Date: Unspecified Ti: Unspecified Location: Myriad Realms, Lil. Red Storm, Seed World, Trophy Section, Duel Realm, Crafting Sector, Venue: Chaos Dwarven Forge.
"Family? New family?" Biore asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he glared at the mask hiding the face of the unknown demon rchant. Then, his voice rose sharply, anger spilling over. "You want us to be a new family when you won't even show us your face or tell us your na?"
His glance hardened, turning into a full scowl, eyes blazing with hatred. He scread, "I don't want a family! I want vengeance!" His voice cracked with raw emotion as he jabbed a finger at Dulas, practically shaking with rage.
"I want each and every one of them to feel what she's feeling right now—what I've been feeling for as long as I can rember! I want them to look at and ask, beg , 'Why?' Just like I've been asking them since the day I can speak!"
"Whyyyy?!" Biore's voice echoed through the colosseum as he spun on his heel, his scowl piercing into every chaos dwarf present. The younger dwarfs instinctively took a step back, their sheltered lives offered no explanation for the raw, consuming anguish Biore was feeling right now. Even Dulas flinched, moving behind Moon in fright, her face pale with unease.
Biore turned back to the unknown demon rchant, his voice quieter now but no less intense. "I don't care what you look like. I don't care what your na is. The only thing that matters to is this—" He paused, locking eyes with the masked figure.
"Can you help achieve what I've just asked for? If you can..." Biore took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. "...I'll be your slave for the rest of my life." His words hung heavy in the air as he stared into the unknown demon rchant's eyes, as he nad his price.
"I can," Wyatt said, his voice calm but probing as he locked eyes with Biore. "But are you sure that's what you really want?"
He didn't look away, letting the question linger before continuing. "I don't know your mother. I don't know if she loves you or not. But I do know enough about you to say this: she's the reason you both hate and love crafting. That's yours—it's a part of you. They might have disowned you but they can't take that away from you unless you let them."
Wyatt leaned forward slightly, his tone steady but firm. "So I'll ask you again, one last ti—is that really what you want?"
Biore's frown deepened, and he fell into a contemplative silence. Wyatt's words struck sothing within him, pulling him into a rare mont of self-examination. For the first ti in what felt like forever, his emotions stopped shouting over his reason.
In that brief stillness, clarity began to dawn. It wasn't vengeance that he wanted—it never had been. What he truly wanted was to reach the level of craftsmanship his mother had always strived for. He wanted to stand beside her, not in anger, but in shared purpose.
The realization ca slowly, like a fog lifting. The elder chaos dwarf's words didn't matter. He knew, deep down, that his mother loved him. She wasn't perfect, but she was his mother. She had given him the gift of crafting—a way to express both his intellect and his emotions.
Biore's chest tightened as he thought about the real reason he had never been able to leave the Ironhold Family. It wasn't because he didn't know how. It was because leaving ant he would lose her.
He understood now: his mother needed resources to chase the dream she had been climbing toward her whole life. The Ironhold Family gave her the ans to earn them. And even with her ambitions and duties pulling her in every direction, she still found ti to check on him.
The rage clouding his mind began to dissipate, replaced by an overwhelming sense of purpose. What he wanted—what he truly wanted—was to reach the pinnacle of craftsmanship. Not for revenge, but to help his mother achieve her dream. He wanted to stand by her side and guide her to the top the way she had once held his hand and guided him to the base of the mountain nad crafting, introducing him to this new way of expressing himself.
Whenever he crafted, Biore never felt alone. It was as if his mother was standing right behind him, silently watching. That's why, every ti he worked, he gave it his all—no shortcuts, no cutting corners. In those monts, he realized she had never truly abandoned him. She had given him crafting, a companion for when she couldn't be there herself.
The weight of his realization hit him like a hamr, and tears began to stream down his reddened eyes. He looked at the masked demon rchant, his voice trembling but soft.
"She used to check on , stay for a bit, and then leave. But if I ever asked her about crafting..." He paused, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "...she would stay longer. So even though I hated crafting at first for keeping her away from , I decided to learn it anyway. I thought maybe, just maybe, it would make her visits more frequent, spend ti with a little longer."
Biore exhaled shakily, his gaze dropping as he spoke. "She taught all the basics I know about crafting. The first thing I ever successfully made was an automated scrunchie—sothing to tie and style her long, silky black hair. I wanted her to save ti on her hair so she could focus on her work, undisturbed." He let out a quiet chuckle, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "She wore it every day, right up until it got destroyed in a crafting accident."
He looked up, his expression softening further. "You know... my mother, she looks her most beautiful—and happiest—when she's crafting. I'll never forget the first ti we worked on sothing together. That was the best day of my life. She told I had talent for it, that I shouldn't let it go to waste."
His voice grew steadier as he continued. "Ever since then, I've worked three, sotis four, tis as hard as my peers. Over ti, I lost sight of why I started. I forgot what drove ."
Biore's eyes shone with a mix of clarity and resolve as he turned back to Wyatt. "But now I rember. Thank you. Now I know what I want." His voice softened again as he asked, "Can you help achieve it?"
Wyatt tilted his head, the faintest trace of a smile behind his mask. "No, I can't," he said calmly, watching Biore's expression shift in surprise.
"Because," Wyatt continued, his tone firm yet inviting, "I haven't achieved it myself either. If you're willing, you can accompany . Together, we can climb to that elusive peak that every crafter dreams of."
Wyatt extended his hand, the offer not just of a partnership but of shared ambition and hope.
Listening to Wyatt's words, Biore's eyes widened with realization. His journey didn't have to be a lonely one. A smile tugged at his lips. "Sure," he said, but then, with a cheeky grin, added, "I know I've got a lot of catching up to do, but I will—and I'll climb higher. You sure you can keep up with ?"
Wyatt chuckled, his laughter rich and easy. "Hahaha! I'll hold you to that. Just don't co crying to if I'm too fast for your pace!"
Then, turning to Dulas, who was still half-hidden behind Moon and nervously peeking at them, Wyatt extended his arms with a warm smile. "What do you say, Dulas? Want to join us too?"
"Can I? I'm not—" Dulas began, but her voice faltered, weighed down by her self-doubt.
Before she could finish, Biore stepped forward, extending his arm toward her. His expression was resolute. "Yes, you can. I'll make sure of it. So, what do you say?"
Dulas blinked, looking from Biore to Wyatt and back again, her hesitation lting into determination. "Okay!" she exclaid, grabbing both Wyatt's and Biore's hands.
The trio exchanged glances and nodded, silently acknowledging one another's resolve. They were climbing the sa peak though for entirely different reasons, united, they would reach it undeterred by the looming challenges ahead.
Standing off to the side, Moon observed them. Her arms were crossed, but her gaze was soft, thoughtful. A strange feeling stirred deep within her—a quiet certainty. This mont, and these three, would beco stories retold for generations to co.
However, the crowd surrounding them didn't share her optimism. Whispers passed through the gathered onlookers, their faces marked with doubt and cynicism. From Biore's earlier rage to Dulas's visible self-doubt and the masked demon rchant's arrogant deanor and boastful words, they couldn't help but see a dood venture. They all thought the sa thing: They'll be enslaved or dead the mont they set foot in the Duel Realm.
Earlier, many had believed unknown demon rchant's escape to be a near impossibility. But now? With the two "dead weights" he had attached to himself, the crowd was certain of his fate. In their minds, Wyatt would be caught, tortured for his crafting print, and ultimately sold as nothing more than a crafting slave along with the other two.
Wyatt, on the other hand, was more than satisfied. He had managed to recruit two of the brightest young chaos dwarfs the Ironhold family had to offer. After the scene the elder chaos dwarf had caused earlier, he'd worried he might not be able to snag even one of them. But now, he had two.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he thought ahead. Soon, he'd have enough for an assembly line. He was certain of it. Biore wouldn't be the only chaos dwarf seeking to leave behind his lineage and race. There were others out there—others who felt the sa yearning to break free. Wyatt just had to find them.
Or perhaps, he mused, leaning back slightly and glancing at Biore and Dulas, they might find him. Once word spread of how well these two were faring—leaving not just their family but the entire race—others might follow their example.
Wyatt's eyes glinted with quiet determination. This was just the beginning.
User Comments
0 comments from readers