I

  In the rolling hills of Thundertop, where the earth whispered ancient secrets, lived Zeroth Velkyrr, a ginger hill dwarf of seventy-three years with a beard like wildfire and a heart enchanted by the silent tales of stone. While his kin lusted after glittering gems and precious metals, Zeroth saw profound beauty in the humble rocks beneath his feet. To him, each stone was a storyteller, a keeper of the world's oldest memories. His pockets jingled not with gold but agates and quartz, and his fingers often traced veins of granite as tenderly as others might touch silk.

  “Zeroth, you’ve got rocks in your head!” they'd tease when he lingered too long at a vein of basalt. “Aye, and a grand collection they make!” he'd laugh, patting the lumpy satchel at his hip. It was easier to lean into the jokes than explain how a weathered river stone, scarred and cracked, felt far more honest than any gem.

  One day, deep in the winding tunnels beneath Thundertop, Zeroth’s pickaxe struck something unusual. It wasn’t the dull clunk of iron on granite but a resonant hum that vibrated in his bones. He froze, ears twitching. Dwarven instinct whispered caution, unnatural sounds rarely ended well, but Zeroth’s curiosity bulldozed any hesitation.

  “Well now, what’re you hidin’?” he murmured, chipping away until the wall crumbled. Inside, embedded in the rock, was a stone unlike any he’d ever seen. As he brushed away the dirt, the stone flared to life, glowing brilliantly before floating gently into the air.

  Zeroth blinked. “Huh. Never seen a floating rock before.”

  It bobbed closer, humming softly.

  “Well, I guess you’re coming home with me,” he said, slipping it into his satchel. “Might as well name ya… Glowy.”

  Glowy quickly became part of Zeroth’s peculiar charm. It hovered alongside him during mine inspections, nudged his ale mug at the tavern, and once even "accidentally" tripped Ardric, his paladin brother, straight into a mud puddle.

  “That thrice-cursed rock’s haunted!” Ardric spat, plucking emeralds from his muddied beard.

  “Nah,” Zeroth shrugged, tossing Glowy casually like dice. “Just frisky.”

  His kin sighed. If Zeroth wanted a pet rock, so be it. At least it wasn't another "quartz phase."

  Weeks later, beneath the vaulted expanse of an underground sky, Glowy’s gentle hum suddenly sharpened into a piercing whine. Zeroth sat by a crackling campfire, roasting a hare, when the stone erupted in a brilliant supernova of stardust.

  From the cosmic glitter emerged a spectral dwarf, his beard resembling a nebula and a translucent hardhat perched askew atop his head.

  “BY THE HAMMERS OF MY ANCESTORS!” boomed the apparition. “I am Grimbli Stoneforge, architect extraordinaire of the Nexus! Who dares disturb my eternal slumber?!”

  Zeroth scratched his beard, unfazed. “So you're the one making Glowy float around.”

  “Glowy?!” Grimbli attempted to facepalm, his ethereal hand passing through his skull. “How, in the cavernous deep, did you never question a SENTIENT, LEVITATING artifact?!”

  Zeroth shrugged. “Didn’t seem important.”

  Grimbli groaned, stirring the flames of the campfire with a ghostly sigh. “Once I crafted pillars that touched the skies; now I'm bound to a rock collector who names relics ‘Glowy.’”

  “Better than being stuck in a wall,” Zeroth retorted, grinning. “Besides, I'm headed someplace special. Legends speak of an axe hidden in Silvercrest—”

  “The Flaming Berserker Battle Axe?” Grimbli’s eyes flared. “You lumbering fool! That axe is cursed with a god’s fury! It’s no trinket for your collection!”

  Zeroth stood, dusting ash from his trousers. “I’ll be the judge of that. You coming, Glowy’s Ghost?”

  “IT’S GRIMBLI!”

  “Sure thing, Grumbly.”

  With a grumbling Grimbli retreating reluctantly into the stone, which now hovered beside him like an irritated firefly, Zeroth hefted his pickaxe, shouldered his pack, and ventured into the tunnel's yawning mouth, ancient dwarven runes illuminating their path with faint, otherworldly glow. Each step echoed softly, carrying them deeper into legend. The darkness swallowed them whole.

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  Ancient dwarven runes scarred the walls, their glyphs worn smooth by countless ages. Zeroth traced them absently as he walked, his calloused fingers brushing reverently over faded stories of forgotten kings and battles lost to time. He paused, squinting at a serpentine carving, deciphering its faded warnings.

  “This one says, ‘beware the hungering dark,’” he mused aloud, brows knitted thoughtfully. “Or maybe, ‘don’t eat the mushrooms.’ Hard to say.”

  Grimbli’s exasperated voice crackled sharply from the stone. “Focus, you oaf. These are warnings, not tavern specials.”

  “Warnings, schmarnings,” Zeroth chuckled. “Nothing down here but dust and—”

  The torch sputtered suddenly, its robust flame shrinking to a cold, unnatural blue ember. A frigid breath slithered down the tunnel, raising goosebumps beneath Zeroth’s beard.

  “Told you,” Grimbli muttered sourly.

  Darkness surged in around them. Zeroth’s breath caught, not from fear, but from awe, as Glowy’s hum intensified sharply, its soft glow swelling into celestial brilliance. The stone's radiant light pierced the gloom, illuminating veins of quartz embedded in the walls, their crystals twinkling like captive stars.

  “Handy little pebble, aren't you?” Zeroth murmured, blinking at the sudden brightness.

  “Don’t. Mention. It,” Grimbli growled, each word sounding like a rusty gear grinding reluctantly into motion.

  Guided by Glowy’s shimmering radiance and Zeroth’s stubbornness, they pressed deeper until the narrow tunnel abruptly widened into an immense cavern. Its ceiling soared into shadowy heights beyond sight, the air heavy with the scent of char and iron, as though the mountain itself had once bled here.

  At the cavern's heart loomed a pedestal carved from obsidian, etched with runes that twisted and writhed in Glowy’s celestial light. Atop it rested the Flaming Berserker Battle Axe, a weapon forged in times older than dwarven memory. The blade seemed to drink the surrounding illumination, veins of molten fire pulsing through obsidian like magma veins beneath the earth. The blade’s edge flickered with phantom flames, whispering ancient promises of unbridled fury.

  Zeroth’s boots crunched ominously over bones; the cavern floor was littered with skeletons, rusted armor and shattered weapons marking countless failed attempts.

  “Turn back,” Grimbli hissed urgently. “This is a tomb, not a treasury.”

  “Nah,” Zeroth replied confidently, nudging aside a skull with his foot. “They just weren’t clever enough to survive.”

  He stepped forward, approaching the axe cautiously. Glowy’s hum deepened to a mournful dirge as the Berserker’s flames surged, bathing Zeroth’s face in a hellish glow.

  “Last chance, stone-monger,” Grimbli warned. “That axe isn’t a trophy, it’s a prison.”

  Zeroth smiled defiantly. “Good thing I’ve got a cellmate.”

  He grasped the axe firmly and the cavern shook violently as flames burst forth from the blade, devouring shadows in a furious blaze. Zeroth’s veins lit from within, igniting with raw, relentless power. Yet, there was no pain, only a thrilling pulse of primal strength. The axe’s voice snarled possessively in his mind: MINE.

  Zeroth tightened his grip defiantly. “Nope. Ours.”

  The axe trembled, its furious flames dwindling to mere embers. For now.

  “By the ancestors,” Grimbli whispered, awed and horrified. “What have you done?”

  Zeroth hefted the axe, testing its formidable weight. “Made a new friend, I reckon.”

  Grimbli’s tone darkened gravely. "Power is a beast more untamed than the wildest dragon," he warned. "It promises the stars but leaves only ash. Heed the whispers of the axe, for within lie remnants of a god’s ancient rage.”

  Zeroth steadied himself, eyes closed briefly. “I understand,” he murmured softly. “I won't let it control me.”

  He swung the axe experimentally. Flames arced brilliantly through the chamber, casting fierce illumination across the ancient walls. The sensation was exhilarating and unsettling all at once.

  “Save the pyrotechnics for the surface!” Grimbli snapped anxiously.

  “Unless you wish to bury us both under a mountain.”

  Zeroth smirked, extinguishing the flames with a reluctant flick. “You’re no fun, Glowy’s Ghost.”

  Shouldering the axe, with Glowy illuminating their path, Zeroth climbed steadily upward through winding tunnels. The heat of the Berserker radiated against his back, an ever-present, unsettling reminder of its potent inhabitant.

  “What exactly did you do to end up trapped in that stone?” Zeroth asked casually, his boots crunching over loose gravel.

  Grimbli hesitated, the spectral dwarf’s voice quieter. “Pride. Ambition. And, well… pissing off the gods.”

  Zeroth chuckled dryly. “Sounds like you royally screwed up.”

  “Something like that,” Grimbli admitted grumpily.

  They emerged beneath a star-strewn sky, the Silvercrest Mountains looming majestically behind them. Zeroth's boots crushed pine needles as he approached the familiar glow of smoldering embers within a clearing. Three bedrolls lay around the firepit: his own unrolled haphazardly, another meticulously arranged, and a third buried beneath gears and parchment. A half-eaten wheel of cheese sat forgotten atop a log.

  “Home sweet camp,” Zeroth sighed, collapsing onto his bedroll. The Berserker clattered heavily beside him, flames dwindling to glowing embers.

  “You trust these companions of yours?” Grimbli’s voice softened with rare sincerity.

  Zeroth yawned, staring up at the stars thoughtfully. “With my life.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” the ghost sighed, sinking quietly into his stone.

  Somewhere in the distant trees, an owl hooted softly. Zeroth’s eyelids grew heavy, the whispers of the axe blending gently with the rustle of leaves as sleep claimed him.