Clintstone Mine,

  Coldspring Outskirts,

  Northern Province.

  -

  Finn and Gunnar were done stacking iron ores. The pile had grown tall—nearly up to Finn’s shoulders—and occasionally, a piece would slip loose and tumble down.

  Gunnar caught them, silent and swift, straightening the stack without a word.

  Beside them, clintstone chunks glimmered with a bluish-green sheen. Even the scattered debris on the floor sparkled, ground down but still stubbornly bright.

  Finn crouched, scooping up dust-laced soil and tipping it into a small pouch

  “Oi, oi, the hell you doing? Quit wasting time. Grab the big ones.” Gunnar's voice came out muffled through the rag tied around his face, a torn sleeve doing its best to pass as a mask. He jabbed a thumb at the clintstone stack.

  “That’s boss’s haul, idiot. I’m just messing around. Might be useful.” Finn didn’t even look up, still scraping dust from the floor. The boss didn’t care about crumbs. Finn did.

  “Relax, no need to yell, dumbass.” He let out a dry chuckle, shoulder-bumping Finn as he walked past.

  A few miners passed along the main tunnel—just visible from the shadowy side corridor where Finn and Gunnar worked.

  One of them slowed, leaned in, and called out, “Something’s busted near the cave mouth!”

  “What’s exploding?” Finn called back, hand still halfway to his pouch.

  The miner just shrugged and jogged off, boots echoing down the stone.

  Finn and Gunnar exchanged a look. Neither moved.

  “One more cart,” Gunnar muttered.

  “Yeah. Then we check.”

  They dropped their tools and held up fists—rock, paper, scissors.

  …

  Finn took the last cart.

  This batch wasn’t of iron ores. And it sure as hell wasn’t Clintstone.

  The ore was deep black, smoother than either—almost oily, like it could stain through gloves. Gunnar squinted at it, frowned, gave it a tap with his knuckle.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Finn didn’t answer right away. He’d seen it before.

  “Remember this, Finn. This is Varkane, and we use it to strengthen iron.” Finn muttered under his breath, a chuckle slipping out as he mimicked his father’s gruff tone, the memory still fresh.

  “What?” Gunnar

  “Nothing,” Finn responded. Should’ve paid more attention to his lecture.

  In no time, they were done with the cart and heading up. They took the wooden lift, the kind with a long rope and creaking pulleys.

  Finn grabbed the lever, pulling it down with a sharp jerk. The lift groaned under the strain, slowly hauling them toward the surface.

  The ropes hummed, and the worn timbers creaked with every inch they climbed—nothing smooth, but effective, the kind of contraption that made you wonder how many times it had nearly snapped.

  By the time they reached the mouth of the cave, the chatter around them had shifted.

  It wasn’t about booze, gambling, or hunting like usual. No, now they were talking about ‘explosion’.

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  A cold shock ran up Finn’s spine as his gaze landed on Lars' Tavern—now nothing more than a ruin.

  “Zoe!” His voice came out louder than intended, panic flooding him before he could stop it.

  He took off, leaving Gunnar behind, still processing.

  He ran through the wreckage, scanning for any sign of them.

  Lars and Zoe were nowhere to be found. Only a handful of guards stood around. They filled Finn in—Zoe and Lars had been taken to Chief Sigrid. And, of course, the boss.

  Chief Sigrid’s Lodge,

  Coldspring Village,

  Northern Province

  -

  Finn arrived at the chief’s lodge astride Hilda. As soon as they stopped, he swung down and sprinted for the door.

  Hilda, sharp as ever, didn’t need telling. She trotted off toward the hitching post, letting out a short neigh—like she was wishing Finn good luck.

  The door slammed behind him. Heads turned. No familiar faces.

  Finn kept moving, eyes sweeping the room.

  Two guards stood by an inner door. They didn’t stop him. One gave a nod, and that was enough.

  Inside, he spotted Lars in the corner—bruised, smirking, mid-conversation. Across from him sat the only mage in Coldspring, cloak drawn high, half his face hidden in shadow.

  “Lars!” Finn shouted, storming in. “Zoe—where is she?”

  Lars looked up, bruised but still irritatingly calm. “Finn, darling, breathe,” he said with a dramatic flick of his wrist, voice all flair.

  But Finn wasn’t having it. He stepped in harder, fists clenched on Lars’ collar. “Don’t tell me to breathe. Where is she?”

  The guards yanked him back.

  “You promised— she would be fine!” Finn shouted, thrashing against their grip. “Let me go!”

  One of the guards muttered something, but he didn’t hear it. His eyes were locked on Lars.

  Lars raised both hands, half in surrender, half to calm him. “She’s fine, Finn. I swear. Shaken, maybe, but not hurt. Nobody laid a finger on her.”

  Finn stopped struggling—barely. His breath came hard. “Then what the hell happened?”

  Lars filled him in. The boss, the threats, the pulse that tore through the tavern like a hammer of light. Zoe didn’t mean to—but it didn’t matter. People saw. Word was spreading.

  Finn calmed—just a little. The guards loosened their grip.

  But as Lars finished the story, the anger didn’t fade. It shifted. Hardened. Not at Lars—but at the boss.

  Then the door to Chief Sigrid’s office creaked open. Out stepped the boss, followed by Sigrid, a few guards... and Zoe.

  She kept her head down, eyes fixed on the floor, hands tightening on her long black maid skirt. What the fuck. Is that maid uniform? What are they doing to her?

  Finn lunged at the boss, fist flying, his anger pushing him forward.

  The punch was already halfway through the air when he felt a sharp tug on his arm.

  Lars tackled him from the side, slamming him to the ground with a loud thud.

  Zoe’s voice—louder now—cut through the haze as she rushed to his side. “Finn!”

  For a second, he saw her face—wide-eyed, terrified. Then the light fractured, and everything went dark.

  Finn blinked awake, disoriented, his head pounding. He was lying on a bed, the soft creak of the mattress beneath him.

  Zoe was sitting beside him, one hand pressed gently against his chest, her eyes wide with concern.

  She let out a shaky breath, her voice sharp with relief. “Finn!”

  Her hand remained where it was; there was a hesitation in her fingers. Her palm, warm against his skin, trembled slightly.

  Finn, still dazed, turned his head toward her. Their eyes met for a brief second, but neither of them knew how to hold it.

  Finn’s heart hammered in his chest, but it wasn’t from the pain. The tenderness of the moment settled in, a quiet, fragile connection between them.

  Neither said anything.

  Finn didn’t move, until Zoe pulled his arm, “Finn. Let’s. Out”

  They made their way out of the guest room and into the main hall, where the long table stretched out before them.

  Lars, Sigrid, and the hooded mage were still deep in conversation, their voices low and serious. But as Finn and Zoe stepped into the room, all eyes shifted toward them.

  “Finn, we need to talk,” Chief Sigrid said, his tone firm. “About her.”

  A chill ran through Finn. Fear and confusion twisted in his gut as he looked down at Zoe, standing beside him.

  But Zoe—Zoe—wasn’t afraid. Her posture was straight, eyes calm. Too calm. It was as if she was... waiting for something, almost eager for it.

  What does she know? What is happening?

  He caught her gaze for a brief moment, trying to read her, but she didn’t seem to share the same unease. Instead, there was a strange positivity in her demeanor.