With this relic, the demons invaded without reprieve. Entire worlds fell to their onslaught until a coalition of gods summoned five heroes to turn the tide. Among them, Brigga the Pure, Cloud the White Wolf, Kren the Vengeful, Augre the Brave, and Orith the Orc Champion held the line. Yet even these mighty warriors faced unimaginable losses. In the end, only Cloud and Orith survived.
Cloud, once an ordinary grey dog from Earth, transformed into a Fenrir upon his summoning. Now, he waits eternally for his fallen companions to return, never understanding that they are gone forever.
The hunger woke me.
Not the regular kind of hunger, but the kind that fogs your thoughts and makes the world spin. Dizzy and ravenous, I stumbled out of my tent, barely noticing my state of undress. My groggy mind failed to register the amused giggles as I walked toward the cooking area, wearing nothing but my underwear.
Thankfully, breakfast had already begun, and the cooks had outdone themselves. I inhaled several bowls of mashed potatoes, beans, carrots, and berries, barely stopping to chew. Even after all that, my stomach still growled like a feral beast. Finally, as my senses returned, I realized my... predicament.
Horrified, I fled back to my tent, grabbing proper clothing before anyone could make further comments. Emerging again, I felt slightly more prepared to face the day. But as soon as I stepped outside, my father was there, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.
“Morning, son!” he said, his tone far too cheerful.
“Hey, Dad,” I replied warily, trying to gauge his mood.
He handed me a polished buckler. “Take a look.”
I froze, staring at my reflection. The person staring back wasn’t the same slim, lean figure I’d grown used to seeing. Broad shoulders, chiseled muscles, and defined arms replaced the wiry frame I had known. It was like staring into a memory—the body I’d seen in my dream when I met Arcway, the God of Dreams.
“How?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Check your skills,” my father said, his grin widening.
- [Dwarven Thick Skin]: +10% resistance to damage.
- [Dwarven Sturdiness]: +10% endurance.
- [Dwarven Strength]: +10% physical strength.
“These are... Dwarven traits,” I murmured, my mind racing. But they weren’t racial traits—they were skills, capped at level one. While not as potent as the traits Grillo had explained, they were permanent bonuses.
“It’s the mark,” my father said. “Congratulations, son. You’ve become a man.”
Before I could process his words, he pulled me into a bear hug. “We should celebrate. Let’s go find Grillo and have a drink.”
Grillo was already waiting when we arrived at the hut where the village stored its alcohol. Seated at a barrel-turned-table, the old dwarf gestured to the two stools beside him. Three mugs of frothy ale awaited us.
As soon as I took a swig, my father and Grillo burst out laughing.
“Nice to see you finally got some!” my father said, his grin stretching ear to ear.
I choked, spraying ale everywhere as the realization hit. “Wha—what? How do you even know?!”
Grillo slapped my back, his own laughter booming. “You’ve made an old dwarf proud, lad!”
“I didn’t—what—why?!” I sputtered, trying to piece together what was happening.
Grillo leaned back, his face alight with mischief. “The mark. I lied when I said it wasn’t magical. It activates fully when you become a man in the Dwarven sense.”
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“Fifteen lets you bear the mark, but true Dwarven manhood isn’t about age,” my father added, his voice filled with humor.
“And you didn’t tell me this because...?”
Grillo’s grin turned devilish. “Because I knew this reaction would be worth it!”
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “This is the most embarrassing moment of my life.”
My father clapped me on the back, laughing so hard he could barely speak. “Come on, son. You’ve got the muscles, the girl, and the skills now. You’re living the dream!”
“I’m living a nightmare,” I muttered. “Grillo, this means... you too, right? Someone actually—?”
The old dwarf’s face turned beet red, his laughter booming even louder. “Watch it, lad. You’re walking a dangerous road!”
We laughed for hours that day, the sound echoing through the village. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I truly belonged—among family, friends, and the people who cared for me.
As I awoke to the harmonious chirps of crickets and birds, my gaze fell on Emma, peacefully sleeping beside me. Her radiant beauty was only slightly betrayed by her hilariously frizzled hair, sticking out in all directions like she’d tangled with a high-voltage wire. I bit back the urge to wake her just to tease her about it. She looked so blissful, and after everything we’d been through, she deserved that peace.
Slipping outside, the early risers of our eclectic village were already bustling about. The sight brought a genuine smile to my face. Dwarves, elves, elementals, and even goblins, all living together in a rare harmony that most people would never believe possible. A high goblin child darted by, laughing as it chased a mischievous wind elemental that teased him with gusts of air. Their shared joy was infectious. This little pocket of peace we had carved out of the chaos of our world felt fragile yet immensely rewarding.
The laughter must have stirred Emma, for soon she emerged, yawning and stretching like a contented cat. She made the most adorable sound, a soft “Chiyeah!” that always made me grin. Her movements, however, had an oddly metallic quality, as if her toned muscles hummed like stretched steel cords. It was both endearing and a little intimidating.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” I teased. “How’s it feel to look like an angel with a bad hair day?”
She smirked, swatting playfully at my arm before heading toward the hearth where breakfast was already calling. I lingered, taking in the sight of our home’s growing strength. Reinforced walls of concrete and stone now surrounded the town, with steel and Elorium alloy brackets holding the gates and sections together. Pops and I had spared no effort in bolstering our defenses after Muiren’s attack. The sight of our progress gave me some comfort, though I knew it would never erase the losses we’d endured.
My musings were abruptly interrupted by what I could only describe as a homing missile—Shelly. She zoomed toward me with all the energy of a storm, and before I could dodge, she tackled me to the ground with a squealing “POP!”
This was a routine I’d come to expect. My parents had a habit of sending my adopted little sister my way whenever they needed “alone time.” Usually, it meant waking up to tiny knees or feet landing on my stomach, but today, I’d gotten up early enough to avoid that fate.
“Hey, Shelly. What brings you here so early?” I asked, still pinned under her relentless energy.
“Mum an’ Dwad said they had pwerent confwence meeting,” she replied, her childish lisp making the words almost unintelligible but impossibly cute.
Emma joined us, her laughter warm as she watched Shelly clamber onto my shoulders, demanding piggyback rides. For the next hour, Emma and I entertained her with games, laughter, and far too many rides. By the time it was over, my legs felt like jelly, but Shelly’s delighted giggles made it worth it.
When it was time to take her home, I escorted her back toward my parents’ dwelling, only to hear some distinctly... amorous sounds drifting through the open window. My face burned with embarrassment. Acting quickly, I scooped Shelly into my arms and covered her ears.
“Let’s go, Shelly! Back to my hut!” I said, walking briskly away from what I could never unhear.
“Mummy an’ Dwad were making funny noises,” she remarked innocently as we walked.
“Uh-huh,” I muttered, doing my best to redirect her attention. “They were, uh, playing a grown-up game.”
When we returned, Emma was already at work in the kitchen, her skillful hands flipping patties and preparing breakfast. The smell of her cooking was heavenly. She’d somehow perfected the art of making veggie patties that tasted almost like meat, paired with spiced eggs and fresh greens. For herself, she was cooking real sausage—something that drew Shelly’s immediate attention.
Emma, ever the kind soul, added an extra portion for Shelly and set the table with a practiced efficiency that left me marveling. As we sat down, Shelly tilted her head at me.
“Ar’nt, why didn’t we have breakfast with Mummy?” she asked.
I froze for half a second before managing, “Mommy’s already having breakfast.”
Shelly frowned in thought. “Wut’s she having?”
And that’s when my traitorous brain betrayed me. Without thinking, I muttered under my breath, “Sausage.”
Time seemed to slow. Shelly’s face lit up with childlike excitement, and before I could correct myself, she turned to Emma, who was taking a bite of her food. “Mummy’s having sausage for breakfast!” Shelly announced gleefully.
Emma froze mid-bite, confusion flickering across her face for a brief moment. Then it hit her. The look of realization—of suppressed laughter and sheer amusement—was unmistakable. I could see her struggling to keep her composure as her shoulders trembled with barely-contained mirth.
Shelly, oblivious to the implications, smiled brightly. “Can I have sausage too?”
Emma burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hand as tears streamed from her eyes. “Oh, Shelly,” she choked out, “you’re too precious.”
I groaned, burying my face in my hands as Emma’s laughter rang out, a reminder that even amidst the chaos, life still found ways to be absurdly, painfully funny.