"Uwaaahhh!" Byeon wailed, throwing his arms out as he nearly tackled the dwarf in a desperate, clinging hug.
The dwarf—bare-headed and clad in heavy, charred leather pants dusted with subterranean minerals—stiffened in shock. "Get off me!" he grunted, awkwardly shoving the tearful boy away.
"I can't believe it!" Byeon sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "I never should have gone into the forest on my own!"
"Well, I told you it was a bad idea," the dwarf scoffed.
"You did *not* tell me!" Byeon shot back.
The dwarves, for all their strength, weren't always the most perceptive bunch. It hadn't quite dawned on them yet that Byeon didn't even belong in this realm. "Well, anyone with a gut feeling could see it was dangerous to wander out there alone!" the dwarf argued. "Thankfully, we got Poggers to look for you."
A few paces away, Robert stood in tense silence. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, and his temples burned with cold sweat. He braced himself, calculating whether this encounter was about to devolve into a bloody confrontation.
The dwarf turned his attention to Robert, his eyes narrowing into a hostile smirk. "So, you're the envoy, huh? Well then. I can't believe the Order's baby warriors are already sniffing around for more. Your empire's greed just to conquer knows no bounds."
A hobbit standing nearby—clad in green and yellow garments, adjusting a large, heavy handbag slung across his back—stepped forward, trying to diffuse the rising tension. "Hey now," the hobbit said gently, looking up at Robert. "Hasn't your Order had enough of taking our lands? Now you want to take this valley, too?"
Robert's fists clenched. The accusation stung, mostly because it was a twisted version of the truth. He wasn't a willing knight of the Order; his own home had been swallowed by their expanding borders, his dreams of true knighthood crushed under the boot of conscription.
"I'm just a soldier," Robert said, his voice tight and quiet. "I, too, have experienced their misfortune firsthand."
Reaching into his tunic, Robert produced his identification tag. It was a cheap, iron-plated slab—the undeniable mark of a conquered human, forced to serve as a men-at-arms swordsman.
Seeing the iron tag, the dwarf's brash demeanor evaporated. For all their gruff bluster, dwarves were inherently kind-hearted to the oppressed. "I see," the dwarf muttered, his hostility shifting into sympathy. "Then it's your king who's at fault!"
The black-haired hobbit looked at Robert with wide, naive eyes. "You're going to die if you go back empty-handed, aren't you?"
"Go back and tell them!" the unhelmeted dwarf roared, suddenly puffing out his chest with bravado. "Tell them we didn't grant you passage! Let them come—I'll fight them a hundred to one!"
*Clang!*
An older dwarf stepped up and promptly smacked the younger one over the head with a heavy iron helmet. "You fool!" the elder barked. "You think you're stupid enough to fight an entire empire?"
"I'm not saying that, brother!" the younger dwarf yelled, rubbing his head. Within seconds, the two were rolling in the dirt, locked in a dusty, cursing brawl. Byeon wisely took a few steps back to avoid the flailing limbs.
Another hobbit, wearing a warm smile, sidled up to Robert. "What about living in our town?" he offered softly. "You can hide from the Order here. The valley is protected by an ancient magic that hides us from the rest of the world. If you stay... you'll never have to fight again."
Robert looked down at his calloused hands, his expression heavy with contemplation. A quiet, safe life. It was everything he had once dreamed of. But the faces of his past flickered in his mind—the promises he had made, the people he had lost. They were gone, but the weight of his vows remained tethered to his soul.
He slowly bowed his head, offering a regretful shake. "Forgive me... but I cannot."
Suddenly, a heavy hand slapped against Robert's back. The unhelmeted dwarf had extracted himself from the brawl and was staring intensely at Byeon exposed skin through a tear in his tunic. "What the heck happened to your shoulder?!"
"It's a scar, you dumbass," the older brother muttered, dusting the dirt from his own beard.
"Well, you weren't looking that ragged before," the younger dwarf noted, his brow furrowed in concern.
Byeon stepped forward, his voice steadying as he looked at the group. "I got it while he..." Pointing at robert " while saving me," he explained softly.
The tension finally broke, replaced by a quiet, weary camaraderie. Gathering their bearings, the eclectic group began their descent. They walked in single file along a perilous path of ancient wooden tiles, suspended along the edge of a plunging cliff, making their way toward the hidden town below.
They were heading to meet the Magister—an ancient, blind sage said to possess the ability to read the very souls of those who stood before him.
Well... It was the Owner of Poggers.
And high above, entirely unnoticed by the travelers, a solitary white dove circled in the pale sky, watching their every step.
Scrambling through the dirt, the gnomes rushed to grab their fallen comrade who had tumbled over in the chaos.
One of them hastily plucked a delicate white flower from their satchel and pressed it to the injured gnome's lips. The mystical petals worked instantly, surging the fallen gnome with a much-needed burst of energy.
They were remarkably tiny beings, standing barely as tall as the woodland mushrooms. To them, the thick blades of tall grass towered overhead, forming a dense, impenetrable green jungle.
With reluctant desperation, they hauled their groggy friend to his feet. There was no time to rest.
Almost tumbling the gnome who helped the other gnome...
They had to run, vanishing into the deep brush before the small, terrifying monsters stunted nearby could finally wake up.