The Groups All Here

The land changed as they traveled south. The jagged stone teeth of the Pinnacle gave way to rolling, barren hills where little grew but scrub grass, brittle and gray. By the third day, the air grew hotter, drier. The green that had once dotted the horizon vanished until only dust and sand stretched ahead.

They made camp sparingly, words fewer still. Corin kept to himself, polishing his bow with trembling hands. Baro swung his axe into rocks when he thought no one was looking, each strike a release of anger he couldn’t voice. Heidi stared long into the night, her jaw clenched as if holding back words that might break her. Keito walked with his head low, never once meeting Elysia’s eyes. And Kivarus… he was quieter than ever, though every so often his gaze lingered on her with an intensity she couldn’t read. It didn’t help that on the sixth day their wagon broke, and they had to pull it along as they let the horse walk freely.

By the seventh day, the world was sand. Dunes rose and fell like waves, endless and shimmering beneath a merciless sun. In the distance, heat shimmer revealed stone outcroppings, and beneath them, faint glimmers traced across the earth…From a distance, the sandstone cliffs looked barren, lifeless, another stretch of rock in an endless ocean of dunes. But as the wagon creaked closer, the truth revealed itself.

Windows dotted the cliff walls, cut square and neat into the stone. Rope bridges and wooden walkways crisscrossed the air, strung between dwellings stacked one atop another. Stairs were everywhere, connecting levels of the settlement in a dizzying maze of ladders, steps, and ledges. Smoke from cooking fires curled into the sky. Children’s laughter echoed faintly between the cliffs, mixed with the clang of hammers and the grind of pulleys.

After days of silence and heat, the sounds of life struck the party like a shock. But none of them spoke. They moved together, tired and hollow, each of them carrying scars that could not be seen.

Their arrival coincided with chaos.

A crowd grew near a high aqueduct that ran along the canyon wall. The long channel of fitted sandstone carried the settlement’s lifeblood: water, drawn from a spring further up the cliffs. Now a jagged crack split one of its main arches. Stone shifted under its own weight, ready to buckle. If it fell, the town’s only water source would collapse with it.

Villagers shouted, their voices overlapping in panic. Children cried as parents herded them back. A few men tried throwing up makeshift braces of wood, but the timbers snapped as soon as they touched the stone.

“Get back! All of you! Panicking ain’t gonna patch stone!”

The voice cut through the noise like an axe.

A figure stomped into the crowd’s center, pushing aside villagers twice his height. He was short, even for a gnome, his frame compact but thick as a rock. A fiery red beard, streaked through with glints of silver, spilled down to his chest. His hair was tied into a messy knot, wisps sticking out in every direction, and his grey eyes burned with irritation.

He planted himself at the base of the aqueduct, put his fists on his hips, and growled, “Bloody thing’s been neglected for years. Of course it’s giving way now.”

The crowd began to shout suggestions. He silenced them with a glare.

“Quiet! All of you! Stand there flapping your lips and we’ll all be drinking sand by sundown.”

Then he bent his knees, pressed his palms flat against the ground, and stomped.

The canyon floor rumbled. Sand shifted. A solid block of sandstone erupted upward, until it pressed firmly against the weakened arch. The aqueduct shuddered, then steadied, the crack no longer widening.

The crowd gasped. Children cheered. The gnome ignored them.

He strode up to the fractured wall, laid his calloused hands on the stone, and closed his eyes. A soft glow of brown light spread across his palms. His voice dropped into a gravelly mutter, more like a private conversation than a spell.

“Aye, I see you,” he rumbled, fingers tracing the crack. “Split right along the grain, didn’t you? Lazy work from the last mason, no respect for the weight you’ve been bearing. Don’t you worry. I’ll set you right.”

The villagers quieted. Even the party found themselves frozen, watching. The glow from his hands seeped into the stone. Slowly, the jagged edges knit together. The crack shrank, smoothing into a seamless surface. The aqueduct shifted once, then settled, its body of water still flowing strong.

The gnome stepped back, brushing dust from his hands. “There. Good as new. Better, actually.”

A cheer rose from the crowd. He grunted, unimpressed.

That was when Keito stepped forward. “Excuse me,” he began, polite as ever despite his weariness. “We saw you were in trouble…”

“Trouble’s being handled,” the gnome cut him off, not even glancing his way. His eyes stayed on the aqueduct, inspecting it like a patient whose bandages needed checking. “State your business or clear the path.”

“Our wagon is broken,” Elysia said gently, her voice carrying a warmth the others couldn’t muster. “We were hoping to find a craftsman.”

The gnome finally turned, eyes narrowing as they swept across the group. He lingered briefly on their weapons, their worn clothes, the exhaustion etched into their faces. When his gaze fell on Kivarus, something colder flickered across it…dislike. Then his eyes shifted back to Elysia.

“Everyone’s something is broken,” he muttered. Then he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a wide, open fronted workshop carved into the canyon wall. “Drag it there. I’ll look when I’m done keeping the town from dying of thirst. And don’t touch anything.”

With that, he turned back to the aqueduct, already muttering to the stone again.

The party stood in the dust, momentarily stunned.

“Well,” Heidi muttered, “I think we’ve found our craftsman.”

The wagon squealed as they dragged it into the gnome’s workshop. Tools of every kind lined the walls…hammers, chisels, saws, clamps, all organized with precision. Workbenches bore half finished projects… stone blocks neatly carved, planks of wood smoothed to perfection. The air smelled of oil, resin, and sweat.

By late afternoon, the gnome appeared. His beard was dusted white from stone powder, and his eyes were more open than before. He circled the wagon, tapping the warped axle with his boot.

“Axle’s bent. Wheel’s splintered. Whole frame’s strained.” He grunted. “Three days.”

Baro stepped forward. “I can help.”

The gnome’s eyes slid up to meet his, unimpressed. “Know which end of a mallet to hold?”

“I do,” Baro said simply.

The gnome considered, then nodded once. “Fine. Less work for me.”

So began their first days in Solace.

Baro worked beside the gnome from dawn till dusk. They spoke little. Franklin, he had introduced himself curtly as Franklin Stonewhisker…didn’t waste words. He didn’t explain, didn’t instruct beyond a grunt or a pointed look. He just worked.

Baro followed, imitating his movements, learning by watching. They lifted heavy beams together, hammered pegs into place, carved grooves into replacement planks. Sweat ran down Baro’s arms, and his muscles ached in familiar ways, but it was different than battle. This was steady. Purposeful. Every strike of the mallet was progress, not destruction.

On the second day, Franklin ran a hand over a plank of wood, frowning. “Too much give. Won’t last a year in this heat.”

Baro picked up the mallet without waiting to be told. Franklin gave him a long look, then just barely, nodded.

By the time the sun set, Baro found himself breathing easier than he had in weeks. His father’s voice, that hateful phantom, felt quieter in the back of his mind. Strength wasn’t only measured in how hard you could swing an axe. Sometimes, it was in what you could build.

Heidi spent the first day restless, pacing the canyon streets. The echoes of Malphas’s nightmare calling in her ears… the runt, the monster, the mistake.

On the second day, Franklin found her leaning against a wall, scowling at nothing.

“You look useless standing there,” he grumbled. “Come here.”

Startled, she followed him. He shoved a heavy box of nails into her arms. “Set those by the bench. And quit sulking. You’re not that short.”

He walked away before she could respond.

Heidi blinked, then let out a short, quick laugh. Not tall. Not short. Just… not that short. It was the most normal thing anyone had said to her in weeks.

That night, she laughed again… it was quiet, but real.

Corin spent long hours perched in a shadowed corner of the workshop, his bow across his lap. He said nothing, only watched as Franklin worked.

One evening, Franklin paused in smoothing a beam and asked without looking up, “Why d’you watch me like that?”

Corin hesitated. “You’re patient,” he said finally. “Stone doesn’t hurry, does it?”

Franklin gave a grunt that might’ve been approval. “Aye. You rush, you crack it. You listen, it tells you where to cut.” He tapped the beam. “Same with people, I reckon.”

Corin lowered his gaze, but the tightness in his chest eased a little.

Elysia found Franklin outside his workshop the following morning, kneeling beside a stubborn patch of gourds clinging to the canyon soil. The plants were withered, their leaves brittle.

She knelt without a word, placing her hands on the earth. A soft glow spread from her palms, enriching the soil, coaxing the roots deeper. Slowly, the leaves lifted, their color darkening.

Franklin watched her, his expression unreadable. When she finished, he gave a short nod. “Not bad.”

The next morning, she found a stone bowl filled with fresh water outside her door. He said nothing. Neither did she.

For Keito, Franklin offered no gentle comfort. Instead, he offered blunt truth.

On the third night, as the two stood by the repaired aqueduct, Keito asked quietly, “Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it? All this fixing. Everything breaks again eventually.”

Franklin spat into the dirt. “Course it breaks again. That’s what living does. You fix it anyway.”

The words hit Keito harder than he expected. For the first time since the mountain, he found himself smiling, just a little.

When Franklin finally acknowledged Kivarus, it was with the same dry bluntness he showed everyone else.

“You reek of arrogance,” Franklin said flatly, hammering a peg into the wagon.

Kivarus arched a brow. “Do I?”

“Aye,” Franklin said. “Doesn’t impress stone. Doesn’t impress me.”

And then he went back to work.

Kivarus stared at him for a long moment, then chuckled under his breath. It wasn’t his usual mocking laugh. It was quieter. By the end of the third day, something had shifted. The silence between the companions was still there, but it didn’t hang in for long. Franklin’s workshop became a place where they breathed a little easier.

For the first time since Malphas, the cracks in their friendship didn’t feel quite so permanent.

On the evening of the fourth day, Solace shook.

It started as a faint tremor beneath their feet, subtle enough that Baro thought it was just fatigue making his legs unsteady. But then it came again deeper, louder, a steady beat that rattled the tools hanging on Franklin’s walls. Dust rained from the ceiling of the workshop.

The villagers knew the sound before the party did. A horn blared from high above, a sharp, urgent cry that echoed down the canyon. People shouted, children screamed, and mothers grabbed them, rushing toward the higher caves carved into the cliff.

Franklin dropped the mallet he was holding. His face, normally set in its perpetual scowl, hardened into something grimmer. “Drakes,” he muttered. He didn’t bother to explain. Another tremor rocked the canyon, stronger this time. Sand poured in small streams from cracks in the cliffs. Then came the roar, a screeching, metallic sound..

“Dune-Drakes!” a villager cried from the street, and the panic turned to a frenzy.

Franklin stomped outside, his heavy boots sending small cracks spidering through the stone floor. The party followed, weapons already in hand. At the canyon’s mouth, the sand was boiling. It churned and swelled like water, and then it split as two massive shapes burst free. The creatures were huge, bodies thick, each the size of a wagon. Dozens of legs churned as they writhed, mandibles snapping with the sound of grinding stone. Their eyeless heads reared high, towering over the stone wall Franklin had raised at the canyon’s entrance.

“They’ll rip the whole town apart,” Franklin barked, already planting his hands on the earth. “We hold them here or everyone dies!”

The wall at the canyon’s mouth grew taller, wider, a block of sandstone reinforced with a boulder thick base. But it wouldn’t hold forever. The drakes smashed against it, their mandibles tearing chunks free. Franklin turned to the party. His grey eyes burned like molten ore. “You fought your way here. Show me it wasn’t luck. Ready?”

Baro lifted his axe. “Always.”

Keito raised his hand, silver light shimmering between his fingers. “We’re ready.”

“Good,” Franklin growled. He stomped his boot, and stone steps jutted up to the top of the wall. “Then let’s get to work.”

Baro and Heidi were the first over the wall. The barbarian let out a roar as he launched himself down onto the nearest drake, axe slamming into its armored head with a deafening crack. The creature shrieked, blood spraying as sparks flew from the impact. Heidi followed, her smaller but strong frame colliding with a drake’s mandibles. She grabbed hold, planting her feet in the sand and forcing the beast back with sheer strength.

“Move, damn you!” she grunted, muscles straining as the drake writhed.

Franklin leapt from the wall, his fists glowing with brownish gold light. He landed with a thunderous stomp, sending a shockwave through the ground. Spikes of stone erupted beneath one drake, piercing its underbelly. The creature screeched, thrashing violently. Franklin didn’t flinch. He slammed his stone hardened fist into its flank, and the armor cracked like pottery.

“Stay down, you ugly bastard!” he roared, punching again, each strike accompanied by the sound of splitting rock.

Above them, Corin stood steady on the wall. His bow aimed, one arrow after another flying in arcs of white light. He aimed for joints where armor didn’t cover, his precision driving deep into the gaps. Sparks of fire and lightning crackled with each impact, forcing the drakes to stagger.

Keito raised both hands, his voice steady despite the chaos. Beams of silver moonlight lanced outward, striking the sand around the drakes. Where the light touched, the air shimmered, large beams of moonlight lifted out of the ground like prisons, giving Heidi the chance to drive its mandibles into the dirt with a furious twist.

Elysia thrust her hands forward. She reached for the aqueduct, calling forth a torrent of water, and hurled it across the battlefield. The sand turned dark and heavy, sucking at the drakes’ limbs. The creatures, made for swimming through dry dunes, faltered in the mud. Their movements grew sluggish, their thrashing turning desperate.

And then Kivarus moved.

He appeared at the rear of one drake, stepping from shadow to shadow until he stood almost casually at its tail. His lips curved in a smile that was all teeth.

“Pathetic.”

He placed one hand on the beast’s armored segment. A pulse of dark energy rippled outward. The creature’s body convulsed, its back half collapsing inward with a grotesque crunch. It shrieked, writhed, and fell still, half its body imploded. The other drake thrashed, and lunged for the wall. Franklin met it headon. His fists slammed into its jaw, holding it back by brute force. The creature snapped, snarling, blood spraying as its teeth clashed inches from his face.

“Baro!” Franklin shouted.

Baro jumped and swung, his axe glowing with power. The blade cleaved through the drake’s exposed neck, slicing through cleanly. The monster’s shriek cut short, its body convulsing once before collapsing into the sand. The canyon fell silent, save for the ragged breathing of the defenders. The villagers peered down from the higher ledges, their eyes wide.

The drakes lay broken, their armored corpses staining the sand black and red.

The party stood amidst the wreckage, their chests heaving, weapons dripping. For a moment, none of them spoke. Then Franklin spat into the dirt, wiped his hands on his trousers, and grunted.

“Not bad.”

It wasn’t praise, not exactly. But coming from him, it felt like the highest honor.

That night, the town celebrated. The villagers filled the canyon with music, food, and laughter. For the first time since the monastery, the party sat together without the weight of silence pressing them apart. They ate at a long stone table near Franklin’s workshop, the air alive with voices and the smell of roasting meat. Children ran past, playing games in the torchlight.

Baro sat at Franklin’s side, passing tools and mugs of ale back and forth without a word. Heidi laughed… an honest, belly-deep laugh when Franklin barked at a drunk villager who stumbled too close to his workbench. Corin leaned against the wall, listening quietly as Franklin muttered to himself about stone, and for once, his expression was peaceful.

Keito sat with his arms folded, but when Franklin poured him a cup of the strong, earthy ale, he drank it without protest. And Elysia found herself smiling faintly as she and Franklin shared a glance across the table. No words were exchanged, but something warm passed between them.

Even Kivarus, who usually sat apart, allowed himself a dry chuckle when Franklin mocked his pristine boots after the battle. Franklin’s presence was stitching the groups moral back together.

Later, as the fires burned out, Franklin leaned back against a stone pillar, his eyes scanning the canyon. The party sat nearby, weary but calm.

“You’ve got a road ahead of you,” he said finally. His voice was rough, but quieter than usual. “A bad one. Can feel it in the stone itself… The world’s cracking, and it won’t mend on its own.”

Keito looked up, his eyes meeting Franklin’s. “We know.”

Franklin took a long gulp from his drink, then set it aside. “I’ve spent my life fixing walls, bridges, homes. Things that matter. Things that last. That’s my work. My purpose.” He paused, his gaze sweeping across them, landing briefly on each face. “And what you’re doing, that’s just the biggest repair job I’ve ever seen.”

Baro leaned forward. “Then you’ll help us?”

Franklin snorted. “Course I will.” He pushed himself to his feet, his broad frame casting a long shadow in the firelight. “Stonewhiskers don’t sit by while the world falls apart. You’ll need someone who knows rock and sand if you’re heading to this Nexus of Whispers. And your wagon’s still half a disaster.”

He crossed his arms, meeting their gazes with stubborn certainty. “I’m coming with you.”