Going Home

Hours became days as Avii continued his journey down the narrow path towards what he hoped to be his and Ostave’s final destination. Since beginning the near-week of continued marching, three days had passed since Avii travelled beyond the glowing vein of leystone that originally drew him to the cavern. And while it drove him mad knowing that once upon a time those crystals could have paid him out ten years’ worth of work alone, now more than ever he missed them for a different reason.

While Avii was used to the bleak nature of the underground, there was something about the vibrant glow of magic through the stones that lifted his spirits. Whether it was the old feeling of comfort knowing he’d soon receive a good pay for them, or something deeper, he wished he could have basked in their presence for a little longer. As if the magic that coursed through them could do more for him than charge his suit. As if they would give him the strength to carry on towards what he feared was his end.

But the man had no way to tell what was to come. In fact, as of that moment, he couldn’t even guarantee where they were going. All that he knew was that he was moving forward and the witch was behind him. Because of that, and everything surrounding his encounter with the accursed figure, he chose to believe that he was drawing closer to the mountain where it all began. Where his fate was sealed all those years ago. And, if the vision he received while in the witch’s embrace was the portent he thought it to be, it would be the same mountain where his life was destined to conclude.

As he moved, Avii spoke very little. Instead, he mused over the sight he had seen in that liminal space between life and death. About the room and the golems. The blood and his end. The longer he thought, the more overwhelmed his mind became. He not only wondered if the images were true, but also, if they were, then what did it mean about himself? About his life? His purpose?

It had been days since Harbinger tickled the back of his mind. Since it whispered into his ear that he had purpose. That he was meant to survive. But now that it was gone, he wondered if his future was finally his own. Had his purpose been fulfilled? Could he now turn and run? Escape the golems and find somewhere to hide and live as long a life as possible? Or had his destiny always been to die?

But every time the thoughts came to him, it was as if fate grew eager to intervene. Ostave, who clung to the MULE’s shoulders, would shift or grumble. Whether he awoke from sleep or grew restless, his voice always drew Avii back to reality.

In the end, regardless of the fantasies found in daydreams, Avii couldn’t leave. Or at the very least, he would never forgive himself if he did. Because if he ran, how many more lives would be lost? How many children would be slaughtered? The golems cared not about who was free or shackled. Both would be cut down without remorse.

Whether or not Avii liked it, he did still have a purpose. It was to save those who had enslaved him. Save a world that would never remember him. That would never care about who he was or what he sacrificed. Who would carry on blissfully unaware of how close they had walked the line of annihilation.

“Eherm…” Ostave grumbled, his body shifting slightly.

“Need a break?” Avii asked, glancing to his side at the man. “We can stop for a minute.”

“I’ve told you, I hate when you say it like that. Makes it seem like I’ve been doing work when all I’ve done is sit here idle!”

“Not much you can do about it in your condition. Just see the situation as a knight riding into combat atop his mule. Unless you’re saying you’d rather have stayed with the witch.”

“No!” Ostave shouted back quickly before clearing his throat. “No. That’s quite alright. Just—any guess how close we are?”

At this, Avii adjusted his glance to better see the endless darkness behind them before looking forward once more. With a huff, he shook his head of bone-white hair, motioning with his hands.

“We’re farther from the witch’s pit than we were this morning.” He remarked, first pointing behind before motioning ahead. “And getting closer to where we’re going. Sorry, that’s about the best I can do.”

“Wonderful. At least you have more of a sense of humour now than you did when we began our journey.”

“I was a slave, not a jester,” Avii replied coldly. “Sorry for not being more entertaining, Sire.”

“That’s not—” Ostave began but held his tongue for a moment. “That’s not what I meant. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Silence returned to the pair as Avii continued forward into the endless darkness ahead of them. With little more than sixty feet of path lit by the glow of his suit, he quietly wished for something more to look at. Anything that would take his mind from recalling his lifetime as a slave. From the visions of his foretold end. But there was nothing. Just walls. Some smooth and others jagged. But all of them, the same volcanic stone.

Desperate to escape his mind, he glanced over his shoulder at Ostave. The orc, who had silenced himself after his comment, had taken to nervously looking over his shoulder. But this wasn’t new by any means.

Even with Avii’s promise that they were free of the witch, the man had remained rightfully skeptical. And whether it be the perpetual darkness or the months of torture, every moment that passed, Avii could better read the tension that grew over Ostave’s face like a weed. It was that anxious feeling of waiting. Waiting for something bad to happen. For the other shoe to drop. Those moments when knots filled a person's gut so full that they felt nauseated. When the fear had grown so much that it was easier to accept death than to wait any longer.

And as Ostave waited for that tension to be relieved, Avii could sense his body faintly trembling against the back of the MULE. He could hear the subtle scratches of his chainmail shirt against the dense metal that protected his back. Ostave was terrified of something or, at the very least, waiting for something to snatch him from the shadows.

Then, with a panicked breath, the man turned his head back to Avii. He pinched his eyes closed for a moment, centring himself. This gave Avii time to look away. To stare forward as if he had not been watching the man on his back. But the silence they held would not continue.

“Avii,” Ostave eventually spoke up once again. “May I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” Avii agreed, adjusting himself so that Ostave was higher on his back. “What is it, Ostave?”

“That question I asked before—before Vivat…and the witch.”

“What of it?”

“Why did you save us?”

“I told you—”

“No, before we were interrupted…you were saying something else. That—”

“Ostave, listen.” Avii cleared his throat, glancing over his shoulder at the orc. “I’ve seen enough death in my time. Whether it be from working in these very mines, or the explosion that claimed my nation, or the piles of bodies that revealed the horrid state of all the camps I was forced to work…I’ve seen plenty of death. Whether or not we were allies, I told you, I didn’t want to see you die there. I didn’t want to see any of you die there.”

At this, Ostave quickly fell quiet once more as his vision grew distant and his mind drifted. Back in the world of reality, Avii didn’t think what he had said would have had such a profound effect on the orc. It had merely been the truth. That he had grown tired of seeing and living through death. That he simply wanted it to stop. But just as he began to think more on it, something pulled him from his thoughts.

It was a minuet change to the world around them, so subtle that he doubted Ostave would catch it. The first was the heat in the air. The tunnels up to that point had been cool, but now they began to rise in temperature and soon, Avii predicted, would become hot. Then, there was the faint smell of sulphur. An unpleasant scent, but a telling one. For the first time since they had begun their journey, Avii was sure that they were near the mountain.

“Thank you, Avii.” Ostave suddenly interrupted his analysis of the world before them. “I’ll never forget your bravery.”

“Doubtful,” Avii answered coldly without much thought or even turning his head to face Ostave. “I am merely a mule. I am meant to be forgotten. After this mission, should we survive, I will likely be sent back to the camps to—”

“No,” Ostave cut him off. “I will remember you and fight for your freedom. I’ll hold congress in the Capital to make sure people know that you—”

“Ostave, no one will believe a mule did all this. That I continued forward when I had the chance to flee. That I was willing to sacrifice myself for children that were not mine. There will be no statues for the man whose name doesn’t show up on any Estarian documentation. And that’s fine. I don’t do this to be remembered. I’m doing this so that there’s a world left to remember. Because maybe, after this is all done, your children’s great-grandchildren will live in a world without war. Without prison camps. Without hate.”

“That’s a beautiful vision, Avii,” Ostave answered softly. “You’re just a big softie, aren’t you?”

At this, Avii smirked, and as he finally turned his head to say something, he froze. His vision passed over a section of the rocky tunnel, catching a glimpse of a glimmer so subtle that he would have missed it had he been looking forward. At first, it appeared to be a liquid, like silver water running down the side of the wall. But as he stopped and looked more closely, he realized that it was mithril. And a rich vein at that.

“What is it?” Ostave asked, following Avii’s eyeline. “What is that there?”

“Mithril,” Avii replied, looking it over closely. “High quality too. What I would have done to find this vein in my youth.”

“I still find it hard to believe that you spent so long in mines like this. It would have driven me mad.”

“Yeah,” Avii answered, running his hand along the vein. “Now imagine living in a world of light only to spend your life in the dark. And then one day have it gone. That’s maddening—”

Avii’s gauntlet stopped as it scratched over something rigid that did not belong in the rocks. Curiosity getting the better of him, he removed his hand to see a small metal tip, no bigger than that of a quill. Leaning closer, the man investigated the object, and as he pushed his face up to it, coming in from a better angle, he inhaled sharply.

“What?” Ostave continued. “What now?”

“This,” Avii muttered as he pulled back from the wall and began to make some distance from it. “Is a mining charge meant to open rich veins. The same type that my people used. Now, duck your head, Ostave, and hold your ears.”

After a few quick flicks to crystals within the glove and a well-aimed hand, Avii shot a bolt of electricity down the length of the tunnel. At first it appeared it would miss the small point, before it cut inward to the wall, like lightning to a rod, connecting with the object. There was silence for a moment until finally a blast tore through the passage. The earth quaked under the force as dust flowed over Avii’s armour.

“What the hell?!” Ostave bellowed from behind. “That wasn’t some small charge! You could have brought the whole tunnel down.”

But Avii ignored Ostave. Instead, he marched towards the hole that had been blown out of the wall. Slipping back into his role as a miner, it would take him mere minutes to clear a path through the rubble, and once he did, what he saw sent a wave of emotions through his body. Grabbing at his chest, he held back tears as he eyed the tunnel that he had been connected to.

There was no doubt that he had stumbled across a Maldainian mining shaft, but it was more than that. Just down the tunnel from where he emerged was a large number, emblazoned on a sheet of metal. They had blown their way into Shaft Seven. His worksite.

He was home.