. The beard, the stout build, the fondness for underground living¡ªthese weren¡¯t just lifestyle choices. This was my new species.


    After that day, I couldn¡¯t unsee it. Every time I caught my reflection in the polished blade of an axe, I had to admit: I was a squat, tiny dude with a beard that would eventually come in like a glorious, fuzzy waterfall. Great. In my old life, I was average height at best, and now I was shorter than my old self by a generous margin. At least I had the excuse that it was still early. I was only five, so I had some growing to do. But I had a feeling even at thirty I¡¯d be staring up at people¡¯s chins. Oh well, guess I can skip leg day forever.


    I didn¡¯t remember how I died, and honestly, I wasn¡¯t in a hurry to figure that out. I had enough on my plate grappling with my newfound dwarven identity. Besides, this world wasn¡¯t so bad¡ªno corporate emails, no rent to pay, no traffic jams, and the local beer (yep, they let kids taste here, guess it¡¯s cultural) was pretty fantastic. If being a dwarf meant a steady supply of good brew, maybe I could handle looking up to the world around me.


    So there you have it: I¡¯m five years old, I¡¯m a dwarf, and I¡¯ve got a cynical millennial brain hidden behind these chubby cheeks. Life¡¯s weird, but at least it¡¯s interesting. Now if I could just get my ¡°mom¡± to put fewer turnips in the stew¡­ well, let¡¯s just say a dwarf can dream.

 Chapter 2 I yearn for the mines, Father

    Listen, there¡¯s something weirdly comforting about being a dwarf. I know, I know¡ªI had a whole existential crisis about my height and all that jazz, but trust me when I say the perks are real. For starters, dwarves can swing a pickaxe like it¡¯s nobody¡¯s business. And guess who was about to find this out firsthand?


    My dad¡ªlet¡¯s call him Dad because, well, I still don¡¯t remember his name half the time¡ªhe hands me these old, battered tools one morning, all casual-like. ¡°Off to the mines with you, son,¡± he says. As if it¡¯s normal for a five-year-old to report for manual labor. Back in my old life, I would have filed a complaint with Child Protective Services. Here? Just another Tuesday.


    Anyway, I¡¯m standing at the mouth of this cozy little cave, eyes glittering at the flickering lanterns inside, and I¡¯m not even mad about it. All the other dwarf kids are toddling in there too, picking at stone walls like we¡¯re hunting for Easter eggs made of granite. Nobody¡¯s complaining. If anything, they¡¯re singing while they do it¡ªsomething about hammers and mother earth, I didn¡¯t quite catch all the lyrics. I guess this is just what dwarf kids do. Meanwhile, I¡¯m just smiling like a goof. ¡°Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it¡¯s off to work we go,¡± right? Sorry, couldn¡¯t resist.


    I step into the mine and, let me tell you, something clicks. The moment I swing my pickaxe into the wall¡ªwhack!¡ªI¡¯m in love. No, not with the idea of breaking rocks for a living (though hey, beats data entry), but with the way the stone¡­ responds. It¡¯s like I can see these faint lines of energy running through the rock. Imagine neon circuits hidden behind gray stone, glowing softly whenever metal strikes mineral. Every time I hit the wall, these lines shimmer and shift, like I¡¯m rewriting the code of the earth itself.


    And that¡¯s when I get this brilliant idea. What if I could guide those lines of energy, channel them somehow? Maybe if I just¡­ focus. Whack! Another swing. I concentrate on the shimmer, trying to tug it one way or another. Before I know it, I¡¯m shaping the stone, making it give way where I want. This is better than any VR game I ever played, and I¡¯m crushing it in real life. Bonus: no lag.


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    But here¡¯s the catch¡ªturns out using magic, or mana, or dwarven earth mojo, or whatever we¡¯re calling it, isn¡¯t exactly free. After a few more swings, I¡¯m feeling lightheaded. Another swing, and I suddenly can¡¯t breathe right. It¡¯s like I¡¯ve blown a fuse in my own brain. My knees go wobbly and I faceplant into a pile of rock dust, gasping like I just ran a marathon uphill, in the snow, both ways.


    My dad, who¡¯s apparently got the classic Dad Radar¡ªable to sense when his kid is about to keel over¡ªrushes over. He scoops me up and hauls me out of there. I¡¯m vaguely aware of other dwarf kids staring, probably thinking ¡°Rookie move, new guy.¡± Whatever. I¡¯m too busy trying to remember how to get oxygen into my lungs.


    Next thing I know, I¡¯m at the local shaman¡¯s hut. The shaman¡¯s a dwarf with too many beads in his beard and a vibe like he¡¯s been sniffing weird mushrooms. He checks me over, mumbling and humming tunelessly. Then he announces, with great drama, ¡°This lad¡¯s got a knack for earthen magic!¡± as if that¡¯s not totally obvious after I just Hulk-smashed the mana inside a cave wall.


    He says it¡¯s rare for someone my age to tap into these powers so naturally. Most dwarves my age are still figuring out how to tie their own belts (hey, those buckles are complicated), let alone rewrite the bedrock¡¯s structural integrity. The shaman gives me a gentle smile, like I¡¯m some prodigy. My dad¡¯s chest puffs up with pride. I¡¯m just relieved I¡¯m not about to keel over again.


    So, to recap: I realized I¡¯m a dwarf, got sent to the mines at five years old, discovered I can see and manipulate magical energy in rocks, promptly crashed and burned from mana-overuse, and got diagnosed as a prodigy by the local mystical professional.


    Honestly, it¡¯s been a pretty eventful morning. Now I¡¯m back home, sipping on some weird herbal tea that the shaman swears helps with ¡°mana stability.¡± Tastes like moss, but if it keeps me from faceplanting again, I¡¯ll deal. Besides, I can¡¯t help feeling excited. If I can learn to handle this power, maybe I can carve my own niche in this world. No pun intended. Well, maybe a little.


    Welcome to my new life. It¡¯s got magic rocks, pickaxes, and no OSHA regulations in sight. And you know what? I think I¡¯m cool with that.

 Chapter 3 Start of My Training

    I¡¯ve never seen a dwarf with such a spectacular ¡°resting grump face¡± as Master Borduk Ironbraid. He¡¯s got this long, silvery beard tied in about ten knots, bushy eyebrows that practically form a unibrow, and a scowl so deep it could double as a pickaxe groove. My dad told me Borduk was ¡°the best in the village¡± when it came to magical training¡ªhe just forgot to mention that ¡°the best¡± also equated to ¡°the grumpiest.¡±


    Anyway, Dad dragged me (I¡¯m Gromli Flintfoot, in case anyone¡¯s wondering) right to Borduk¡¯s stone hut at dawn. I¡¯m still half-asleep, carrying a small breakfast roll I hoped to eat in peace, but no such luck. The old dwarf snatches it from my hand, sniffs at it like it might explode, then grunts and hands it back.


    ¡°Eat faster, lad,¡± he growls, ¡°we¡¯ve got work to do.¡±


    So that¡¯s how my training began.


    Turns out, the reason I passed out in the mines was pretty straightforward: I¡¯d tried to channel way more earth magic than my ¡°mana core¡± could handle. I¡¯m still not 100% sure what a mana core actually is¡ªsomewhere between an internal battery and a mystical soul-lung, apparently. But hey, I¡¯m five years old. Let¡¯s cut me some slack.


    According to Borduk, every living thing has a capacity for mana, but dwarves like me are a bit special because we¡¯ve got an affinity for earth magic. The only catch is we usually take years to learn how to properly store and direct the energy. Of course, I had to be the outlier who discovered a shortcut on day one and nearly face-planted into a lifetime supply of rock dust.


    ¡°First lesson,¡± Borduk says, tapping a chalkboard with a stubby piece of coal, ¡°infuse your core. Slowly. Don¡¯t go swinging pickaxes at walls before you¡¯re ready.¡±


    He shows me this breathing exercise that¡¯s part meditation, part ear-wiggling (kidding¡­mostly). I¡¯m supposed to close my eyes, picture the earth¡¯s energy flowing around me in shimmering lines, and then let a little bit in at a time. But trust me, ¡°a little bit¡± is trickier than it sounds. It¡¯s like sipping from a firehose¡ªjust because you only want a drop doesn¡¯t mean you won¡¯t get blasted in the face.


    Still, I give it my best shot. I focus on the stone beneath my feet, the tickle of mana swirling in the air, and attempt to coax just a sliver of that power into my center. My heart flutters, my chest tingles, and I can feel something warm and heavy settling in my gut¡ªlike I swallowed a small, cozy boulder. Next thing I know, Borduk¡¯s nodding, which for him probably counts as a standing ovation.


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    ¡°Not bad, lad,¡± he concedes, trying (and failing) to hide the faintest hint of pride. ¡°Keep at it. You¡¯ve got potential, even if your technique¡¯s greener than moss.¡±


    When the whole ¡°mana infusion¡± thing gets too weird, Borduk shifts gears to runes. Now, if you thought a language class was tough, wait until you see dwarven runes. They look like someone tried to play tic-tac-toe with a drunken spider. Each symbol connects to a magical concept¡ªlike earth, fire, wind, or more obscure stuff like ¡°binding¡± or ¡°sharpening.¡±


    ¡°These glyphs allow you to control the arcane flow,¡± Borduk explains, pointing at a particularly squiggly rune. ¡°Draw it right, and you can channel the magic you store in your core without blowing your eyebrows off.¡±


    Let¡¯s be honest: I¡¯m used to scribbling with crayons. Now I¡¯m trying to carve intricate shapes into a slate tablet with a stylus that has zero grip. It¡¯s about as graceful as a baby giraffe on roller skates. Borduk stands behind me, muttering corrections in a voice that¡¯s half-muffled by his massive beard.


    ¡°No, no¡ªtilt the stylus just so. Add a tail here, an extra curve there. One misstroke, and you¡¯ll just draw a symbol for goat cheese.¡±


    In fairness, goat cheese runes might come in handy if I ever want to open a tavern. But for now, I focus on the real spells, scrawling half a dozen practice glyphs until they look¡­ well, not perfect, but passable enough that Borduk doesn¡¯t confiscate my stylus.


    After hours of this, my hand¡¯s cramping and my eyes are sore, but I¡¯m also buzzing with excitement. I can already feel a difference in how the mana flows through me¡ªlike I¡¯m learning to handle it instead of drowning in it. Granted, I¡¯m nowhere near ready to single-handedly carve a mountain, but hey, baby steps. I¡¯d rather not repeat my earlier faceplant fiasco.


    Eventually, Borduk sends me off with homework: more breathing drills, more rune practice, and a stern warning not to ¡°play around¡± with earthen magic unsupervised. Knowing me, I¡¯ll probably push my luck at some point, but for now I¡¯m too tired to do anything but nod.


    I trudge home, toolbelt jangling around my waist, and find Dad waiting with a big grin and a pot of stew. He doesn¡¯t say much¡ªjust pats me on the head and serves me a heaping bowl, but I can see he¡¯s proud. Maybe dwarven life isn¡¯t so bad after all.


    So that¡¯s the start of my training. I¡¯m learning how to keep my mana from short-circuiting my small body, discovering the arcane cheat-sheet known as runes, and apparently making Grumpy McGrumperton proud (in his own grouchy way). Sure, it¡¯s not exactly the childhood I imagined back when I was flipping through TV channels in my old life, but it¡¯s weirdly satisfying. Who knows? Maybe someday, I¡¯ll be the legendary dwarven mage I never realized I wanted to become.


    Just as long as I don¡¯t pass out in a pile of rocks again. Let¡¯s avoid that.

 Chapter 4 Hammer Goes Bonk

    So here I am, Gromli Flintfoot, banned from the mines until further notice¡ªcourtesy of that tiny little incident where I tried to reshape half a cavern¡¯s worth of rock and nearly turned myself into a geological pancake. Fair enough. It¡¯s probably safer to practice on the surface anyway, where I can¡¯t accidentally bury myself alive.


    But does that mean I get a break? Of course not. Master Borduk Ironbraid (hereafter referred to as ¡°the grumpiest rock guru in existence¡±) sets me up in a little clearing outside the village, hands me a hammer that¡¯s only slightly less chunky than he is, and points at a pile of small stones.


    ¡°Break ¡¯em,¡± he growls, in that voice that sounds like gravel under a wagon wheel, ¡°but try to do it with your magic. Safely.¡±


    The logic is, if I can carefully manipulate the mana matrix in a pebble, I won¡¯t risk collapsing an entire mineshaft on my head. Win-win, right? So, bright-eyed and bushy-bearded (metaphorically, I¡¯m still a kid, so my ¡°beard¡± is more like hopeful fuzz), I get to work.


    My job: take little rocks, turn them into even littler rocks. Not exactly the heroic quest I dreamed of, but hey, I¡¯m a dwarf. Breaking rocks is apparently in the blood. I set the first stone on a flat surface, raise my hammer, and gently tap it. Bonk. Nothing special happens¡ªjust a small chip. So I push a bit of mana into my arms, focus on the stone¡¯s matrix, and try again. Bonk. Another chip.


    This goes on for a while. Bonk. Chip. Bonk. Chip. Groundbreaking stuff, I know. But then I notice something weird: the mana lines inside the stone start to wiggle each time my hammer strikes. With every hit, the flow shifts in a slightly different pattern. It¡¯s like some cosmic light show in miniature.


    I get curious (dangerous pastime, I know) and start messing with the tempo of my strikes. Instead of a steady thunk-thunk-thunk, I try something like a little syncopated groove. Bum bum bum¡­ bum ba bum. Don¡¯t judge¡ªI was bored, okay?


    ¡°Huh,¡± I mumble as I watch the mana lines respond. ¡°So if I add some funky beats, the matrix dances differently¡­¡±


    Suddenly, it clicks: maybe I can shape the rock through rhythm. I mean, if dwarven runes are all about channeling energy, maybe a dwarven drum solo can do the same thing. Worth a shot.


    I start tapping out a pattern on the stone, letting the mana lines ripple in time with the beat. Bum bum bum. Hammer goes bonk, the stone shifts. Bum ba bum. Hammer goes bonk again, chips flake off in neat little shards. The more I focus on aligning my mana with the rhythm, the cleaner the stone¡¯s shape becomes. Before I know it, I¡¯ve transformed a jagged lump of rock into a near-perfect sphere.


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    I stare at my newly minted rocky basketball, super proud of myself. ¡°Holy crap, I just invented Dwarven Karaoke for Rocks,¡± I think. Because obviously I¡¯m the first dwarf in history to do this¡ªat least in my own mind. (Don¡¯t quote me on that; there¡¯s probably some centuries-old dwarven legend about a rhythmic blacksmith. But hey, I¡¯ll take my fleeting ego boost.)


    The best part? It¡¯s fun. I crank out spherical rock after spherical rock, humming to myself while hammering away, losing track of time. I start to imagine dwarven line dances, big halls full of dwarves banging out perfect stone shapes to the beat of a drum circle¡ªyeah, maybe I¡¯m getting a little carried away, but come on, it¡¯s way cooler than just ¡°bonk, chip, done.¡±


    Naturally, that¡¯s when Master Borduk decides to appear, arms folded, eyebrows knit together like two angry caterpillars. He surveys the scattered spheres around me¡ªdozens of them¡ªand I can practically see the question marks floating above his head.


    ¡°What in the hell are you doing?¡± he barks.


    I grin, chest puffed out in triumph. ¡°Making rocks!¡± I exclaim proudly, holding up a flawless stone orb like I¡¯ve just discovered the key to immortality.


    Borduk¡¯s face twists into a scowl so intense, I¡¯m pretty sure it could turn coal into diamonds. He presses a gnarled hand over his face and lets out a deep, world-weary sigh.


    ¡°Aye, I can see you¡¯re making rocks, but who told ye to craft a set of perfect stone balls? You¡¯re supposed to be learning fine control, not¡­ organizing a dwarven bowling league!¡±


    He actually says that, word for word, which only makes me more excited about the idea of dwarven bowling. But I keep that to myself because I have a hunch he might explode if I suggest it.


    I¡¯m standing there with my little stone orbs lined up like trophies, feeling like I¡¯ve just invented a new form of dwarven art. Borduk, on the other hand, looks like he¡¯s contemplating how many ways to bury me in said spheres. Eventually, he uncovers his face and shoots me the stern lecture I was expecting.


    ¡°Listen well, lad. Rhythm or no rhythm, you¡¯ve got to learn how to direct mana carefully¡ªwithout burning through your reserves. Next time, focus on the fundamentals. Understand?¡±


    I nod, though I can¡¯t help feeling a tiny bit of pride in my spherical accomplishments. Sure, maybe it¡¯s not the conventional method, but I am mastering the control of earth magic, right?


    Borduk grudgingly relents and pats one of the spheres.


    ¡°I¡¯ll admit,¡± he growls softly, ¡°they¡¯re¡­ decent. But don¡¯t go turning the entire forest into round stones, hear me?¡±


    I beam at that half-compliment. For a moment, I can almost feel the corners of his mouth twitch¡ªlike maybe, just maybe, he was impressed. Then, of course, the scowl returns.


    So that¡¯s my day in a nutshell: prohibited from the mines, relegated to surface-level rock smashing, and accidentally discovering that a little musical flair can turn me into a dwarven Michelangelo. Sure, Master Borduk isn¡¯t exactly thrilled about my improvisational methods, but I¡¯m learning heaps about controlling mana. And frankly, these stone spheres are kinda rad. Maybe I¡¯ll open an avant-garde dwarven art gallery someday.


    But first, I¡¯ve gotta survive Borduk¡¯s training¡ªand maybe avoid covering the entire mountainside in perfect spheres. Baby steps. Or dwarven steps, anyway.


    Hammer goes bonk.

 Chapter 05 – Hammer Goes Bonk on Things That Ain’t Rocks

    Life as Gromli Flintfoot wasn¡¯t too complicated these days: smash rocks, gather mana, learn runes, eat stew, repeat. Honestly, I wasn¡¯t complaining. Dwarves love routine¡ªsomething about hitting the same rock over and over is weirdly satisfying.


    Still, after all my time making perfect stone spheres, I started to wonder: What else can I bonk? If a hammer could turn lumps of stone into spherical masterpieces, maybe it could do something equally cool with¡­ well, other stuff.


    So there I was, wandering around the edge of town, humming the same rhythmic tune I¡¯d been using on my rock-breaking sessions. Nothing fancy¡ªjust a little ¡°bum ba bum¡± that made me feel like I was orchestrating a one-dwarf parade. Then I stumbled upon a pile of old rusty tools behind the smithy. They looked like they¡¯d been sitting there longer than Master Borduk¡¯s scowl.


    Naturally, as a dwarven kid with a hammer fetish (strictly creative, I promise), I thought, Hey, why not? I picked up the rustiest shovel in the bunch, gave it a test swing¡ªBonk!


    Rust flaked off in a satisfying shower of orange powder. Intrigued, I gave it another whack¡ªBonk!¡ªand sure enough, more rust peeled off. I couldn¡¯t help it; I giggled like a little kid popping bubble wrap. The shovel¡¯s metal was starting to show through underneath.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s interesting,¡± I muttered. ¡°Did I just¡­ polish this thing with a hammer?¡±


    I looked around to make sure nobody was watching, then went to town on the entire pile of tools. Hammer here, hammer there, adjusting my mana flow in tiny increments so I didn¡¯t accidentally reduce them all to metal confetti.


    I felt my mana stirring just like it did with the rocks, except this time there was no earthy hum. Instead, it felt more like a gentle tug, pulling the corrosion away from the metal. The hammer glowed faintly¡ªonly for a moment¡ªand I could sense a slight draw on my reserves with each swing. It wasn¡¯t as draining as shaping boulders, but it definitely took some energy.


    One by one, the tools transformed under my hammer: sickles, axes, chisels¡ªstuff that must have been used back when my dad was in diapers. The rust chipped away until I found myself holding a small stash of (mostly) restored implements. My dwarven heart skipped a beat. I just restored tools by smacking them with a hammer. If that¡¯s not the most dwarven sentence ever, I don¡¯t know what is.


    I laid them all out in a neat row. They weren¡¯t brand-new exactly¡ªsome still had the occasional dent¡ªbut they were definitely functional again. I felt an odd surge of pride, like I¡¯d done something more than just bonk metal. Am I forging now? Or am I just cleaning in the most aggressive way possible? Either way, it was kinda cool.


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    Of course, my private victory party couldn¡¯t last forever. Just as I was admiring my handiwork, guess who showed up? Yep, Master Borduk Ironbraid¡ªthe big dwarf of the day, same as always.


    ¡°What in the wide cavern are ye doing, lad?¡±


    He was glaring at my little row of ex-rusted tools.


    I gave him my best innocent grin, which never works because I¡¯m about as subtle as a bright pink pickaxe.


    ¡°Uh¡­ cleaning?¡± I ventured. ¡°Found these old tools, started bonking ¡¯em with my hammer, and well¡ªlook!¡±


    I proudly gestured to the shiny implements. To my surprise, Borduk¡¯s scowl softened just a smidge, though he did that classic dwarven facepalm again¡ªthe one that screams this kid is trouble, but I can¡¯t deny he¡¯s talented.


    ¡°Aye, ye ¡®bonked¡¯ them, did ye?¡± he repeated, eyebrows raised. ¡°I see yer hammer¡¯s been drawin¡¯ on yer mana. Seems you¡¯re forcibly re-channeling the metal¡¯s structure¡­ or some such nonsense.¡±


    He paused, as if he didn¡¯t quite know whether to be proud or furious.


    ¡°At least ye didn¡¯t break anything,¡± he finally said, which might be the highest praise I¡¯ve gotten so far.


    Just then, the dwarf who owned the smithy came out, presumably drawn by the racket. His beard was dark and greasy, and he looked about as amused as a dragon with a toothache.


    ¡°What in the name of Thrangul Rockbeard are ye doing out here?¡± he yelled.


    I flashed him a mischievous grin. ¡°Gimme money, man,¡± I said, tapping a newly de-rusted shovel with my hammer.


    The old geezer threw his head back and barked a laugh.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t paying ye fer shit, you little ankle-biter. I didn¡¯t ask ye to mess with me stuff.¡±


    My grin stretched even wider.


    ¡°You misunderstand. Gimme money, or I¡¯ll go around town fixing everything fer free. Looks like you¡¯ve got a lot of customers with things to mend and repair. Would be a shame if something were to happen to them, right?¡±


    The smithy dwarf¡¯s amusement drained off his face faster than ale from a leaky keg. He stood there, jaw set, and gave Master Borduk a wary look.


    ¡°The wee one is a born merchant, isn¡¯t he?¡± he muttered.


    Master Borduk just looked back at him, face unreadable¡ªand for once, he didn¡¯t say a word.


    ¡°So what is it going to be, old man?¡± I asked the blacksmith, holding my hammer over my shoulder. ¡°My da says I should get paid for doing what I enjoy.¡±


    The blacksmith let out a long, weary sigh, then introduced himself with a grumble. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll pay you, but I want you to work for me. You seem to have a knack for knocking the rust off things.¡±


    I shrugged, trying to look casual. ¡°That¡¯s something you have to work out with Master Borduk,¡± I said, jerking my chin in the direction of my teacher. ¡°He¡¯s the one making sure I don¡¯t smash my own head in with this hammer.¡±


    Master Borduk eyed the blacksmith in silence, still wearing that same grumpy expression. The smith, who was easily twice my height and three times my width, didn¡¯t look too thrilled about having to negotiate with Borduk. I stood there, rocking on my heels, wondering if this meant I¡¯d stumbled into my first real job¡ªor if it was going to blow up in my face.


    Either way, I couldn¡¯t wipe the grin off my lips. I mean, who wouldn¡¯t be excited to make a living by hammering stuff? If that¡¯s not peak dwarf, I don¡¯t know what is.

 Chapter 06 - Time Passes

    That¡¯s how most of my childhood flew by: smashing rocks, practicing runes, restoring rusted tools, and occasionally pushing Master Borduk¡¯s patience to its very limits. When I wasn¡¯t bonking something in the name of dwarven craftsmanship, I was learning more about mana control and runic theory. Time passed in a blur, as time often does, and before I knew it, I was ten years old.


    One evening, my parents sat me down for a serious conversation. I could tell by the way they kept exchanging glances that something big was coming. Finally, my father cleared his throat.


    ¡°Gromli, Master Borduk says you¡¯ve gone about as far as he can take you alone,¡± he said. ¡°He thinks there¡¯s more to magic than just what we dwarves can teach. He¡¯s recommended you for a special academy.¡±


    A tingle of excitement raced through me. A special academy? That sounded like the kind of place where legendary heroes might learn lightning bolts and summon mythical creatures. But then my mother added a dose of practicality.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be away from home for a while,¡± she explained softly. ¡°It won¡¯t be easy, and it won¡¯t just be dwarves there. You¡¯ll be with humans, elves, maybe even¡­ orcs.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help raising an eyebrow. Orcs? I didn¡¯t even know they did magic, though I guessed anyone could learn something if they put their mind to it. Still, I was torn between excitement at the idea of broadening my horizons and apprehension at more schooling. I mean, nobody jumps for joy at the thought of classes and homework, right?


    But this was a chance I couldn¡¯t pass up. ¡°Well,¡± I said with a shrug, ¡°if Master Borduk thinks it¡¯s worth it, I guess it can¡¯t be that bad. Besides, maybe I¡¯ll learn some neat tricks to make my hammer-bonking even cooler.¡±


    My parents exchanged a small, relieved smile. ¡°We¡¯ll help you pack,¡± my dad said. ¡°You¡¯ll leave in a few weeks. Best start getting ready.¡±


    I nodded, feeling a jumble of nerves and excitement swirling in my gut. More school wasn¡¯t exactly my dream, but I¡¯d be lying if I said I wasn¡¯t stoked to see what else magic could do. I went to bed that night with visions of strange runes, unfamiliar chants, and entire libraries of arcane knowledge dancing through my head. Some dwarves might¡¯ve been content staying home in a cozy mine, but apparently, my path was about to lead me well beyond it. And I couldn¡¯t wait to see what I¡¯d learn.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Time passed in a blur. One moment, I was at home, stuffing my bag with spare clothes and half-finished runes; the next, I was cramped on a lurching coach heading west with Master Borduk by my side. Two weeks had slipped by faster than I could blink, and now the sun glinted off the distant hills as we rattled along.


    My destination was Stoneharp College of the Arcane. According to Master Borduk, it was founded centuries ago by a group of scholars¡ªdwarves, elves, and humans alike¡ªwho believed that magic should be studied as a universal craft. Over time, the college expanded from a modest tower into a sprawling campus of stone buildings and winding courtyards, perched on a high cliff overlooking the Greenvale River. Supposedly, you could stand at the edge of the main courtyard and hear the echo of your own voice off the cliffs, like a harp plucked by the winds.


    The college had a reputation for accepting anyone with a spark of arcane talent, be they dwarf, elf, human, or otherwise. Alumni stories ranged from legendary mages who helped tame dragons to humble village hedge-wizards who specialized in healing crops. In other words, Stoneharp was the place to be if you wanted to learn more than just the basics. It was my chance to see what magic could do outside the safety of dwarven mines and smithies.


    As the coach rumbled on, Master Borduk peered out the window, then turned to me with a grunt. ¡°Don¡¯t get too starry-eyed, lad,¡± he said. ¡°It might be a fancy college, but you¡¯ll still have to work for it.¡±


    I nodded, clenching my fists in excitement and nerves. ¡°I know, Master Borduk. But if it¡¯s half as interesting as you say, it¡¯ll be worth all the effort. Besides¡­¡± I allowed myself a small grin, ¡°if they have a forge, maybe I¡¯ll still get to bonk stuff now and then.¡±


    Master Borduk snorted. ¡°Trust me, if Stoneharp doesn¡¯t have a forge, I¡¯ll install one myself,¡± he said, though I couldn¡¯t tell if he was joking or not.


    The roads stretched on, and the coach wheels kicked up dust, but I hardly noticed. My thoughts were already wandering the halls of Stoneharp, imagining grand libraries full of scrolls on elemental theory, massive lecture rooms where spells were cast for demonstration, and courtyard duels where students tested their mettle¡ªpossibly literally. I didn¡¯t know exactly what I was getting into, but the prospect of it made my heart thump with excitement.


    Soon enough, the silhouette of a tall spire appeared on the horizon. My stomach fluttered. I took a deep breath, bracing myself for this new chapter of my life. Master Borduk shot me a sideways glance, almost like he was assessing if I was ready. I gave him a firm nod. Maybe I didn¡¯t know the first thing about advanced magic, but I was more than willing to learn.


    The driver yelled that we¡¯d be there in a few hours. I settled back against the worn seat, letting the gentle sway of the coach lull me into a daydream of runes, hammers, and the endless possibilities awaiting me at Stoneharp College of the Arcane.

 Chapter 07

    Now that I was officially enrolled at Stoneharp College, I found myself face to face with my old nemesis: Paperwork. Honestly, why did I never consider there¡¯d be forms, agreements, and pages upon pages of disclaimers? It felt like half my energy was spent signing my name or thumbprinting some magical contract. Master Borduk was there too, pretending to grumble about the process, but I could tell he was secretly making sure I didn¡¯t run off in frustration.


    ¡°Alright, Gromli,¡± he said once we finally cleared the admissions desk. ¡°There¡¯s an aptitude test coming up. You should do fine.¡±


    He explained that the test was in the form of a small tournament. Three categories were available: Crafting, Casting, and Fighting. I didn¡¯t have to compete in them all, but participating in at least one would help the instructors see where my strengths lay. Apparently, they¡¯d use the results to figure out which courses I should take to hone my magic.


    ¡°Just pick one,¡± Master Borduk advised, ¡°and show them what you can do. No need to overdo it.¡±


    I nodded, filing away mental notes on how I might impress them in Crafting, because hey, that¡¯s basically what I¡¯d been doing all my life¡ªturning rocks into spheres, knocking rust off old tools, and messing with mana lines.


    Then I asked the big question. ¡°So, who¡¯s paying for this? Because I definitely don¡¯t have the gold for fancy college tuition.¡±


    Master Borduk gave me one of his rare smiles. ¡°That¡¯s already taken care of. Remember the blacksmith back home? The one you nearly put out of business?¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Dargrim Stonehand? No kidding?¡±


    ¡°He was so eager to make sure you didn¡¯t keep stealing his customers that he paid your fees,¡± Master Borduk said with a chuckle. ¡°Guess he figured it was cheaper than watching you siphon away all his business.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but grin. I guess old Dargrim really did like me in his own grumpy way, or at least he respected my hammer-bonking enough to give me a head start. Either way, I wasn¡¯t about to complain. My path at Stoneharp was officially set, and soon I¡¯d be testing my skills in front of who knew how many mages, knights, and craftspeople.


    Suddenly, all that paperwork didn¡¯t seem so bad. Sure, I¡¯d have to endure a few more quill-pen scrawls, but after that came the fun part¡ªshowing everyone just what a little dwarf with a big hammer could do.


    I had a sudden thought. ¡°Are all the other kids in this tournament around the same age?¡± I asked, trying to imagine what competing against older students would be like.


    Master Borduk shrugged. ¡°Aye, most of them¡¯ll be about your age.¡±


    I grinned. ¡°Great. I think I¡¯ll enter Crafting and Fighting. That sounds like fun.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Well, Crafting makes sense for you. Why Fighting, though? You haven¡¯t done much of that.¡±


    I flashed a mischievous smile. ¡°I mean, how hard could it be to hit a ten-year-old with a hammer?¡±


    Master Borduk burst out laughing, then shook his head. ¡°You do realize they¡¯ll be trying to hit you back, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I admitted, ¡°but at least I know I¡¯ll have fun trying.¡±


    He just sighed, ruffled my hair, and muttered something about dwarves and overconfidence. I could tell, though, that behind his gruff exterior, he was at least a little proud of my eagerness. I might¡¯ve just arrived, but I was ready to show Stoneharp what a dwarf with a hammer could do.


    Master Borduk helped me register for the two competitions. The crafting event would be held before the fighting tournament, probably so anyone injured in the brawls wouldn¡¯t miss out on showcasing their other skills.


    The crafting competition took place in a large open-air pavilion, a grand tent reminiscent of a world¡¯s fair exhibit. A sizable crowd had gathered, buzzing with anticipation. An elf on the podium welcomed us, instructing everyone to provide a sample of their work.


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    I raised my hand, asking how I was supposed to demonstrate my repair abilities. Master Borduk just patted my shoulder and said it would be fine.


    I waited at a crafting station until a trio of judges approached: a dwarf who seemed to know Master Borduk, a harpy with white-and-black speckled feathers, and a kindly looking elf lady. The dwarf greeted Master Borduk with a gruff, ¡°This yer student, Bordy?¡± to which Master Borduk responded with a nod.


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s get to it,¡± the dwarf said, turning to me.


    I took a deep breath. ¡°Thank you for your time and attention. I repair stuff with my hammer, and I have a few broken items here I can fix.¡± I gestured to the pile Master Borduk had brought. ¡°Do you want to pick one, or do you have something else you¡¯d like me to repair?¡±


    The elf lady shook her head. ¡°No, go right ahead.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± I said, selecting a rusty, chipped sword. I moved over to the anvil and began gathering mana in my core, circulating it carefully. With my mana senses, I could feel the metal¡¯s shape and imperfections. Then I started my percussive maintenance routine.


    Bonk, bonk, bonk.


    Each hammer strike caused the sword to glow with a faint, rhythmic light. Bit by bit, the rust and chips flaked away, the blade regaining a lustrous sheen until it was almost as good as new.


    I held the sword up to the sunlight, letting its polished surface catch the rays. The dwarf who had gone to school with Master Borduk¡ªDurgran Stonehelm¡ªstepped forward for a closer look. He had broad shoulders and a thick, copper-colored beard braided into several loops.


    ¡°That¡¯s pretty neat, kid,¡± he said, tapping the sword¡¯s edge lightly with a calloused thumb. ¡°What else can you do?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°Well, I can break down big rocks into smaller ones, for starters. But I also do a bit of rune crafting. Want to see?¡±


    Durgran gave a casual wave of his hand. ¡°Sure thing, kid. Show me what you¡¯ve got.¡±


    I grinned and took the sword back from him, then reached into my pouch for my rune carving tools. ¡°I¡¯m thinking of a simple air rune,¡± I said, pulling out a thin, sharp chisel and a small mallet. ¡°Something called Waedran. It channels the element of air.¡±


    I laid the sword on the anvil and took a moment to focus. First, I closed my eyes and gathered mana into my core, the same way I did when repairing metal. Next, I visualized the rune¡¯s shape in my mind: a swirling pattern reminiscent of wind currents, with a few precise notches to direct the mana flow.


    Slowly, I began engraving, tapping the chisel to form small, curved lines that overlapped like gusts of wind. Each strike had to be gentle and deliberate; too hard, and I¡¯d mar the metal. As I worked, I funneled just enough mana into the blade to ¡°bind¡± the rune to its surface. Light, airy energy crackled around my hands, and a faint breeze stirred the hair near my ears, even though there was no wind in the pavilion.


    When I finished, the rune glowed softly, its lines highlighted by a pale blue aura. I stepped back and turned the sword over so Durgran and the others could see the newly etched design.


    ¡°That¡¯s Waedran,¡± I said, wiping sweat from my brow. ¡°A simple air rune. It won¡¯t unleash a tornado, but it should make the blade lighter and easier to swing.¡±


    Durgran nodded, his expression somewhere between impressed and thoughtful. ¡°I see. That¡¯s a handy trick you¡¯ve got there, Gromli.¡±


    Master Borduk stood quietly nearby, arms folded, but I could tell from his small, approving smile that he was pleased with how far I¡¯d come.


    Master Durgran looked over the rune and grunted. ¡°What are these little flourishes here and here?¡± He tapped the extra lines I¡¯d carved.


    ¡°Oh, those.¡± I smiled. ¡°They add cool whooshing sounds when you swing the blade.¡±


    ¡°Cool whooshing sounds?¡± The elf asked. Her name was Ellarith, judging by the badge pinned to her robes.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said, nodding toward the blade. ¡°Give it a twirl.¡±


    Durgran handed the sword to Ellarith, who swished it through the air with a small flourish.


    ¡°Whoosh, whoom,¡± went the blade.


    I grinned. ¡°See? Cool whooshing noises.¡±


    Master Durgran frowned. ¡°You destabilized the runes to make the enchantment less useful, just so it makes a fancy sound?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s nothing a little upkeep won¡¯t fix. You can perform some simple maintenance in the field or bring it back to me, and I can smooth out the mana flows when they start acting up.¡±


    ¡°Uh-huh,¡± Durgran grunted skeptically.


    The harpy, Talyss, clicked her beak and chimed in. ¡°And why would you do that? Doesn¡¯t that make your product inferior if the enchantment isn¡¯t as stable as it could be?¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± I explained, setting the sword down on the anvil. ¡°All enchantments and rune engravings need upkeep from time to time. Adding the noises makes it obvious when the runes are weakening. While working in Dargrim Stonehand¡¯s smithy, I noticed that people often ignore their weapons until it¡¯s too late, or they try to patch them up constantly because most warriors can¡¯t sense magic well. No whoosh? It needs a tune-up. Still whooshing? Keep on swinging.¡±


    Ellarith tilted her head, as if reconsidering my idea. Durgran folded his arms but didn¡¯t argue further. Talyss glanced at the sword again, her white-and-black speckled feathers ruffling.


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s one way to keep folks from neglecting their gear,¡± she admitted.


    Master Borduk, who¡¯d been standing a few steps behind me, let out a soft chuckle. I wasn¡¯t sure if he was amused by my explanation or by how baffled the judges looked. Either way, I felt a small surge of pride. I might be a ten-year-old dwarf with a hammer, but at least I had my own unique spin on things. And if part of that meant cool whooshing noises, then so be it.

 Chapter 8 -The start of the fighting tournament

    I watched as the trio of judges scribbled notes on their parchment and shuffled off. My adrenaline was still pumping from my rune demonstration, but the crafting portion of the tournament was officially done, at least for me.


    ¡°What happens now?¡± I asked Master Borduk, who was hovering at my elbow.


    ¡°They¡¯ll let us know,¡± he said with a shrug. ¡°You know, I¡¯m used to your unique shenanigans, but they aren¡¯t. Making runes less magical just to get ¡®cool whooshing¡¯ noises isn¡¯t exactly going to impress them.¡±


    I gave him my best nonchalant shrug. ¡°Genius is always unrecognized in its own time.¡±


    He just smirked, shaking his head slightly. ¡°The fighting starts tomorrow. You need to report for the seeding after breakfast. Let¡¯s get you settled into your room.¡±


    I knelt down and packed away my rune tools. As I was closing the leather roll, a stray thought popped into my head. ¡°Why are you being so helpful, anyway? Don¡¯t get me wrong, I appreciate all the teaching, but traveling all the way here and showing me around seems a bit¡­ extra.¡±


    Master Borduk folded his arms. ¡°Well, this is my alma mater. And your parents were worried about you running off unsupervised. This arrangement was our compromise.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Why didn¡¯t they come themselves?¡±


    ¡°Most dwarves don¡¯t like being aboveground for too long. You know you¡¯re a weird little dwarf, right?¡± he said, eyeing me up and down.


    I snorted. ¡°Doesn¡¯t that make you a weird old dwarf in the same way?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯ve got to stick together,¡± he retorted with a faint grin. ¡°Now, let¡¯s see which dorm they¡¯ve assigned you. After that, you can go see the festivities.¡±


    ¡°I was kinda hoping there¡¯d be some elaborate ceremony with a talking hat that sorts me into a house based on my personality,¡± I joked.


    Master Borduk looked at me like I had three heads. ¡°What? That¡¯s stupid. Imagine taking the greatest wizarding minds of a generation, making them self-segregate, and teaching them they¡¯re better than everyone else. And then you do that for year after year, What do you think would happen to the ones deemed ¡®ungifted¡¯ in that scenario?¡±


    ¡°Probably start a war,¡± I admitted. ¡°You¡¯re really harshing my magical school fantasies, though.¡±


    He grunted, shaking his head again, and gestured for me to follow him. We both knew tomorrow¡¯s fighting tournament was going to be interesting¡ªmaybe even more so than the crafting portion. After all, I¡¯d never really done much formal sparring. But if I could swing a hammer, I could take a hit or two¡­ hopefully. With that thought, I hefted my pack and followed Borduk to find my dorm, feeling the nervous thrill of tomorrow¡¯s battle settle in my gut.


    Master Borduk consulted a folded parchment map, squinting at the tiny script before nodding decisively. ¡°Here we go,¡± he said, motioning for me to follow. He guided us along a wide cobblestone path that ran between two towering academic buildings, each with rows of tall windows and old, weathered stone walls.


    All around us, students darted about carrying books, scrolls, and all manner of odd magical instruments. A few nearly crashed into us, too busy chatting or looking at their own maps to notice a short dwarf and his even shorter apprentice. I was glad Master Borduk was here. For all the teasing I did about his gruff demeanor, he was dependable.


    As we walked, he began reminiscing about his days as a student. ¡°That building on the left is the Lecture Hall,¡± he said, nodding toward a structure with carved pillars flanking the entrance. ¡°Had my first lesson on rune theory in there. Ended up with my beard singed after trying to combine two runes that weren¡¯t meant to be combined. Learned a quick lesson about caution.¡±


    I chuckled, picturing a younger Master Borduk hastily patting down his smoking beard. We continued walking, passing statues of various mages and scholars. One was of a tall, slender woman in flowing robes, her hair carved to look like it was billowing in some imaginary breeze.


    ¡°She¡¯s Linera Stormcall,¡± Master Borduk explained. ¡°Legend has it she created a storm so massive it saved a city under siege, but the magic aged her thirty years overnight. That¡¯s why her statue looks older than she really was at the time.¡±


    We passed another statue of a stern-faced dwarf wearing armor and wielding an ornate warhammer. Master Borduk puffed his chest out ever so slightly. ¡°That¡¯s Borgrim Ironbeard. He helped found the college with a group of elf scholars. Used to insist that practical application was worth ten times more than theory¡ªhe¡¯d probably appreciate your hammer-smacking approach to fixing things.¡±


    I nodded, imagining Borgrim in his day, stomping around campus telling everyone to stop fussing with dusty tomes and start forging something practical. ¡°My kind of dwarf,¡± I muttered with a grin.


    Eventually, Master Borduk halted in front of a dormitory with an arching wooden door and ivy creeping across the windowsills. ¡°This place hasn¡¯t changed much,¡± he said with a quiet sort of fondness. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get you checked in.¡±


    He led me through the door, and I tried not to gawk too much at the vaulted ceilings and winding staircases. Everything felt grander and busier than my old home¡ªpeople hurrying along, the faint hum of magic in the air. Part of me was excited for the new life ahead, while another part felt a bit overwhelmed. Still, I trusted that Master Borduk, in his own cantankerous way, would see me through.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°This is where I leave you, kiddo,¡± Master Borduk said. We had stopped at a desk manned¡ªor rather, ¡°snaked¡±¡ªby a bored-looking lamia. She had long coils draped around the chair and was flipping through a stack of papers with one slender hand.


    ¡°New student?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Paperwork,¡± she said flatly, barely looking up from her pile. I guessed she had been doing this all day.


    I glanced over at Master Borduk, since I had no clue what paperwork she was talking about. He held up a packet and handed it over. ¡°Here you go, young lady.¡±


    The lamia flicked through the pages, then rang a small bell on the desk. A young orc jogged over, giving her a quick salute. ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a new one,¡± she said, nodding in my direction. ¡°Can you show him around?¡±


    ¡°Sure thing, boss,¡± the orc said. Then he turned to me with a friendly grin. ¡°Welcome to¡ªuh¡ªDorm Hall Seven,¡± he said, though it sounded like he wasn¡¯t entirely sure of the official name. ¡°I¡¯ll be your guide for the rest of the day.¡±


    The lamia looked at both of us again. ¡°We have an odd number of dwarves this year. You¡¯ll have to share a room with this guy,¡± she said, pointing at the orc. ¡°That gonna be a problem?¡±


    ¡°Should it be?¡± I asked. I wasn¡¯t sure why a dwarf and an orc sharing a room would be considered unusual. Then again, everything around here felt new and different, so maybe some people had issues with it.


    The lamia shrugged her serpentine shoulders. ¡°Some folks don¡¯t like sharing rooms with different races, but if you¡¯re good, that¡¯s that.¡± She stamped a form and handed it to the orc. ¡°Take him to the west wing, second floor, room twenty-three. Show him where everything is.¡±


    Master Borduk gave me a nod, then patted my shoulder. ¡°Guess this is where I step aside,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t cause too much trouble.¡±


    I grinned. ¡°Me, trouble? Never.¡±


    His mouth quirked into the slightest smile. ¡°Right. Take care, Gromli. Make sure you do us dwarves proud.¡± With that, he turned and headed off, leaving me alone with the orc and the lamia, and an entire world of unknown adventures waiting just around the corner.


    The orc flashed a quick grin. ¡°Name¡¯s Grok,¡± he said, extending a large, calloused hand toward me. ¡°I¡¯ve been a runner here at the college for about a year¡ªhelping new students get settled, that kind of thing.¡±


    I shook his hand. ¡°Gromli Flintfoot, freshly arrived from my dwarven village in the east,¡± I replied, returning his smile. ¡°Figured I¡¯d have some trouble finding my way around without help, so thanks for doing this.¡±


    Grok led me down a wide corridor with high, arched ceilings. Doors lined both sides, some labeled with numbers and others with various symbols that, for all I knew, could be wards or advanced runic defenses. Everywhere I looked, students bustled about¡ªelves, humans, a couple of harpies, and even a tall goat-legged satyr stomping by with a stack of books. It was a far cry from my quiet hometown.


    ¡°I saw you come in with Master Borduk,¡± Grok commented. ¡°He was teaching here when you two arrived? Or was he just escorting you?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s my mentor from back home. Taught me a lot about dwarven magic. He used to be a student here, so he figured he¡¯d help me settle in.¡±


    Grok gave a low whistle, nodding in approval. ¡°That¡¯s kind of him. You might see him around campus every now and then. Alumni like to visit once in a while.¡±


    He showed me the hallway leading to the dining hall, where the scent of fresh bread and sizzling meats drifted out. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn¡¯t eaten since breakfast. Grok chuckled, overhearing the growl.


    ¡°Lunch rush¡¯ll be over soon,¡± he said, ¡°so we can swing by later if you want to avoid the crowd. Or you can dive right in, though it might be shoulder-to-shoulder in there.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll wait,¡± I said, patting my belly. ¡°Need to see my room first.¡±


    We continued along, turning a corner into another wing. The architecture varied slightly here¡ªless ornate, with fewer decorations and more straightforward stone walls. Grok mentioned this dorm was reserved for first-year students, so nobody felt overwhelmed by the showier dorms in the older parts of campus.


    ¡°You said you¡¯re a runner?¡± I asked, curious about his job.


    ¡°Yeah, I help out with deliveries, errands, and guiding new folks,¡± he explained, gesturing to a few packages tucked under his arm. ¡°Between classes, I pick up tasks from the staff. If you ever need to know where something is¡ªor how to avoid something¡ªI¡¯m your orc.¡±


    I chuckled at that. ¡°Thanks, I¡¯ll keep it in mind.¡±


    Before long, we stopped at a sturdy wooden door with the number twenty-three etched neatly above the handle. Grok jostled a ring of keys until he found the right one, then pushed the door open to reveal a modest but comfortable-looking room. There were two beds, two desks, and a small trunk at the foot of each bed for storage.


    ¡°Home sweet home,¡± Grok said. ¡°At least for a while.¡±


    I nodded, stepping inside. The space was bigger than I expected, with a small window letting in a warm stream of afternoon light. Not bad for a shared room at a sprawling magical college.


    Grok dropped off the packages he¡¯d been carrying near his bed, then turned to me. ¡°Feel free to unpack, then I can show you around a bit more, or you can explore on your own. Fighting tournament¡¯s tomorrow, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said, flopping onto the bed that clearly wasn¡¯t Grok¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯ll need to get my gear ready, but a quick tour would be great. Thanks again for helping me settle in.¡±


    He waved off the gratitude. ¡°No problem. We might be rooming together, but I promise I won¡¯t hog the entire closet. I¡¯ve just got a few sets of clothes and some training gear.¡±


    I shot him a grin. ¡°Long as you don¡¯t mind me clanging around with a hammer at odd hours, we¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Grok chuckled. ¡°We¡¯ll work something out.¡±


    With that, I started emptying my pack, wondering what the fighting tournament would be like¡ªand whether my new roommate might end up a friend or a rival. One thing was certain: life at Stoneharp College was about to get even more interesting.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a first year as well?¡± I asked, tilting my head at Grok. ¡°Why do you know the college so well?¡±


    He looked a little sheepish. ¡°My family didn¡¯t have the funds to pay for everything, and my talent in magic is only marginal. I had to take a job here so I could afford tuition. I¡¯ve already been on campus for a couple of months, running errands and helping new arrivals. I¡¯m really looking forward to actually starting classes, though.¡±


    I nodded slowly, thinking about how different our situations were. I had a blacksmith footing my bill¡ªand even that was more a matter of convenience for him than charity¡ªwhile Grok was working hard just to catch a break. It seemed we both had our own quirks that brought us to Stoneharp, and I couldn¡¯t help but feel a hint of respect for him.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said, ¡°I guess you¡¯ll be something of an expert by the time the rest of the first years show up.¡±


    Grok gave a small laugh. ¡°I¡¯ve got the layout memorized, if that¡¯s what you mean. Hopefully, that¡¯ll free me up to concentrate on the learning part.¡±


    I grinned. ¡°You¡¯ll do fine. And if you ever need a little help with runes or hammer-related stuff, I¡¯m your dwarf.¡±


    He gave me a curious look but didn¡¯t comment, probably still a bit puzzled by the idea of a dwarf who thought hitting things with a hammer was a valid magical practice. I shrugged it off, feeling that this was a decent start to our roommate dynamic. If nothing else, we both knew our way around hard work.

 Chapter 09 - We go down for dinner

    Grok and I headed downstairs, back to the cafeteria. My stomach had been in knots earlier, mostly from excitement, but the moment we stepped inside and caught the mouthwatering smells¡ªroasted meats, freshly baked bread, some kind of savory stew¡ªI realized I was suddenly starving.


    I paused by the doorway, taking in rows of long tables packed with chattering students of all shapes and sizes. ¡°Does the food cost money? How does it work?¡± I asked.


    Grok pointed to a serving line where a few people were dishing up hearty helpings. ¡°There¡¯s a meal plan. It¡¯s included in tuition.¡±


    ¡°Nice.¡± I grinned, already envisioning a plate piled high with whatever smelled so delicious. We joined the queue, and as we shuffled closer to the serving area, I leaned in to lower my voice. ¡°So, the fighting tournament tomorrow¡ªgot any inside info?¡±


    Grok shrugged, still scanning the options on display. ¡°Not really. They keep the details pretty hush-hush until the last minute, probably to keep folks from trying to cheat. All I know is that first years get matched up against each other in bouts. They¡¯ll split us into groups for melee, ranged, or magical duels, if that¡¯s your thing.¡±


    I nodded, picturing the chaos of a bunch of kids flailing around with swords and wands. ¡°I signed up for the fighting portion mainly because I thought it might be fun to smack people with a hammer, but I¡¯ve never really sparred. I¡¯m hoping it won¡¯t be too formal.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t be too rough, from what I¡¯ve heard,¡± Grok said. ¡°They have magical wards and healers on standby. Most injuries¡¯ll be bruises and maybe a cracked rib if you¡¯re unlucky. Nothing too permanent. Still, don¡¯t underestimate the other kids. Some have been training their whole lives.¡±


    We reached the front, where a cheerful satyr in an apron ladled something thick and meaty into our bowls. The aroma made my mouth water, and I had to resist the urge to devour it on the spot. We grabbed a couple of rough-hewn wooden cups and filled them at a water station nearby. Then we found a couple of free seats at a table near the corner of the hall.


    As we sat down, Grok leaned in again. ¡°At least you can repair weapons in a pinch¡ªmaybe that skill¡¯ll come in handy,¡± he teased. ¡°Picture it: someone¡¯s sword snaps mid-battle, and you come in with your hammer, bonk, it¡¯s magically fixed.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Might be a handy trick. Or, you know, I might get clobbered before I get the chance.¡±


    ¡°Guess we¡¯ll find out.¡± Grok grinned. ¡°For now, though, let¡¯s eat. Tomorrow¡¯s going to be a long day.¡±


    I nodded, digging into the stew. My mind raced with possibilities¡ªwho I might face in the tournament, how weird it¡¯d feel fighting people my age, whether I¡¯d end up in a magical duel instead of a weapons match. But for the moment, the delicious food demanded my full attention. Whatever happened tomorrow, at least I¡¯d face it on a full stomach.


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    Just as Grok and I settled into our seats, a trio of students approached our table, bowls and cups in hand. First was a petite harpy girl with glossy black feathers that reminded me of a crow. She gave us a shy smile before folding her wings tight against her sides to avoid knocking any dinnerware off the table. An elf girl with bright green hair slid onto the bench next to her, and finally, a lanky boy with cat-like ears¡ªhis fur the same orange shade as a ginger tabby¡ªplopped down across from me.


    ¡°Hey,¡± said the cat-eared boy, glancing around. ¡°Mind if we join? Place is packed.¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Grok answered, scooting over to make room.


    They introduced themselves one by one. The harpy girl¡¯s name was Kora, and her voice had a musical, lilting quality. The elf girl was called Leela¡ªher jade-green locks stood out even in the already-colorful crowd. The cat boy introduced himself as Tanri, scratching absently at his tufted ears as if he wasn¡¯t quite used to them yet.


    ¡°I¡¯m Gromli,¡± I said, tipping an imaginary hat in greeting. ¡°And this is Grok. We just moved in upstairs.¡±


    ¡°First years?¡± Leela asked, stirring her stew.


    Grok nodded. ¡°You too?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Kora replied softly. ¡°Heard about some big fighting tournament tomorrow. You guys going?¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help grinning. ¡°Yup. I signed up. Figured it might be fun to¡­ well, whack people with a hammer.¡±


    Tanri¡¯s ears twitched at that, and he shot me an amused look. ¡°A dwarf who enjoys hitting things with a hammer? Shocking,¡± he teased, although he sounded more playful than rude.


    Leela nudged him. ¡°Don¡¯t be mean, Tanri. You¡¯re planning on using a bow in the tournament, so you¡¯re not exactly breaking any stereotypes yourself.¡±


    Tanri laughed, holding up both hands in surrender. ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    Kora¡¯s feathers ruffled slightly as she leaned forward. ¡°I¡¯m still deciding whether to enter. Harpies aren¡¯t really known for direct combat, but I want to give it a try. Might sign up for a spell duel if that¡¯s an option.¡±


    Leela nodded, brushing a green strand of hair behind her pointed ear. ¡°I¡¯m mostly interested in the magical side too. If they have any elemental showcases, I¡¯m going to show off my plant-based spells.¡±


    I took a gulp of water and cleared my throat. ¡°Well, if you join the fighting bracket, watch out for me,¡± I joked, tapping an imaginary hammer against my palm. ¡°I can¡¯t promise I¡¯ll go easy.¡±


    ¡°That goes both ways,¡± Tanri said, flashing a grin that revealed slightly pointed canine teeth. ¡°I may not have a massive warhammer, but I¡¯ve got pretty quick reflexes.¡±


    With that, the five of us dug into our meals, chatting intermittently about which classes we¡¯d heard were good, which dorms we¡¯d ended up in, and what rumors we¡¯d picked up about Stoneharp College in general. It was a bit surreal¡ªyesterday I¡¯d been back in my village, and now I was swapping stories with a harpy, an elf, a cat-boy, and an orc in a bustling magical academy. But if anything, the strangeness made it all the more exciting.


    By the time we scraped our bowls clean, I realized I felt a whole lot more at ease. Maybe it was the hearty food, or maybe it was the new friends, but either way, I started looking forward to the tournament. Nothing like a little friendly competition to break the ice. And as for the rest of the semester? Well, if our motley crew was any sign, it was going to be a wild ride.

 Chapter 10 - The fighting tournament really starts

    I went to bed early the night before, figuring I shouldn¡¯t risk being groggy when the big day finally arrived. I slept surprisingly well, considering all my nerves about the upcoming fights. When I woke, the first gray light of dawn was filtering through the window, and Grok was still snoring away.


    I decided to let him sleep. He¡¯d find his own way down for breakfast eventually. Besides, I wasn¡¯t in the mood for a heavy meal, so I just grabbed some fruit and juice from the cafeteria to keep things light¡ªdidn¡¯t want to be sluggish once I stepped into the arena.


    That¡¯s when I spotted Kora, the black-feathered harpy girl, perched at one of the tables. She was picking at a plate of berries and looked up with a small, polite smile as I approached.


    ¡°Morning,¡± I said, sliding into the seat across from her. ¡°How are you?¡±


    ¡°Pretty good,¡± she replied. She eyed me curiously. ¡°You going to the fight today?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I answered. ¡°I signed up for the melee bracket. How about you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to do the magic duel,¡± she said, fluffing her feathers a bit. ¡°I can¡¯t exactly brawl with a sword, but I¡¯ve been practicing my elemental spells.¡±


    ¡°Mind if I walk with you?¡± I asked, biting into a crisp apple. ¡°I don¡¯t actually know where the arena is.¡±


    She laughed lightly. ¡°Sure. It¡¯s not too far from the main quad, but the hallways around here can get confusing. I scoped it out yesterday after dinner.¡±


    I nodded, finishing off the apple and wiping my mouth. ¡°Perfect. Let me just drop this off, then I¡¯ll tag along. Any chance you have a map or¡­?¡±


    ¡°Map? Nah, I just remember the way,¡± Kora said, tapping her temple. ¡°Follow me. We can check in for our events, and maybe you¡¯ll get a chance to warm up a bit before your match.¡±


    My stomach did a little nervous flip at the thought of facing off against strangers with who-knows-what kind of training, but I forced a confident grin. ¡°Sounds good. Let¡¯s do this.¡±


    We got up from the table, and I quickly bused my dishes. The morning sun was brighter now, streaming through tall windows as we headed out of the dining hall. Somewhere inside me, excitement warred with nerves, but the promise of a good fight¡ªand some new friends¡ªkept me moving forward. Kora led the way, and I did my best to keep up, ready to see just what this tournament had in store for both of us.


    We reached the arena, and I nearly stopped in my tracks to take in the sheer scale of the place. Rows upon rows of stone benches rose high above a massive dirt-floored pit, and people were already filling the stands, chatting excitedly. Off to one side, I saw a sign directing participants to different areas¡ªone for melee, one for magic duels, and another for ranged combat. Kora gave me a little wave and headed off toward the magic section, wishing me luck before she disappeared into the crowd.


    I glanced around, half expecting to see Master Borduk looming somewhere with that trademark scowl of his, but he was nowhere in sight. Probably off in the stands, I thought, where he could quietly judge my performance without having to listen to my back talk. Shrugging, I headed to the melee line.


    There must have been two dozen people in line ahead of me, each waiting to get checked in. An older human man sat behind a rickety table, looking like he¡¯d been asking the same set of questions all morning. He barely glanced up as each combatant stepped forward.


    ¡°Name?¡± he asked mechanically.


    ¡°Gromli,¡± I answered.


    ¡°Weapon?¡±


    ¡°Hammer.¡±


    He thumbed through a stack of parchment, pulled out a small slip, and handed it over. ¡°That hallway,¡± he said, pointing without much enthusiasm. ¡°Here¡¯s your number. When it¡¯s called, go and fight. Try not to die.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± I said, tucking the slip into my belt. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    The man just shrugged, already turning to the next fighter in line. I headed down the long hallway he¡¯d indicated, the distant roar of the crowd echoing off the walls. I found an area where a handful of other contestants were checking their weapons or stretching out, and I decided to do the same. My number was scrawled across the slip: 37.


    I fidgeted with my hammer, trying a couple of practice swings to get my blood moving. I wasn¡¯t sure what to expect¡ªmaybe an organized bracket, or maybe just one-on-one bouts until only one fighter remained. Either way, I felt that familiar buzz of anticipation creeping into my chest. Kora¡¯s words about practicing spells came back to me, and I couldn¡¯t help but think about the differences between a spell duel and a good, old-fashioned melee fight. No runes to rely on here (well, unless I wanted to risk the wrath of the judges by enchanting my hammer mid-brawl). Probably not worth the trouble.


    I took a slow breath, in and out, settling my nerves. No matter who I faced, I had my hammer and enough grit to make Master Borduk proud¡ªor at least not embarrass him too badly. So I waited, listening for my number, while the crowd¡¯s cheers rumbled through the stone walls. It wouldn¡¯t be long before I got my chance to show what a dwarf with a hammer could do.


    I stepped inside and took in the sight of the waiting area. It was a large stone chamber, with walls that seemed to hum with the roar of the crowd outside. A few torches flickered along the walls, but the main light came from narrow windows set high up near the ceiling.


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    There was an old man near the center of the room, head shaved clean except for a patch of wispy white hair at the back. He was absolutely ripped¡ªlike a Master Roshi type from one of those old-school martial arts shows. Something about him screamed ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate me.¡± I made a mental note to keep an eye on him, just in case he ended up as an opponent or referee.


    The other kids milling around looked as nervous as I felt. Some were practicing stances, others were fiddling with their gear, clearly trying to keep calm. I spotted Grok off to one side, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed in a meditative pose. I waved, but he didn¡¯t see¡ªtoo focused, I guess. On the opposite side of the room, that cat-eared boy from the cafeteria was chatting with a small group. He caught my glance but seemed too engrossed in conversation to acknowledge me. I shrugged and decided to leave him be.


    Just then, the Master Roshi lookalike stepped forward and cleared his throat. ¡°Alright, listen up,¡± he called out. ¡°We¡¯ve got a lot of fights to get through today, so here¡¯s how it works. These numbers you got? They¡¯re random. Don¡¯t read anything into ¡¯em. Right now, I want numbers one through ten to line up at the door. One fights two first. If anybody doesn¡¯t show, that¡¯s a forfeit and an automatic advance for the other side.¡±


    He started handing out medallions¡ªsmall, dull metal disks hanging from simple leather cords¡ªto the kids who lined up. ¡°These medallions will protect against one fatal blow. When they shatter, the fight is over. Clear?¡±


    Some of the fighters gulped, others just nodded grimly. One skinny kid with wide eyes raised his hand. ¡°Uh, what about non-fatal wounds?¡±


    The old man folded his arms. ¡°We¡¯ve got healers on standby. They can fix anything¡ªeven death, if by some chance the medallion fails. But trust me, it won¡¯t fail. So don¡¯t worry about that.¡±


    A strange hush fell over the room. The old man¡¯s words weren¡¯t exactly comforting. I wasn¡¯t the only one suddenly wondering if I was stepping into something more dangerous than I¡¯d realized. Sure, the medallion would protect me from a ¡®fatal¡¯ blow, but what if I got my arm half cut off? The old man said they could fix ¡°anything,¡± but that wasn¡¯t exactly reassuring when you¡¯re about to face an opponent who might not hold back.


    I glanced down at my slip¡ª37¡ªand let out a slow exhale. At least I had some time before my turn. If the fights were going in groups of ten, I¡¯d be waiting a while. Watching those first matches might give me a sense of what to expect¡­ or it might just raise my anxiety when I see someone get knocked silly.


    Either way, the tournament was real now. The stands above us were roaring, the old man was assigning medallions, and soon enough, I¡¯d be on that dirt floor, hammer in hand, facing some stranger who wanted to knock me out of the bracket. I swallowed hard.


    Yeah. Definitely something new to worry about.


    I waited in silence, fiddling absentmindedly with my hammer. There was no view of the battlefield from the waiting area, so I had to rely on the distant roar of the crowd to get a sense of how the matches were progressing. It felt like an eternity before the old man¡¯s voice finally called out again.


    ¡°Thirty-seven, thirty-eight. You¡¯re up!¡±


    I startled and realized I¡¯d been zoning out. I hurried over to the old man, who handed me a medallion just like the others. My opponent was a blond boy with piercing blue eyes and an arrogant tilt to his chin. He glanced at me like I was little more than dirt under his boot.


    I offered a wave, trying to seem friendly as we walked up the ramp toward the arena. He didn¡¯t wave back.


    We emerged into blinding sunlight. I squinted, momentarily disoriented by the brightness and the noise. The stands were absolutely packed, and the thunderous cheers crashed over me like a wave. It was the first time I¡¯d felt the full force of the crowd, and my heart pounded against my ribs.


    They were chanting a name I didn¡¯t recognize, but it clearly wasn¡¯t mine. I glanced at the blond boy and realized the crowd was cheering for him¡ªhe was apparently the son of someone important, maybe a renowned knight or a famous mage. That would explain the smug look on his face.


    I took a deep breath, trying not to let the noise get to me. There, across the ring, stood my opponent: someone used to the spotlight, clearly expecting an easy win. I twirled my hammer once, reminding myself that I had every right to be here too. My ears buzzed with the crowd¡¯s chanting, but I tried to block it out and focus on the fight ahead.


    A referee¡ªa tall elf dressed in ceremonial robes¡ªraised both hands for silence. The audience quieted to a low rumble.


    ¡°This is match number nineteen,¡± the elf announced, voice echoing around the arena. ¡°Each combatant has a medallion. One fatal blow will be negated; if the medallion is destroyed, the match ends. Fighters, are you ready?¡±


    I nodded, hammer gripped tight. The blond boy gave a curt, confident nod, barely sparing me a glance.


    The referee brought one arm down in a swift motion. ¡°Begin!¡±


    And just like that, the crowd erupted again, and the match was on.


    The kid tried to say something to me, but I was too hyped up on adrenaline to catch his words. I clutched my usual smithing hammer in my right hand, small but sturdy, and held a small shield in my left. If I could break rocks with this thing, I figured I could break an overconfident brat too.


    He wielded a longsword with both hands, and he wasted no time rushing forward, swinging it down in an overhand smash. I sidestepped, using my hammer to angle his blade into the ground. My magic pulsed through my veins, making me feel almost untouchable. For a split second, I could see the shimmering of his medallion¡¯s barrier clinging to him like a second skin.


    I jumped back, wanting to see how he¡¯d react now that his opening move had failed. The kid looked furious, as though he¡¯d fully expected a single blow to do the job. He yelled something again¡ªprobably an insult or threat¡ªbut all I heard was the roar of blood in my ears.


    My heart thumped in my chest, and my grip tightened on my hammer¡¯s handle. Part of me wanted to throw back some witty remark, but words weren¡¯t coming through. Instead, I focused on the rhythm of combat, on the feel of mana buzzing just beneath my skin, ready to be channeled if I needed it.


    He tugged his sword free of the ground, and I readied myself for whatever he tried next.


    He shifted into a rapid series of horizontal slashes, but they all came in a bit high for someone my height. By staying crouched and letting my small shield do most of the work, I was able to bat away each blow. Every time our weapons clashed, I got a clearer feel for the magical shield surrounding him, as well as the enhancement on his sword¡ªsomething subtle but definitely there.


    Then he overextended on one swing, and I seized my chance. I surged forward, hammer in both hands, and unleashed a flurry of strikes. Bam, bam, bam, bam. Each blow rattled him, and finally, with a sharp crack, his sword snapped right below the hilt. A shocked look crossed his face as he dropped the broken handle to the sand, fumbling to bring his shield up in both hands.


    With his sword gone, I kept hammering away. My strikes rained down, pounding on his shield again and again. I heard a sickening crack¡ªprobably a bone in his arm¡ªyet adrenaline pushed me to finish the fight. One last blow shattered the shield barrier around him, sending a flash of brilliant blue light arcing outward.


    In that moment, the medallion he wore flared and crumbled, signaling the match¡¯s end. The crowd¡¯s roar washed over me, but all I could focus on was the dazed look on my opponent¡¯s face. He clutched his broken arm, stumbling backward as the referee rushed in, and I stood there panting, hammer still in hand, victorious in my very first match.

 Chapter 11 The Aftermath

    The healers hurried onto the field as soon as the fight ended, white-blue lights sparking from their hands as they mended my opponent¡¯s arm. Another referee rushed over to me and gave me a quick once-over, making sure I hadn¡¯t taken any critical hits. He must¡¯ve decided I was fine, because he nodded and pointed me toward the exit.


    The roar of the crowd hammered my ears once more as I staggered down a short tunnel that led to another waiting area. As soon as I walked in, a cluster of students turned away from a large viewing window and came rushing over.


    ¡°Do you know who that was?¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d you do that?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a prince, you know!¡±


    The questions hit me too fast. I felt dizzy from all the attention, so I made my way over to a big sofa and practically flopped onto it. My ears still rang from the cheers, and my heart pounded harder than it had during the fight.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who that was,¡± I said, trying to steady my breath. ¡°Should I have?¡±


    A wide-eyed human girl spoke up. ¡°That was Prince Evarion, the second prince of the Silvercrest Kingdom. He¡¯s actually favored to take the throne if his older brother steps down. Everyone figured he¡¯d breeze through this tournament.¡±


    Another kid chimed in. ¡°Yeah, word is he¡¯s been training with the best knights since he could walk. He¡¯s never lost a duel¡ªuntil now.¡±


    I swallowed hard, trying to process it. Sure, the guy had acted like a privileged jerk, but I hadn¡¯t pegged him for royalty. My stomach churned a bit at the thought of having beaten up a prince on my very first day.


    ¡°Guess that explains the crowd chanting his name,¡± I murmured, leaning my head back against the sofa. ¡°Well, too late to worry about that now.¡±


    A few of the kids murmured their agreement, and they finally gave me some space. As they moved off, I exhaled slowly, letting my heart rate come back down. Nobody had warned me I¡¯d be fighting a prince¡ªlet alone one who was apparently famous. I stared at my hammer, still dusty from the arena, and wondered how this might affect the rest of my time at Stoneharp College. For now, though, I was still in the tournament¡­ and Prince Evarion was out.


    Once my breathing steadied, I checked over my gear. It felt a bit silly, but I always used a smaller hammer for percussive maintenance on my main hammer¡ªjust tapping away to ensure nothing was cracked or loose. The last thing I wanted was to have my own weapon snap in the middle of a fight, like what happened with Evarion¡¯s sword.


    As I concentrated on my makeshift tune-up, another kid wandered by. She stopped to watch for a moment, curiosity evident in her posture. Her skin looked like the bark of a pine tree, with thin ridges and patterns that almost resembled wood grain. Her hair was a deep evergreen, cascading down her back in thick strands like pine needles.


    ¡°How did you not know that was the prince?¡± she asked, tilting her head slightly.


    I shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not like he was wearing a nametag.¡±


    ¡°A nametag?¡± She blinked, considering the idea. ¡°I guess that would work. I think you¡¯re supposed to just know who he is.¡±


    I gave a half-smile. ¡°Well, guess nobody told me. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Sylra Pinebranch,¡± she said with a friendly nod. ¡°I¡¯m a treeling. Kind of like a dryad, I guess, but we¡¯re less magical and a bit more¡­ solid.¡± She tapped one finger against the bark-like skin on her arm for emphasis.


    I set my little hammer aside for a moment, turning to face her fully. ¡°Nice to meet you, Sylra. I¡¯m Gromli.¡± I reached out a hand to shake hers. ¡°Sorry if I caused a stir.¡±


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    She shook her head, returning my handshake carefully¡ªher hand felt firm, almost like a smooth piece of polished wood. ¡°No worries. I just thought it was kind of funny you didn¡¯t know who Evarion was. Don¡¯t be surprised if folks keep asking.¡±


    I sighed, glancing at my hammer. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m bracing for it. Guess I¡¯ll go down in history as the dwarf who smacked a prince¡¯s sword clean in half.¡±


    ¡°In fact,¡± Sylra continued, ¡°I think that sword might have been important. You could be in trouble after this.¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°If they don¡¯t want a broken sword, they shouldn¡¯t swing it at me. Accidents happen all the time.¡±


    ¡°Hopefully Evarion will feel the same way,¡± Sylra said, a slight frown crossing her features.


    ¡°Hopefully,¡± I echoed, not entirely convinced. Trying to steer the conversation away from broken swords and angry princes, I asked, ¡°So did you win your fight?¡±


    Sylra laughed, a sound like wind through branches. ¡°Of course, silly. This is the winners¡¯ room. They don¡¯t want fighters mingling with each other right after a match unless they both won. Emotions can run high, you know?¡±


    ¡°That makes sense,¡± I said, tapping the broken remains of a shield lying nearby as a reminder of how heated things could get. After a moment, another question popped into my head. ¡°How come everyone here seems to know what¡¯s going on better than I do?¡±


    Sylra gave a casual shrug, the bark-like texture of her skin shifting with the motion. ¡°There¡¯s no nice way to say it,¡± she began.


    ¡°I come from a small town?¡± I ventured.


    ¡°Well, probably,¡± she admitted. ¡°A lot of us have been training or learning about the college¡¯s customs for years. Even if we¡¯re not nobles or royalty, there¡¯s usually someone back home who made sure we were up to speed. You, on the other hand¡­ guess you never got the memo that this tournament would be filled with famous names and important heirlooms.¡±


    I sighed, thinking back to my life among the dwarves, fixing tools for the local smith, whacking away at rocks. ¡°Yeah, guess not. I¡¯ve been winging it so far.¡±


    Sylra gave a reassuring smile. ¡°Hey, you won, didn¡¯t you? That¡¯s more than some of these ¡®experts¡¯ can say. Just stay on your toes. Evarion won¡¯t be too happy about losing, especially if that sword was something special.¡±


    I glanced at my hammer and tools, wondering what kind of fallout might be heading my way. ¡°Well,¡± I muttered, ¡°no sense fretting now. I¡¯ll deal with trouble if it shows up.¡±


    Sylra nodded. ¡°Exactly. For now, maybe just enjoy the win¡ªand keep an eye out for the next match.¡± She patted my shoulder gently, her bark-like fingers strangely soothing. ¡°You did good out there.¡±


    Her words offered some relief, but a nagging worry still gnawed at the back of my mind. If that sword was really important, I might¡¯ve just won the fight and lost a whole lot of peace in the process. Only time would tell.


    I wasn¡¯t sure how many matches they¡¯d planned for the day¡ªanother detail I should¡¯ve paid more attention to¡ªbut it turned out I had two more fights. Neither was as tough as facing Evarion; if I could swing a hammer hard enough to break rock, I could definitely crack a person¡¯s defenses. Plus, I started noticing just how naturally strong dwarves are compared to other races. Sure, we¡¯re short, but there¡¯s a lot of power packed into our stocky frames.


    By the end of my second fight, the tournament officials called it a day. I was worn out from the intensity¡ªthe noise of the crowd alone was enough to leave my head pounding. Once they finally dismissed us, I headed back toward the dorm, wanting little more than a hot shower and a good meal. Grok caught up with me on the way. He told me he¡¯d only won his first match before getting knocked out in the second. At least he seemed to be taking it well; he just shrugged and said he¡¯d do better next time.


    We walked back to the dorm together, and I wasted no time grabbing a quick shower. The hot water felt amazing after all the sweat and adrenaline of the day. Refreshed, I made my way down to the cafeteria, where the scents of stew and freshly baked bread nearly made my mouth water. I piled a bowl high and grabbed a cold glass of juice, then scanned the room until I spotted the group I¡¯d met the night before¡ªKora, the black-feathered harpy, Leela the elf with green hair, Tanri the cat-eared boy, and Sylra with her bark-like skin. They waved me over, and I flopped onto the bench beside them.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I said, managing a tired grin. ¡°Long day, huh?¡±


    They nodded sympathetically, already deep in conversation about the fights and the buzz around campus. I dug into my stew, half-listening as they debated who might be going to the next round and whether Evarion¡¯s defeat was the biggest upset in recent years. My eyelids felt heavy, but I was content to just sit there, savoring my meal, and let the chatter wash over me. After all the day¡¯s excitement, it was a relief to be among friendly faces, even if I mostly wanted to curl up and sleep. As I finished my stew, I couldn¡¯t help wondering what tomorrow would bring¡ªand if I¡¯d have to keep watching my back for any revenge-minded princes. For now, though, the hot food and company of friends were enough to ease my worries.

 Chapter 12 The Last day of the Tournament

    I crashed onto my bed as soon as I got back to my room, and sleep swallowed me almost instantly. Morning arrived too soon, leaving me feeling groggy. I remembered dreaming about something¡ªchaotic images of clashing weapons and swirling mana¡ªbut it all slipped away as soon as my eyes opened.


    I dragged myself downstairs for a light breakfast. The cafeteria was quieter than usual, probably because most students were either still asleep or already at the arena prepping for the day¡¯s fights. I mindlessly munched on some bread and fruit, my thoughts elsewhere, replaying yesterday¡¯s battles in my head.


    Eventually, I got up and headed toward the arena, following a few straggling students who were also on their way. The early morning sun cast long shadows across the stone pathways, making everything feel more dramatic than it probably was. I couldn¡¯t help wondering who I¡¯d face this time¡ªmaybe someone as strong or stronger than Evarion. Hopefully not some other prince with a fancy heirloom sword, at least.


    My heart beat a steady rhythm as we drew closer, the distant murmur of the crowd telling me the arena was already filling up. It was the last day of the tournament, and everyone who¡¯d made it this far was probably as anxious and excited as I was. One more day of hammer-swinging chaos, and then we¡¯d finally see how the brackets settled.


    I took a deep breath, letting the crisp morning air clear my head. One way or another, I was about to find out just how far my dwarven hammer skills could take me in this place. I just hoped I¡¯d survive the day without too many more surprises.


    While I waited for the day to officially begin, I decided to meditate. Master Borduk always nagged me to meditate more often, insisting it would sharpen my mind and keep my mana under control. I found a relatively quiet corner of the waiting area, sat down in a cross-legged pose¡ªhe called it a ¡°yogi position,¡± though I never figured out what that meant¡ªand tried to clear my head.


    According to Master Borduk, proper dwarven meditation involved gathering the ambient mana in the air and drawing it into my body, letting it flow down to my mana core. Once my body assimilated that energy, I could channel it into my abilities¡ªmostly manipulating rocks and carving runes. It wasn¡¯t flashy, but it worked wonders when I needed an extra surge of power.


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    I was so focused on centering myself that I drifted into a near-trance, letting the background noise of the arena fade into a comforting hum. Suddenly, someone nudged my shoulder, and I jerked awake with a start. My heart thumped, and I had to blink a few times to remember where I was. So much for peaceful meditation.


    It was Sylra. She gently tapped my shoulder, and I opened my eyes to see her bark-like features and evergreen hair.


    ¡°Hey, Sylra. How you doing?¡± I asked, a hint of a smile on my face.


    ¡°Good. How are you?¡± she replied.


    ¡°No complaints. Just waiting for the day to start,¡± I said, giving a casual shrug. ¡°Did you win your fights yesterday?¡±


    ¡°Sure did,¡± she said, taking a seat beside me. ¡°So what were you up to over here?¡±


    ¡°Meditating,¡± I explained. ¡°Trying to focus on the fights ahead.¡±


    Sylra nodded thoughtfully. ¡°I get that. I can feel the tension in the air, and it¡¯s not even my bracket this morning. People are on edge.¡±


    I rested my elbows on my knees. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m guessing everyone who made it this far is out to prove themselves. Probably going to be a tougher day than yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Did you hear about Evarion?¡± Sylra asked.


    ¡°Nope,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°I went straight to bed after dinner. Why? What happened?¡±


    She pressed her lips together, as if she wasn¡¯t sure how to break the news. ¡°His father is furious that he lost. Apparently, Evarion¡¯s been demoted from second prince to third prince. He¡¯s blaming you, saying you embarrassed him in front of everyone.¡±


    ¡°Was I supposed to just let him win?¡± I asked incredulously. ¡°Because that¡¯s not really how a tournament works.¡±


    Sylra shrugged. ¡°Maybe in his mind, yeah. He¡¯s also been telling anyone who¡¯ll listen that he¡¯ll get revenge.¡±


    ¡°That sounds bad,¡± I murmured, my stomach twisting a little. ¡°But isn¡¯t that against school rules or something?¡±


    ¡°Technically,¡± she said, ¡°but there are always ways around rules if you¡¯ve got enough influence. And guess what? Your first fight today is against one of his retainers.¡±


    I groaned. ¡°Great. That¡¯s exactly what I needed to hear right now. Should I be worried?¡±


    Sylra gave me a thoughtful look. ¡°Be cautious. It¡¯s possible the retainer¡¯s just fighting for personal glory, but¡­ if he¡¯s loyal to Evarion, he might have a grudge. Just keep your eyes open, all right?¡±


    I nodded, taking a deep breath. ¡°Alright. Eyes open.¡±

 Chapter 13 The Second Day Dawns

    I thought about what Sylra had told me and realized this whole situation felt like some isekai reincarnation nonsense. Ever since I¡¯d woken up in this world, I¡¯d done my best to keep my head down and live a decent life. Now, suddenly, I was involved in some royal grudge just because I¡¯d refused to lose a fair fight. If I won against Evarion¡¯s retainer, it¡¯d probably just make things worse. But if I threw the fight, that might not end the feud either.


    It felt like a no-win scenario, and I couldn¡¯t shake the uneasy knot in my stomach. No matter what happened, Evarion was going to keep coming for me¡ªeither out of pride or spite. The idea of letting someone beat me just to avoid more trouble didn¡¯t sit right, but neither did antagonizing a furious prince further. I sighed, trying to sort my thoughts.


    In the end, I decided I¡¯d just do my best. My hammer might have broken his sword, but I hadn¡¯t done anything wrong by fighting to win. Let Evarion and his father fume all they wanted; I wouldn¡¯t change who I was just because they couldn¡¯t handle losing. Still, a part of me couldn¡¯t help wondering if this little drama was only the beginning of something bigger. One way or another, I¡¯d find out soon enough when I faced his retainer in the arena.


    My name was called, and another name I didn¡¯t recognize. I really needed to start paying closer attention. My opponent turned out to be a boy about my height¡ªlean and wiry¡ªbut from the way he carried himself, he seemed confident. He had a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. Figured it¡¯d be a good match.


    Today, I decided to switch it up: two hammers. One in each hand. Probably overkill, but it made me feel a bit more prepared for a shield.


    We stepped out into the arena, and the crowd¡¯s cheers crashed over us like a tidal wave. I took a moment to suck in a deep breath. That¡¯s when the guy started jawing off, loud enough for me and half the audience to hear.


    ¡°I am Jornis Oakshield,¡± he shouted, banging his shield for emphasis. ¡°Retainer of Prince Evarion, heir to the Silvercrest Kingdom! You humiliated him, you broke his blade, and you made a mockery of his honor. Now, you face me. I¡¯ll crush your bones into dust for what you did. When we¡¯re through, no dwarf will ever dare cross the prince again!¡±


    He paused to glare at me, lips curling into a sneer. ¡°I hope you¡¯ve made your peace, hammer boy, because I plan to make this quick.¡±


    Nice speech. The crowd ate it up, cheering and booing in equal measure¡ªsome for him, some for me. I clenched my jaw. I might¡¯ve been short, but I wasn¡¯t about to let this guy walk all over me.


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    A referee stepped up, waiting for the noise to settle, and signaled for us to get ready. I lifted my two hammers, one in each hand, feeling their weight. Jornis spat on the ground and raised his shield, clearly itching for the fight to start.


    So much for a polite exchange of words. Guess I¡¯d just have to let my hammers do the talking.


    ¡°You know what time it is?¡± I asked, raising my voice over the roar of the crowd. I smacked my two hammers together, sending sparks flying. ¡°It¡¯s hammer time.¡±


    I sprinted forward, leading with my heavier hammer. The clash of steel against steel sent a ferocious bang rippling through the arena, accompanied by a cascade of sparks. Jornis brought up his shield, and the next few moments were a blurred whirlwind of strikes and counterstrikes:


    I swung my first hammer at his ribs¡ªhe blocked with his shield, but the impact rattled us both. Jornis retaliated with a swift slash from his sword; I twisted aside, bringing my second hammer down to parry at an awkward angle, sparks dancing in the air. He slammed his shield toward my face, and I ducked, lashing out at his legs. He hopped back, sword flashing in a diagonal cut aimed at my shoulder. I crossed my hammers to intercept, the force of the blow jarring my wrists. For a split second, neither of us yielded an inch, our weapons grinding in a shower of bright embers.


    Then we broke apart, both of us breathing hard. Jornis seized the moment to hurl another barrage of taunts my way. ¡°You think you can best the prince¡¯s chosen retainer with a couple of puny hammers?¡± he spat. ¡°I¡¯ll crush you like the scuttling little worm you are!¡±


    ¡°You kiss your momma with that mouth?¡± I called back. That only seemed to inflame Jornis further, and he rushed at me again with a wild swing.


    He slammed his shield into my left hammer, forcing me to stagger back. I retaliated with a hard strike toward his ribs, but he twisted away at the last moment, using his sword to bat aside my right hammer. Sparks flew where our weapons clashed, and I tried to press in with a second blow¡ªonly for Jornis to catch it on his shield. The clang echoed through the arena, the force reverberating all the way up my arms.


    He shoved me off-balance, swinging his sword in a tight arc aimed at my shoulder. I managed to deflect most of it with my second hammer, but the sudden jolt caused me to lose my footing. Before I could recover, Jornis brought his blade around in a swift follow-up strike that smacked me right across the side of the head.


    A ringing sensation filled my ears, and I barely felt the sharp pain before I saw the flicker of blue light around me. The protective shield from my medallion shimmered and¡ªcrack¡ªbroke apart, signaling the match¡¯s end. Technically, the fight was over. But Jornis, face twisted with anger, lunged forward for one more blow.


    I saw it coming, but my head was still spinning from his strike. Fortunately, the referee moved in lightning-fast, blocking Jornis¡¯s sword with his own staff. He pushed the enraged retainer back, shouting for him to stand down.


    I shook off the disorientation, still reeling from the impact. The referee waved for the healers as the crowd¡¯s roar thundered in my ears. I¡¯d lost the fight fair and square, but Jornis¡¯s attempt to land that extra strike told me all I needed to know: Evarion¡¯s retainer wasn¡¯t going to be satisfied with just a victory.

 Chapter 14

    Once the fight was over, I figured I was done for the day. The tournament grounds felt like a festival more than a battleground, so I decided to explore the town. I¡¯d heard the local merchants set up extra stalls whenever the college held these big events, and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.


    The streets were awash in vibrant banners¡ªreds, blues, and golds fluttering in the breeze. Musicians played jaunty tunes on street corners, and clusters of people wandered from stall to stall, sampling the different snacks and trinkets for sale. The smell alone was enough to make my stomach rumble. Even though I¡¯d already eaten, my dwarven appetite told me there was always room for something tasty.


    As I wandered, I came across a stall selling ¡°Dragonfire Skewers.¡± Despite the dramatic name, it looked like chunks of spicy-grilled meat (probably chicken, or at least I hoped so) basted in a tangy sauce that crackled on the tongue. Nearby, an energetic halfling vendor was hawking ¡°Sugar-Dusted Donut Bombs,¡± little round pastries coated in crystalline sugar that apparently ¡°popped¡± with sweetness when you bit in. I saw a gnome pushing a cart of bright-blue candy floss that spun itself into shapes¡ªa kitten one moment, a swirling dragon the next¡ªbefore dissolving into soft, sticky goodness.


    Further along, a pair of dwarven sisters ran a hearty-looking stew stand. They claimed it was ¡°Battle-Ready Stew,¡± guaranteed to restore one¡¯s strength after a tough fight. I caught the aroma of simmering onions, carrots, and beef-like chunks. The steam rose in aromatic curls, making the entire street smell like home.


    At a corner table, an orc was flipping something he called ¡°Molten Flatbread,¡± a crispy dough topped with molten cheese and sprinkled with pepper flakes. He slapped me a sample, and it was gooey, spicy, and delicious all at once.


    Kids were running around with candied fruits on sticks¡ªsome were green, smelling vaguely of mint, while others glowed faintly in the dimming afternoon light (the vendor swore it was ¡°just a harmless enchantment¡±).


    As I moved from stand to stand, sampling whatever I could afford, I realized that the town had fully embraced the festival spirit. Every alley I ducked into revealed yet another hidden treat. For a moment, I forgot all about princes, broken swords, and battered shields. My world revolved around trying new foods and soaking up the lively atmosphere.


    Eventually, my stomach let me know I was nearing capacity, and I took a seat on a low stone wall to rest. I gazed around at the colorful banners rippling overhead, letting the cheerful din of the crowd wash over me. With the battles behind me and the sun setting, the day felt like it was finally mine to enjoy.


    The rhythmic clang of metal on metal called to me like a siren song¡ªting, ting, ting¡ªcarrying through the festival noise. I followed the sound until I found a small, open-walled smithy with a cozy yard. Inside, an old, wiry goblin stood over an anvil, hammering red-hot steel. He had that classic goblin look¡ªpointed ears, sharp teeth, and a perpetual scowl. I stopped a ways off, just watching him work, enjoying the familiar, comforting smell of heated iron.


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    Without missing a beat, he glanced my way. ¡°Oi, you stupid git. Can you work a bellows?¡±


    ¡°Up yours, gobbo,¡± I shot back, raising an eyebrow. ¡°¡¯Course I can.¡±


    He grunted in what might have been approval, nodding toward a hefty set of bellows off to one side. ¡°These¡¯re mana bellows, so don¡¯t muck it up. Keep that fire at cherry red, ye ijit.¡±


    I stifled a laugh, but the corners of my mouth twitched. This was the most stereotypical goblin blacksmith routine I¡¯d ever heard, and honestly, I kind of loved it. With a shrug, I went over to the bellows and began pumping them in a steady rhythm. The flames in the forge flared, dancing with a subtle arcane glow.


    ¡°Good,¡± he growled, tapping the iron on his anvil. ¡°Just like that. Don¡¯t let the temperature dip, or it¡¯ll screw up the tempering.¡±


    I settled into a comfortable stance, flexing my arm muscles in time with the bellows. It felt strangely satisfying, like I was back home in my village forge¡ªexcept here, I had a mouthy goblin barking orders at me and a swirl of festival noise beyond the smithy walls.


    He hammered away on the glowing metal, occasionally glancing over at the color of the flames. ¡°Keep ¡¯er going. No slacking,¡± he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, he eyed my hammer (hooked on my belt) and snorted. ¡°Bet that little toy¡¯s not seen half the work it should.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow, looking down at my hammer. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. It¡¯s seen its fair share. Broken a few swords, too.¡±


    He paused his hammering to give a rough chuckle. ¡°Aye, well, swords break easy. They ain¡¯t half as tough as an orc¡¯s skull.¡± Then he tapped the iron again, sending glowing orange sparks into the air. ¡°Mmm, close enough. Time to quench.¡±


    He slid the metal off the anvil and dunked it into a barrel of water with a loud hiss, steam billowing up and drifting over the workshop.


    I kept pumping the bellows as best I could, ensuring the next piece of steel would be ready in time. ¡°So,¡± I ventured, ¡°you just set up shop here for the tournament crowds? Or you always around?¡±


    ¡°Been here longer than you, dwarf,¡± he replied. ¡°Name¡¯s Griznock, and if you¡¯re wantin¡¯ real forging done, you come see me. Not them fancy ¡®magic blacksmiths¡¯ with their glittery nonsense.¡±


    I smiled a little. ¡°Thanks for the tip, Griznock. I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡±


    He finished quenching the steel and set it aside, eyeing the flames. ¡°Alright, shift¡¯s up, ye busybody. I can manage on my own now.¡±


    I stepped away from the bellows, rotating my shoulder to loosen it up. ¡°No problem. Thanks for letting me help.¡±


    Griznock nodded, tossing the next heated bar onto the anvil with a clang. ¡°Scram before I change me mind and put you to work for real.¡± Then, in a softer mumble: ¡°Not bad, though. You got some skill.¡±


    I took that as a compliment¡ªcoming from a grumpy goblin, it was practically glowing praise. With a quick nod, I made my way back out of the smithy yard and into the bustling streets, a faint smile lingering on my face. I¡¯d come out looking for food and found a bit of forging fun instead. Not a bad trade-off, if you asked me.

 Chapter 15

    The final day of the tournament came and went, mostly without my involvement. I¡¯d already fought my share of matches¡ªsome I won, some I lost¡ªso I spent much of the day wandering the fair-like atmosphere around the college, sampling street food and chatting with strangers. Being a dwarf had its perks; no one batted an eye at me hauling around a handful of snacks while exploring every nook and cranny of the festival.


    When the festivities wrapped up, life at Stoneharp College shifted gears. The very next day marked the official start of classes, though ¡°official¡± seemed like a stretch. From what I could tell, most of the students were either noble kids, merchant heirs, or otherwise well-funded types who treated the school as more of a social club than an academic institution. Sure, there were classes and clubs to join¡ªfighting classes, crafting clubs, advanced magic seminars¡ªbut the only mandatory requirements were a couple of history courses and a basic magic user course.


    I wasn¡¯t about to complain. My plan was simple: dive headfirst into the crafting curriculum to see what I could learn about runes and enchantments. After all, I¡¯d already discovered my knack for bonking things back into shape; maybe formal study would help me refine that skill and find new applications. At least, that was the plan. And if the classes ended up being too easy or too shallow, well, I¡¯d figure out my next step. One way or another, I intended to make the most of my time at Stoneharp, even if half the students were here to party rather than study.


    By the end of my first day, I realized something: whether Stoneharp was a glorified social club or not, it still housed plenty of magical knowledge waiting to be unlocked. All I had to do was keep my head down (as much as a dwarf who smacked a prince could) and learn as much as possible. After all, if there was one thing I was sure of, it was that you can never have too many tools in your arsenal¡ªespecially when your go-to solution is hammering stuff until it works.


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    I caught up with Grok later that evening and asked him about the magic user course everyone kept talking about. He was in the middle of organizing his books¡ªthick tomes filled with cramped handwriting¡ªwhen I sat down across from him.


    ¡°Ah, that course?¡± Grok said, glancing up. ¡°Almost everyone at Stoneharp has some connection to mana, whether they¡¯re tossing fireballs or just making glow-lights. So the college set up a mandatory class to ensure nobody goes rogue and rips a hole in reality by mistake. Or worse.¡±


    He flipped through one of the tomes, showing me a few pages covered in circles and runic diagrams. ¡°Used to be that magical knowledge was guarded like family heirlooms¡ªsecret grimoires passed from master to apprentice, cryptic runes recorded in hidden codices, stuff like that. But apparently, they had one too many necromancer plagues and demon invasions thanks to wizards just fumbling their way through advanced sorceries.¡±


    I grimaced. ¡°That sounds¡­ messy.¡±


    Grok nodded. ¡°Messy is putting it lightly. After enough disasters, the Council of Mages finally agreed that magic needed a more formal structure. Stoneharp isn¡¯t the only place, but it¡¯s one of the biggest. This basic magic user course is meant to hammer in the fundamentals: mana control, ethical practices, emergency containment, all that good stuff.¡±


    ¡°Like a safety net,¡± I said, picturing a bunch of novice mages setting off little explosions in a controlled environment instead of in the middle of a village.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Grok replied. ¡°They teach you the basics¡ªmana breathing, spell formation, how to avoid nasty side effects¡ªso you¡¯re not wandering around chanting random words you found in a dusty book and summoning demons by accident.¡±


    I leaned back in my chair, letting out a slow breath. ¡°Sounds like a good idea to me. Last thing I want is to blow myself up trying something new.¡±


    Grok smirked. ¡°That¡¯s what I thought, too. Trust me, it¡¯s better to learn from professionals than to guess your way into a catastrophe.¡±

 Chapter 16

    The first day of class arrived, and with it came a rush of new faces and nervous energy crackling in the air. Master Borduk had taken off right after the tournament ended, grumbling about having ¡°real dwarf business¡± back home. We exchanged awkward dwarf-hugs (basically shoulder bumps) and said our goodbyes. He gave me a small, bigger-on-the-inside storage bag, saying, ¡°I¡¯ve tucked in enough coins to last you the year. Don¡¯t spend it all on mead, y¡¯hear?¡± He also told me to write often¡ªlike I¡¯d forget to do that, right?


    Now I stood outside a towering building marked ¡°Basic Magic Use 101,¡± my new textbooks poking out of the mystical bag that seemed never to run out of space. The other students around me looked just as unsure as I felt. Some were scouring their class schedules, while others were juggling half a dozen arcane tomes they¡¯d probably never open more than once.


    I took a breath, trying to steady the swirl of anticipation (and maybe a little terror) in my belly. Sure, I¡¯d messed around with rune crafting and hammered out a few magical repairs, but formal classes on spell theory and mana safety? That was a whole new ballgame. Part of me wondered if I¡¯d end up accidentally blowing something up¡ªand part of me was, honestly, kind of excited by that possibility.


    With one last glance at the cluster of wide-eyed first-years around me, I stepped into the lecture hall, dwarf pride in full effect. After all, if I could survive a pissed-off prince and his cronies, a classroom full of half-scared novices shouldn¡¯t be too hard, right? Only one way to find out.


    I¡¯d never actually seen an old elf before¡ªor, if I had, I couldn¡¯t tell. This teacher, though, was definitely old. He was the first elf I¡¯d seen with wrinkles. His back had a slight stoop, and his ears drooped like wilted leaves.


    ¡°You young are all the same,¡± he began, in a voice that carried the weight of centuries. ¡°Not a brain in your head, quick to cast any spell that comes to mind. Willing to make dark pacts with beings beyond mortal ken¡­¡± He raised a finger to silence the class before we could protest. ¡°Well, none of that will be done here. Now, can anyone tell me why I have you all in the same room? Every race has a different mana structure¡ªyour dwarven core isn¡¯t the same as an elf¡¯s or an orc¡¯s¡ªand yet here we are, all jumbled together.¡±


    He pointed to a girl in the front row, who stood hesitantly. ¡°Umm¡­ is it because the mana is the same for all of us?¡±


    ¡°Correct,¡± he replied. ¡°Mana is mana. Think of it like water in different rivers. Rivers may wind this way or that, the water may have different qualities, but underneath it all, water is water, and it flows wherever it can. The point of this class is to ensure that you don¡¯t kill yourselves, or more importantly, don¡¯t kill someone else. Now, how many of you can already use magic? Don¡¯t hide it¡ªhands up.¡±


    A bunch of people lifted their hands, including some sheepish humans who¡¯d been trying to lie low. I tried to duck behind a taller guy, but the teacher¡¯s gaze zeroed in on me anyway.


    ¡°I see you, dwarf,¡± he said, pointing a thin, knobby finger in my direction. ¡°I can sense your core. Tell me¡ªhow does your magic work? What is your affinity?¡±


    ¡°Uh, rock,¡± I replied. ¡°I pull mana into my core and use runes to focus it, shaping stone or enchanting items. I tweak the runes for whatever I¡¯m trying to do.¡±


    The teacher gave a curt nod and then shifted his attention to an elf on the other side of the room. ¡°You there¡ªhow does your magic work?¡±


    The elf stood, wringing their hands nervously. ¡°My core looks like a tree, sir. I draw mana up through my roots¡­ I mean, my feet¡­ and then I guide it through my branches. Well, arms, mostly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± the old elf continued. ¡°Everyone¡¯s core is different, but the mana is all the same. Now, some of you will ask about qi.¡± A handful of humans who had raised their hands earlier immediately dropped them. The teacher smirked. ¡°Qi is just another name for mana, used by humans who like to complicate things. They develop techniques and fancy terms, but it all boils down to the same magic. Humans are indeed the most diverse in how they channel mana¡ªand this is reflected in the many names they use for it.¡±


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    He took a breath, surveying the room of wide-eyed students. ¡°One more thing¡ªdon¡¯t let pride in your ¡®special¡¯ style of magic blind you. Every method has advantages. Every technique can be learned or adapted. That¡¯s why you¡¯re all here: to build a foundation. After this course, if you still want to blow yourselves up in your dorm rooms, at least you¡¯ll know precisely how you did it.¡±


    A collective nervous laugh spread through the classroom. I forced a smile, realizing for the first time that maybe, just maybe, I¡¯d learn a lot more about magic here than I¡¯d initially bargained for.


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk about extraplanar beings,¡± the elf said, leaning heavily on his lectern as though the weight of his words was physical. ¡°It is vitally important that you do not summon them. They don¡¯t belong in our plane. Even if they mean no harm¡ªmost of them don¡¯t have the faintest clue how our world operates, and their very presence can unravel reality. If you happen to hear voices in your head while casting, stop immediately and fetch a responsible adult. If you are the so-called responsible adult, find an adultier adult. In any case,¡± he added, tapping the front of the lectern for emphasis, ¡°do not listen to the voices in your head, no matter how polite or persuasive they may sound.¡±


    ¡°And with that,¡± the old elf continued, ¡°I want you all to start absorbing mana. Do not do anything with the mana yet¡ªjust let it flow into you. Those of you who can already do it, sit quietly and observe, or listen if you think you could learn a new trick.¡±


    I took him at his word, closing my eyes and settling into my seat. The air around me felt thin, as though the mana here was soft and wispy, without any particular elemental flavor. I wasn¡¯t used to that. In my village mines, the mana tended to hum with the resonance of earth and stone, a heavy presence that practically vibrated in my bones. This college air felt almost too light, too ¡°unaffiliated,¡± like the difference between a hearty stew and a weak broth.


    The elf¡¯s voice rolled on, gentle but insistent, guiding us through the process.


    ¡°Reach out with your senses,¡± he said. ¡°There is mana in every breath you take and every inch of space around you¡ªno matter how faint. Imagine you have a set of invisible hands or threads, extending from your core, reaching outward to brush against that ambient mana. Let those threads tug the mana inward.¡±


    I visualized slender lines of energy streaming out from my chest, wrapping around the faint strands of mana drifting in the room. I felt something like a gentle tug in my gut as the mana responded, flowing back through those imaginary lines into my body.


    ¡°As you draw the mana in,¡± the elf continued, ¡°you hold it within your core. For many of you, your core may look different in your mind¡¯s eye. Some see a shining orb of light; some see a roaring flame. Our dwarven friend here might envision a solid sphere of stone. The shape is personal. What matters is that the mana settles into that core and does not leak out.¡±


    I pictured my core as a rough sphere of rock, swirling with the earthy, grounded energy I preferred. The new, wispy mana trickled in, swirling around the edges of my imaginary stone center. It felt alien¡ªlike water swirling in a carved bowl. But I held it there, letting it sit without forcing it into any particular element.


    ¡°Once the mana is within your core, simply let it rest,¡± the elf went on. ¡°No shaping, no channeling. Breathe. If you feel any discomfort or hear any voices that aren¡¯t your own, stop immediately. Remember, we are tapping into mana, not wrestling it into submission.¡±


    I took a long, slow breath, grounding myself in that idea. Despite the unfamiliar lightness of the mana, I could sense it flowing, filling the cracks and crevices of my mental ¡°stone.¡± My whole body relaxed, more than I expected, and I realized this was the purest form of mana: unaligned, unshaped, and free of any element¡¯s push or pull. It made sense that a school for every race and background would be steeped in such neutral energy.


    When I opened my eyes again, the old elf was scanning the room, watching for signs of strain or confusion. A few students looked stiff or uncomfortable, but most just seemed lost in concentration. I could feel my heart beating a bit slower, my mind calmer. This was different from my usual hammer-swinging approach¡ªno big bursts of power, no intense reshaping of stone¡ªjust a gentle gathering of raw potential. Maybe it wouldn¡¯t be so bad to learn how everyone else does it, after all.

 Chapter 17

    That was the only class I had scheduled for the day, but it left me more tired than I¡¯d expected. Sitting around gathering mana in a classroom full of cautious first-years turned out to be surprisingly draining. By  the time evening rolled around, my stomach was growling like a disgruntled wolf. So I made my way back to the dorms to grab dinner.


    The cafeteria was in its usual evening bustle: students chatting animatedly about their classes, the clatter of dishes echoing around the high-ceilinged hall, and the mouthwatering smells of stew and freshly baked bread drifting through the air. I spotted my usual group at a table near the far wall and hurried over with my tray of food.


    Kora, the petite harpy girl with inky-black feathers, was fiddling with a quill in her slender fingers. ¡°Hey, Gromli,¡± she called as I sat down. ¡°Busy day?¡±


    I shrugged, rubbing a hand over my tired eyes. ¡°More mentally exhausting than anything else. Spent the morning learning how not to blow myself up with mana.¡± I flashed a small grin. ¡°How was your day?¡±


    Kora ruffled her feathers. ¡°Well, I signed up for a flight drill class to improve my maneuverability in enclosed spaces. Turns out, flying indoors isn¡¯t as easy as it looks. Almost crashed into a chandelier.¡± She gave a nervous laugh, then poked at her plate of greens. ¡°I¡¯ll get better, though.¡±


    Leela, the elf girl with bright green hair, chimed in next. ¡°I¡¯m taking an elective on elemental flora¡ªfancy name for plant magic. We spent the entire class identifying different seeds and trying to germinate them with mana. I managed a little sprout.¡± She twirled a lock of her hair around a finger. ¡°Baby steps, I guess.¡±


    Across the table, Tanri, the ginger-furred cat-eared boy, leaned back in his chair, looking amused. ¡°I spent most of my day in archery practice. I mean, cat reflexes are great, but apparently my form is sloppy. Got an earful from the instructor¡ªliterally. An arrow grazed me, and I nearly yowled for half the hall to hear.¡± He wiggled one tufted ear in mock indignation.


    Sylra, the treeling girl with bark-like skin and evergreen hair, spoke up softly from her seat beside Kora. ¡°I had an alchemy workshop. We learned how to stabilize potions using bits of root or bark. The professor complimented my natural affinity¡ªapparently treeling wood can help slow a potion¡¯s volatility.¡± She offered a small smile. ¡°Makes me think we all have our own unique advantages.¡±


    Finally, Grok, the orc who was my roommate, paused from wolfing down his food. ¡°I was stuck filing paperwork for my scholarship job,¡± he groaned. ¡°But hey, I did manage to catch a lecture on defensive wards. We tried to reinforce a simple barrier spell. I, uh, might¡¯ve cracked a wall by overloading the mana. Oops.¡± He shrugged, clearly more amused than remorseful.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    I chuckled, scooping up a big spoonful of stew. ¡°Sounds like we all survived our first real day of classes, anyway. Go us.¡±


    Kora puffed out her chest feathers. ¡°Yeah, just gotta keep at it. Tomorrow¡¯s another chance to improve.¡±


    I nodded, letting the warmth of the stew seep through me. Despite my fatigue, I felt a small spark of excitement for the days ahead. Sure, class had worn me down, but the chance to learn and grow¡ªespecially in a place bursting with so many different people and skills¡ªmade it all worthwhile. We chatted about random campus gossip and our next-day schedules as we ate, each of us already plotting out how to make the most of our time at Stoneharp College.


    After dinner, I found myself with a few free hours before bed. I wasn¡¯t as tired as I¡¯d been before¡ªprobably thanks to that ¡°pure¡± mana we absorbed in class. It had a strangely invigorating effect. With time to kill, I decided to head to the library. I had questions rattling around in my head, and maybe I could find some answers tucked away in old books.


    As I walked, I turned over the old elf¡¯s words about extraplanar beings. A nagging thought kept coming back: was I one of them? My memories of another life, another time¡ªhow did they fit in with this world?


    I remembered working in the military once. Well, mostly I wore a uniform and did office work. Then I got out, and guess what? More office work. But it wasn¡¯t so bad. I had decent times there. My real passion, though, was running. Every run felt connected to every other run, somehow part of a bigger tapestry. I¡¯d had one perfect run once¡ªso smooth and exhilarating it felt almost transcendent. Even later, when I was heavier and out of shape, I kept trying to chase that memory of perfection.


    It occurred to me that running was a lot like this business of channeling mana¡ªpull it in, push it out, find a rhythm in your body. It made me wonder: were qi and mana really just different words for the same thing? Old elf teacher seemed to think so, chalking it up to humans complicating matters. Maybe all that ¡°cultivation¡± talk in my past life was just describing how you felt when you pushed yourself physically: that buzz of endorphins, that sense of mastery over your own body.


    But then there was this idea of meridians and a dantian, the places you supposedly stored energy¡ªlike a mana core, right? If my core was already a rock, did that mean it had gone from vapor to liquid to solid or something else entirely? My mind whirled with half-baked theories. Another thing to check, I supposed.


    Anyway, I tried not to get too lost in my head as I made my way across the campus. The library building stood tall, with wide steps leading up to grand doors. Dwarves aren¡¯t big on reading¡ªmine folk usually care more about pulling ore out of rock and carving stone into shape. But me? I¡¯d always liked books. Whatever dwarven instincts I had didn¡¯t override my curiosity for the written word.


    As I stepped inside, the hush of the library wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Shelves stretched in every direction, laden with tomes of every shape and size. Some looked ancient, bound in cracked leather. Others were newer, with bright covers and embossed titles. A few chairs and tables were scattered around, lit by soft-glowing mage-lights. A handful of students were poring over scrolls, quills scratching quietly.


    I took a slow breath and felt a flicker of excitement. Maybe I¡¯d find something here about ¡°meridians¡± or ¡°dantian,¡± or maybe I¡¯d stumble onto a treatise about dwarven rune techniques. Who knew? One thing was certain: between my reincarnation questions and my newfound dedication to magic studies, I wasn¡¯t going to run out of reading material anytime soon.