Alph cut the mental threads binding the park's vegetation, and the unified network fractured into drowsy, separate plants. The past hour spent casting and maintaining Life-Link left a deep weariness in his bones, a heavy weight across his shoulders.

  The rough-barked tree where Nylessa napped stood before him. She stirred at the scrape of his boot on wood, brown eyes blinking open with drowsy recognition before she stretched and dropped down beside him.

  "Done?" she asked, brushing leaves from her dark clothing.

  "Done," Alph confirmed.

  They exchanged a silent nod, their farewell, and she vanished into the trees. Alph watched her dissolve into the shadows, then turned toward the park's eastern edge where green met stone.

  The park's soft earth yielded to hard cobblestone. Fresh air heavy with grass and dampness vanished, replaced by the district's acrid smoke rising from chimneys. Coal fires and hot steel left a metallic tang. Merchant stalls and green verges disappeared, replaced by tight alleys between soot-blackened buildings.

  Grimforge's workshops crowded together, their windows streaked with grime, signs weathered and peeling. Charcoal and oil saturated the air, thick with iron and ash. Older structures loomed here; low ceilings, crude vents spewed heat into the haze. Alph pulled his shoulders back and moved deeper into the maze of narrow streets, heading toward the smithy.

  The tenth bell tolled; its heavy resonance vibrated through the stone as Alph neared the entrance. Grimforge sounded wrong. Instead of calm silence that should have settled in during the this hours, boisterous laughter and the sharp clatter of wood against metal spilled into the street. The cacophony belonged in a rowdy tavern, not a workshop that's closed for the day. What is Varrick doing? The air, usually thick with coal smoke, now carried the sour tang of cheap ale.

  Alph pushed the door open. Varrick sat at the center table flanked by two dwarves Alph didn't recognize, one broad as a barrel, the other lean and watchful. Three empty ale drums lay tipped on their sides, dark puddles spreading across the stone floor. Fresh kegs crowded the tabletop, and all three were deep into a committed drinking bout.

  Varrick threw his head back, beard shifting as his throat worked in steady swallows. He emptied the wooden tankard in one unbroken gulp. Ale spilled over his chin, darkening his hair and sharpening the stench of cheap brew. No trace remained of the smith's usual measured control.

  Varrick cracked the empty vessel against the tabletop. The strangers roared approval, their mugs rattling against scarred wood. The noise echoed off soot-stained walls, clashing with the forge's usual silence.

  The broad dwarf turned, ale sloshing in his tankard. His eyes locked on Alph.

  "Look who actually made it!" The dwarf's voice boomed across the workshop, each word thick with drink. He stabbed a finger toward Varrick. "This the apprentice you've been going on about?"

  "He is." Varrick wiped ale from his beard with the back of his hand. He gestured toward Alph. "Come here, lad."

  Alph crossed the floor, stepping around the spreading puddles.

  Varrick clapped a hand on the broad dwarf's shoulder. "This is Thorfin." He nodded toward the lean, watchful one. "And Rugnir. Old crew mates of mine."

  Thorfin thrust a tankard toward Alph. "Here, lad. Drink with us."

  Varrick's hand shot out, snatching the vessel mid-air. He drained it in three heavy gulps, then slammed it down. "Not corrupting my apprentice with ale."

  Thorfin's grin widened. "Protective, are we?"

  "He's got work tomorrow." Varrick's tone carried no room for argument.

  Alph raised a hand. "I appreciate it, but I'll pass."

  His willpower reserves had barely recovered from the night's practice. Alcohol would blur the edges of his control, and he couldn't afford that risk.

  Alph studied the three dwarves, their laughter filling the smithy in a way he'd never heard before. In the weeks since he'd arrived at Grimforge, the workshop had been a place of hammers and sweat, not celebration.

  "What's the occasion?" he asked, his gaze moving between them. "Festival?"

  Thorfin leaned forward. "Festival? No, lad. Next festival's at least a month away. Stonemother's Hearthfire festival. Oh, that's one to watch out for. So many fireworks—"

  "No." Varrick cut him short.

  Thorfin and Rugnir emptied their tankards in unison, smiling and unbothered.

  Varrick grabbed the pitcher and refilled both vessels. Amber liquid splashed over the rims. "They're here to escort my old man on an expedition." His tone held a dismissive edge. "Can't go myself. Entrusting the geezer to these two."

  "Titan's Wound," Rugnir said. "Safer to travel with numbers."

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  “Aye," Thorfin said, "especially without a proper tracker." He raised his tankard to Rugnir. "You'd get lost in the maze."

  "What's Titan's Wound?" Alph asked.

  "A massive underground cavern beneath Val Karok," Rugnir said, his fingers drumming once against the table. "Deep in the Undermantle, well past the worked mines. There's a rumor they've excavated an old Titan Ruin this time, though we're just escorts. Won't know what they've found until we arrive."

  Thorfin let out a bark of laughter. "That's always the story." He waved his tankard dismissively. "Every few years, some crew digs up a new ruin, claims it's proof of Titans. Reality?" He thumped the tankard down. "Just another old dwarven hold's remains."

  Varrick cut in again. "Stop filling the lad's head with stories." He leveled a finger at Thorfin. "I invited you two to discuss the commission."

  He reached for the keg, lifted it, and scowled at its weight. Empty. "Instead, you drank yourselves through my stock."

  Varrick turned to Alph. "Kitchen cellar. Fetch a fresh one, lad."

  Alph descended into the kitchen cellar and hauled a fresh keg back to the common room. He poured round after round, refilling tankards as the conversation devolved into boisterous laughter and slurred arguments about old battles and forgotten grudges.

  He settled into a corner and waited.

  The drinking bout stretched on. By the twelfth bell, all three dwarves succumbed to the ale. Varrick slumped forward first, his forehead resting against the table's edge. Thorfin followed moments later; his snores rattled the empty tankards. Rugnir lasted longest, but his sharp eyes eventually drooped shut, and he collapsed sideways across the bench.

  All three snored in drunken harmony.

  Alph studied the three unconscious dwarves sprawled across the table and benches. They wouldn't wake until morning.

  He wasn't needed anymore.

  He crossed to the stairwell and climbed the first step.

  The basement door creaked open behind him.

  Haldrix emerged from the shadows of the basement, his amber eyes bloodshot beneath thick eyebrows. His brass prosthetic arm caught the lamplight as he steadied himself against the doorframe.

  "Have the drunkards slept already?" His voice carried a weary rasp.

  Alph nodded. "They're out cold." His shoulders tightened. Meeting the Tier 4 Artisan's gaze alone sent ice through his veins.

  Haldrix grumbled, his scarred fingers flexing against the doorframe. "Drunkards made such a ruckus I couldn't focus on my rune work." He paused, his amber gaze settling on Alph. "Can you accompany me for tea?"

  Alph agreed. An opportunity to learn more about the enigmatic artisan, perhaps. He followed Haldrix to the kitchen.

  Haldrix raised his brass prosthetic arm. A rune etched into the plating flared amber, pulsed twice, then dimmed.

  A section of the kitchen wall clicked. Stone shifted, revealing a hidden compartment lined with pristine glass jars filled with tea leaves, arranged by color from pale green to deep crimson.

  Alph froze. A hidden compartment, in a wall I scrubbed daily. How did I miss it? His hands had passed over that exact section dozens of times.

  Haldrix's lips curved, a thin smile beneath those bloodshot amber eyes. He tapped the rune on his brass forearm with a scarred finger, the sound a dull clink against the plating.

  "A sigil for distant triggering, tied to the wall’s inner workings." He selected a jar of deep green leaves, turning it in the lamplight.

  "Functional craft, aye, but nothing grand." A dismissive wave of the prosthetic hand. "Not like temperature regulation or elemental manipulation. A convenient lock, nothing more."

  Alph remained motionless, absorbing the revelation. His focus shifted from the compartment to the runes controlling it. He knew runes as decorative engravings that added minor enchantments to weapons, functional but limited. The massive rune-etched mechanisms on the Skyrail Lifts were different, infrastructure-scale constructs requiring mages to channel mana through intricate matrices. This was personal.

  A single sigil carved into brass plating, linked to hidden mechanisms in the wall, activated by thought. No external mana source. No ritual. Haldrix’s will alone bridged the gap between thought and action.

  Haldrix turned, setting the jar back on the shelf. "How's the forge treating you, boy? Varrick's lessons sticking?"

  Alph straightened. "I've got the basics down."

  He paused, considering how much to reveal. "My Insightful Gaze has sharpened over the last few days. I'm catching flaws I would've missed a week ago."

  Alph knew the skill had crossed from Novice to Intermediate. That knowledge belonged to him alone. Haldrix could not know about the Mind Garden and Shaper's precise measurements, the way he tracked every incremental shift in mastery. People in this world tracked mastery by feel alone. He could not reveal he had access to something no one should possess.

  Haldrix set the water kettle on the table instead of the stove.

  Alph frowned.

  The old dwarf smiled and withdrew a smaller rune-carved stone from his robe, flat and round. He pressed it against the kettle's outer surface and channeled mana into it.

  The water began to boil.

  Alph stared. No flame. No coals. Just the stone and Haldrix's will.

  "Ambient heat generation," Haldrix said. "Transforms mana into thermal energy. Once you reach Tier 2 Artisan, you'll carve these yourself."

  The Artisan path is a distraction; the second constellation is a risk I could not afford right now. He shoved the thought down, focusing instead on balancing his existing constellation, prioritizing the immediate need over long-term ambition.

  Alph retrieved two ceramic teacups from the cupboard, setting them on the table with a sharp, rhythmic click.

  Haldrix paused mid-stir, his hand going still over the steaming kettle. Without warning, he reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a gemstone, tossing it across the space between them in a lazy arc.

  Alph's fingers closed around the cool, faceted surface before conscious thought caught up to reflex. The stone felt heavier than its size suggested, dense and purposeful in his palm. He turned it over, catching flickers of amber light trapped within its depths, and looked up at the elder dwarf with unspoken questions threading through his mind.