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The prince

  The bed creaked violently as Elias awoke, a look of panic covering his face.

  He began to feel actively for the tunic covering his back, only to tear it forcibly. He let out a sigh of relief when his fingers touched the irregular marks on it. The skin was rough in these places, scars.

  His scars! And they'll serve him forever as a reminder of that man.

  Regaining his composure, he wiped away the drops of sweat trickling down his face.

  A few drops crashed onto the already damp bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and forced himself to remain silent. It was all a dream, memories of another life, of a forgotten past, he convinced himself.

  Yes, he no longer had to fear the whip and the beatings. He was free, far from himself, this house and this town. Here in these mountains he had found peace.

  He slumped onto the bed, his eyes riveted to the ceiling, which was almost perfectly smooth.

  The stone had been carved by an expert hand, a cavity dug through it at the end of which a faint light could be seen allowing air to escape. The room was stiflingly hot and air was scarce. It was a miracle to be able to breathe in such depths.

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  Not content with being the continent's best metallurgists and outstanding builders, these hosts were as friendly and confraternal as they were talented. As long as you could put up with their pig-headedness and love of beer.

  Elias smiled at the thought. Those whom his people despised and called barbarians, monsters, had been more of a family to him than his own had ever been. True, they were not related by blood, but the bond that united him to them was so deep that this simple fact became non-existent.

  Regular, sonorous pounding sounds reached her ears.

  They reverberated and split into a thousand echoes animating Velhell's depths. A powerful blow at the chamber's swinging opening tore him from listening to the cacophony that was Velhell's voice.

  He rose to his feet, staggering under his own weight.

  His fingers grasped the silver metal bar that served as a handle on the immense sliding door, more than 30 centimetres thick. The door slid slowly aside.

  Elias looked out into the gigantic, empty corridor ahead. For a moment, he remained perplexed, sure he'd heard the knocking on his door. A creature with a shaggy beard was watching him, looking annoyed as he tapped his feet on the floor with undisguised impatience.

  Its skin had a metallic tint, and its ears were large but pointed. The thick-skinned hands seemed disproportionate to their owner's build.

  Yet it was with these same hands that this creature, though a little repulsive at first, cut the most beautiful gems, blades that could slice through the toughest shields, monuments whose beauty would make the greatest artists green with envy.

  Such was the talent of the Velhell people, such was the gift of the Dwarven.

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