Zeke sat in the dim glow of his quarters, lost in thought. A night had passed since the competition, from which he had withdrawn shortly after being declared the victor. It hadn't been a calculated move to appear elusive—rather, he had simply begun to feel his emotions returning.
After maintaining such a flawless performance throughout the event, he hadn't wanted to risk embarrassing himself, so he chose to retreat. But not before exchanging a few words with some of the more influential participants—most notably, the Ironhide family, whom he had targeted from the start.
Though no promises had been made, Zeke was certain they would reach out before long, if only to express their gratitude for how he had helped their scion and preserved their family's honor.
But at the moment, his mind was occupied with something else entirely.
A wooden crate rested open before him. Inside, nestled in protective padding, lay the fruits of his victory: twenty-eight vials of Dreamwalker Brew. Their contents shimmered in the light, each swirling with an unnatural glow, as if carrying the remnants of half-formed dreams.
As promised, all the remaining vials were handed to him as the victor. Zeke considered them among his greatest rewards from the competition. These vials held something beyond the reach of wealth—an invaluable means to rapidly strengthen the Soul.
Among them, six stood out—larger than the rest, their glass adorned with thick etchings. Even without tasting them, he could tell these were leagues beyond what he had consumed in the final round.
His fingers traced the lip of one such vial as he leaned back, exhaling slowly. The question loomed: What should he do with them?
Its benefits were undeniable, but reckless consumption wasn't wise. He had already witnessed how easily one could become lost in those visions, consumed by memories that weren't their own. Even now, he was dealing with the aftermath—bravery, heartache, and numbness all clashing within him, pulling his mind in different directions at once…
A knock at the door broke his train of thought. A moment later, the door swung open, and Gunner strode in without waiting for an invitation. The dwarf carried the scent of smelted metal and ink-stained parchment, the telltale signs of a man deep in his craft.
"Yer sittin' here starin' at these vials like a dragon countin' his hoard," Gunner grunted, arms crossed. "Ye plannin' on drinkin' 'em all at once or jus' admirin' the glow?"
Zeke smirked, setting the vial down. "Haven't decided yet. But since you're here, I assume you have news?"
Gunner snorted. "Aye, that I do. Those schematics ye left me with? I took another crack at 'em. Thought ye'd appreciate a surprise." He reached into his coat, producing a rolled-up parchment before tossing it onto the table. "See fer yerself."
Zeke raised a brow, unrolling the paper with care. As his eyes scanned the intricate lines and notations, his usual neutral expression flickered with something close to admiration. The progress was impressive—far more than he had expected. The sheer volume of ideas Gunner had proposed was staggering. It seemed he had examined every part of the design, from materials to craftsmanship to the parts themselves.
A quick glance revealed that most of these changes wouldn't significantly affect the end result, but the creativity was undeniable. Gunner clearly had that spark.
What interested Zeke more, however, was how some of the more complex mechanisms had been broken down into modular components. This change promised to make the design easier to assemble without sacrificing much functionality. Given that he planned to shift most of his production to Korrovan, a modular design could be exactly what he needed.
"Well?" Gunner leaned in, arms on the table. "Ye always got that unreadable look, but I'll be damned if ye ain't impressed."
Zeke exhaled, nodding slightly. "You've done well." He rolled the parchment back up and set it aside.
Gunner grinned. "So… about that gold ye were flappin' yer gums about?"
Zeke turned his focus inward, prompting Akasha to make the calculation. Moments later, she provided her analysis. Of all the changes Gunner had proposed, four met the requirements and would be included in the next version of the product. It was a surprising number, especially considering only a few days had passed.
As expected, the dwarfs should never be underestimated when it came to fine craftsmanship. Despite their brutish appearances, they clearly had a knack for this work, their minds far sharper than they first appeared.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Zeke didn't feel the need to double-check Akasha's verdict. With a wave of his hand, a pile of gold appeared on the table, exactly as promised.
The dwarf's eyes widened for a moment, then he rushed to snatch the gleaming metal, stuffing the bars into the many pockets of his blacksmith's apron. Zeke watched with a wry smile. Did the man think he would fight him for it if he didn't hurry?
"Say…" Zeke began, but was immediately cut off.
"I ain't givin' it back, lad. A deal's a deal!" the dwarf growled.
Zeke shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "That's not what I was going to say."
The dwarf paused, slipping the last piece of gold into his pocket. "Ohh, then I'm all ears."
Zeke leaned in slightly. "What would you think of a... more permanent arrangement between us?"
Gunner studied him for a moment, silent as his mind worked. "What've ye got in mind?"
"I'm thinking of increasing my presence here in the capital," Zeke explained. "For that, the help of a local would be invaluable."
The dwarf chuckled. "Want me t' sell me soul, eh? That won't come cheap. What's in it fer me?"
"Funding, for one," Zeke said, gesturing to the spot where the gold had been.
Gunner spat. "What good's gold if I ain't got time t' spend it? Don't be thinkin' I don't know how much work this business o' yers'll be."
Zeke nodded, not disputing that. "…In addition, your name will be associated with mine."
Gunner raised an eyebrow. "What makes ye think I'd be wantin' that?"
Zeke smirked. "Who was it that bragged about knowing me all night yesterday?" Gunner's face flushed with embarrassment.
Zeke leaned in. "Right now, my name carries as much weight in this city as those of the greatest families. You're in a prime position to leverage that fame. Trade agreements, cooperation, connections—all there for the taking by a dwarf smart enough to make use of them."
Gunner said nothing, but the tension in his stance told Zeke he was listening.
"I don't expect you to do all the work yourself," Zeke continued. "With the money I'll provide, you can hire as many people as you need to get the job done. That way, you'll still have plenty of time for your own work."
"I…" the dwarf began, but before he could answer, the ringing of bells from the other room signaled a visitor.
"Coming!" Gunner called over his shoulder, then turned to Zeke with an apologetic look. "I'll give it some thought, aye?"
Zeke nodded, recognizing that the moment to press him had passed. However, he was almost certain Gunner would accept—the offer was simply too good to turn down.
The man promptly left to deal with his customer, leaving Zeke alone with the crate of Dreamwalker brew. He still hadn't decided how he would approach them in the future, but he could think of one immediate use for the brew.
With a mental command, he had Akasha draft a quick note, which he placed inside the crate before teleporting it to his safe in Tradespire. He could rely on his people there to carry out his instructions.
Moments later, the door opened again, revealing Gunner, his face sour.
"What? Already scared away your customer?" he joked.
"Pah! As if!" Gunner grunted. "Ain't a customer, it's someone looking for you."
Zeke raised a brow. "Did they tell you their name?"
"Ironhide family," Gunner said flatly.
Zeke smirked and stood up. "See? That's the power of my name. The Great families come knocking just because I'm here." He passed the dwarf, brushing his shoulder lightly as he did. "Think about my offer."
With those words, he made his way to the entrance of the smithy, where a man was already waiting.
Zeke approached him with a wide smile. "I hear you're looking for me?"
"Aye, heir Hohenheim," the man said, nodding in greeting. "Me teacher asked me to extend an invite to ye."
Zeke's smile widened. "For when?"
"There's gonna be a banquet t'night. T' celebrate th' exemplary performance o' young Drogar. It'd be an honor fer us if ye could attend."
Zeke nodded solemnly. "I'll be there."
"Excellent. I'll be takin' me leave then," the dwarf said, handing him a letter. "This be fer ye."
Zeke waited for the man to disappear from sight before opening the letter. It contained the time and location for the evening's celebration, along with a short message from Drogar, expressing his thanks.
In a good mood, Zeke turned to head back to his room, but found Gunner watching him from not far away. Zeke grinned at him, his mood clearly lifted. "Something you wanna say?"
"Tha' were Devon Brownbeard," Gunner said in way of explanation.
"Who?"
"…Devon Brownbeard," Gunner repeated, clearly frustrated by Zeke's indifferent reaction.
Zeke glanced toward where the man had gone, then faced Gunner again. "So?"
"So, he says…" Gunner muttered, rubbing his beard in agitation. "That man's one o' th' best Runesmiths o' his generation, a true prodigy when it comes t' carv'n runes."
Zeke frowned, still not understanding the significance.
"Ye don't get it," Gunner sighed. "A man like that ain't sent as a message runner. It'd be like sendin' a prince t' muck out th' stables."
Zeke grinned as he finally understood. "Ah, so they must have a great deal of respect for me, is that what you're saying?"
Gunner nodded his head reluctantly, as if unwilling to admit it.
"Looks like you didn't fully believe me when I told you that I have quite a bit of influence here."
"Course I believed it," Gunner protested. "Winnin' th' competition ain't no small feat, after all. But hearin' about it an' havin' a man like Devon show up at me doorstep—two different things, aye?"
Zeke nodded slowly, saying nothing. He had a good idea where this conversation was headed, and there was no need to make it more obvious.
After a moment of silence, Gunner spoke up. "Does that offer still stand?"
Without a word, Zeke spat in his hand and extended it for a shake. Gunner hesitated only for an instant before mimicking the gesture, and Zeke soon felt the firm grip of a rough, iron-like hand closing around his. Just like that, the deal had been made.
Unbeknownst to Zeke, a warm smile spread across his face.
Just days ago, Gunner himself had explained that dwarves only dealt with those they considered trustworthy. In their culture, agreements were often made loosely, relying on the character of the individual rather than the written word.
In a way, a handshake from a dwarf was one of the greatest compliments one could receive. It was a symbol of trust and respect.