My mother, ever resourceful, had taken one of my father’s old coats and repurposed it into two smaller ones—one for Emma and one for me. Emma’s rapid growth had accelerated even further, and she now looked like a nine-year-old, even though she was barely two. I, meanwhile, still looked the part of a typical three-year-old, which only added fuel to her playful teasing.
“Why are you so small?” she’d tease with a grin, towering over me as if she were years my senior.
I grumbled under my breath. Where did my seniority go? Anyone seeing us together would think Emma was my older sister, and she seemed to delight in reminding me of it at every opportunity.
Grillo and I had spent the better part of a week geeking out over crafting materials. Ever since my dramatic introduction to the old dwarf, we’d struck up an unlikely friendship. Grillo was a treasure trove of knowledge, and he was endlessly fascinated by the unique metals Zotherg had revealed to me.
Explaining everything to my parents, however, had been more complicated.
My mother had cried when she first learned about my past life, mistakenly believing she was somehow my “second mother.” It had taken me a while to convince her otherwise. “You’re my only mother,” I reassured her. “Dad just has a lot to live up to.”
That seemed to do the trick. The next time she saw my father, her triumphant grin made it clear she wouldn’t let him forget it anytime soon.
Both of my parents now believed I was the prophesied one, and while they were proud, their expectations weighed heavily on me. Saving my entire species was a monumental task, and I couldn’t afford to focus on their feelings of pride—or my own anxieties.
Grillo had been eager to mine the metals Zotherg had shown me, but once I explained the elemental’s presence and personality, the dwarf quickly changed his tune. “Gently Harvested” was Zotherg’s only condition, and my earth magic made it possible to extract the materials without damaging the mountain.
Among the metals we uncovered were small amounts of adamantium and mithril, which left Grillo practically salivating. But the real excitement came from the discovery of new materials I’d never heard of:
- Elorium: A lightweight, ivory-sheened metal as strong as polished bone.
- Imperium: A self-repairing metal ideal for layering armor.
- Aliril: One of the most magically conductive metals in existence.
Grillo and I were both stumped on how to use Aliril, but its potential was undeniable.
After several delays, Grillo decided to stay with us through the winter. He sent his caravan ahead, leaving his men with instructions and extra supplies. Before they departed, he unloaded a few additional crates, one of which contained an intriguing pauldron and gauntlet set.
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“What’s this?” I asked, running my fingers over the intricate design.
Grillo’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “That, lad, was my attempt to replicate the mechanisms of Rune Armor.”
Rune Armor, as I learned, was the pinnacle of dwarven engineering—massive war machines built to deter enemies and defend their territories. These colossal constructs were marvels of design, blending craftsmanship and magic in ways few could comprehend.
“The most famous,” Grillo explained, “was The Great Titus, a Rune Armor powered by an Elven-enchanted core. It could recharge itself, given enough time.”
The others, by comparison, relied on massive mana crystals as their power sources. The size and purity required for these crystals made them rare and prohibitively expensive—only the wealthiest dwarven clans could afford to construct even one Rune Armor.
Grillo’s gauntlet and pauldron set were part of a failed experiment to create a smaller, more efficient model. Using enchanted wires to direct mana flow, he had simulated motor functions, allowing the armor to move.
“Clever,” I admitted, impressed by the ingenuity.
“Aye, but it’s far from perfect,” Grillo said. “The mana drain’s too high, and the circuits are beyond my full understanding.”
He had even experimented with using a steam engine to generate electricity, attempting to lessen the reliance on mana crystals. While the idea was innovative, the inefficiency of the steam engine left much to be desired.
To my father, the use of coal for such machines was abhorrent. Elves valued harmony with nature, and the wastefulness of such resources was an affront to their way of life.
But to me, it was a challenge waiting to be solved.
In my previous life, I had been a staunch advocate for green energy. My home was an earth-insulated building powered by geothermal energy, and I’d long believed in finding efficient, sustainable solutions. I shared some of these ideas with Grillo, explaining how geothermal energy and solar panels could work.
The old dwarf was fascinated. “If we could adapt that…” he murmured, already lost in thought.
Our conversation was interrupted by Emma, who appeared with her trademark pout.
“Not now, Emma,” I said, trying to focus.
She stomped her foot in protest. “You’re always working! You never play with me!”
Before I could respond, she darted off toward the village. Moments later, my parents appeared, both wearing stern expressions.
“Juren,” my mother began, “you shouldn’t make a girl cry!”
I groaned. “Do you know I’m an adult trapped in a child’s body? And for the record, I don’t want to hear about morals from parents who had guests over while I was an infant.”
My mother’s face turned crimson, her ears flicking in embarrassment. She stammered a weak reply before retreating, leaving my father chuckling behind her.
Later, I approached Grillo with another matter. My father had mentioned that I was nearing the age of choosing my first weapon, and I knew exactly what I wanted.
“Two small, balanced axes,” I said. “Light enough to throw, but strong enough to cut through armor.”
Grillo’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “An ax, eh? A fine choice! A proper weapon of power and precision.”
My father, however, was less enthusiastic. To Elves, axes were weapons of pure destruction, tools that symbolized death.
“Hammers build,” my father argued. “Swords and spears can disarm or defend. But axes? Axes are used to kill—people, animals, and even plants. They bring only death.”
His words reflected the Elves’ deep connection to nature. Cutting down a tree with an ax was seen as a violent act, a desecration of life itself.
“It’s necessary,” I countered. “A weapon that kills when it must is better than one that hesitates.”
My father sighed, rubbing his temples. “And so, the prophecy comes to pass,” he murmured. “He shall wield death in each hand.”