Elmore took his time as he walked to the base of the old coal mine, the familiar paths of his land giving him a sense of calm purpose. It had been a while since he’d checked in on the miners, and he was curious to see how they were faring with the unique ores and stones they’d found deep in the earth. The miners had been making solid progress, their new stone building at the base of the mine a testament to their efforts. The building itself was a sight—basic but sturdy, built entirely from stone blocks that the miners had painstakingly fitted together without mortar, relying solely on precise placement and sheer strength.
Reaching the heavy, iron-banded oak door, he gave a firm knock, feeling the weight of it beneath his knuckles. After a moment, one of the smiths opened the door, greeting him with a nod and a welcome. "Chief, come on in. You’ll want to see what we’ve been workin’ on."
Stepping inside, Elmore found three miners gathered around a workbench, each of them examining their tools with a mixture of frustration and determination. They looked up as he entered, each of them offering a quick nod. The room had a rough but warm feel to it, the air thick with the earthy scent of stone and iron, the walls adorned with racks of tools, some old and worn, others brand new.
After a few moments of catching up, Elmore got to the point. “So, how’re things goin’? Heard you all have been tryin’ to use Aither in your tools. Any luck?”
One of the miners, a burly man named Jake, scratched his head with a sigh. "Not exactly, Chief. We’ve been at it, tryin’ to pull Aither into our picks and chisels, but it’s just not takin’. That strange ore’s still untouched. we're not really sure what we're doing wrong with our tools or how to channel Aither like you do”.
Elmore nodded thoughtfully. “Mind if I take a look at one of those?”
Jake passed him a hefty pickaxe, the wood handle worn smooth from years of use, the metal head gleaming with fresh polish. Elmore felt the weight of it in his hand, turning it over, studying the balance. He instinctively compared it to his own ax, sensing something almost intangible missing from the miner’s tool. The faint, steady pulse of Aither that he felt in his ax was absent here.
After looking over a few more tools, the thought struck him, and he looked up at the miners. “Out of curiosity… have any of you used these tools to kill anything?”
The men exchanged puzzled glances, shaking their heads. “No, sir,” one of them answered. “A pick’s for minin’, not fightin’. Haven’t exactly had the chance to put one to that kinda use.”
Elmore nodded, the suspicion in his mind hardening into a theory. “That might be the issue. See, from what I’ve noticed, tools and weapons need to draw a bit of life or spill some blood to start holdin’ Aither properly. My ax and shotgun only started holdin’ Aither once they’d been used in a fight, so I reckon it might be the same for your picks and chisels.”
The miners listened, nodding as the idea sank in. It was unconventional, sure, but in a world reshaped by Aither, nothing was exactly “normal” anymore.
“Tell you what,” Elmore said, gripping the handle of a particularly sturdy pick nearby. “I’ll take one of these with me and see what I can make of it. Feels good—strong handle, nice balance. Y’all did good work here. But maybe we’ll see about givin’ it a bit more bite.”
The pick he selected was in the shape of a modern mattock, with a sharp triangular spike on one end and a flat, scoop-like blade on the other, a versatile tool built for strength and precision. He ran his hand along the sturdy wooden handle, feeling its weight and sturdiness. It had potential—just needed that touch of life to bring it to its fullest strength.
The miners chuckled, one of them adding, “Well, Chief, if you do end up whackin’ somethin’ with that, just make sure it’s not one of us. We’d like to see if this theory of yours holds true.”
Elmore chuckled, giving them a reassuring nod. “I’ll be careful. But if this works, it could mean a whole new approach for what y’all do down here. If these tools start holdin’ Aither, then you’ll be able to dig up whatever’s down there, even that strange metal you found.”
With that, he left the miners to their work, the heavy mattock slung over his shoulder, his mind already running through possible uses. It would take time, but he was confident this approach would yield results.
After his visit with the miners, Elmore made his way to the forge, taking his time as he walked through the town. As he went, he noticed something curious—most of the new buildings around him were being constructed in the same sturdy, mortarless stone-block style he’d seen at the mine. The structures were rugged, designed to withstand time and the elements, each block fitted so tightly that it seemed unbreakable. The town had evolved from wood and nails to solid stone, and it brought a smile to his face, knowing his people were setting down something truly lasting.
As he passed by a group of workers building a house, Elmore paused, calling out to one of them. “Decided to skip the wood and go all-in with stone, huh?”
The man turned, wiping sweat from his brow, and gave Elmore a friendly nod. “Yes, sir. Figure we’ll be buildin’ a wall soon enough, so why not get practice with the stone? Might as well make the town as solid as the wall we’ll put up.”
Elmore grinned, impressed. “Smart thinkin’. Good to see folks buildin’ for the long haul.” He continued down the road, thoughts of pride bubbling up as he realized his people were making improvements of their own accord. They wanted to make the town stronger, more resilient. And the best part? He didn’t have to push or prod them into it; they did it because they believed in their home.
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After a few minutes, he reached the forge, the building standing solid and squat, radiating heat even from outside. Like the other new structures, the forge was a fortress of stone, its thick walls absorbing and reflecting the intense warmth from within. Elmore stepped inside, immediately greeted by the sound of hammers striking anvils and the hiss of red-hot metal cooling in water. The place was a chaotic mix of tools and equipment, modern power tools sitting comfortably alongside medieval-style anvils, bellows, and hammers.
The air inside was thick, the heat palpable as the workers labored, sparks flying in every direction. Elmore raised his voice above the din, and the smiths paused their work, wiping their brows and nodding in his direction.
“Boys, just wanted to check in, see how things are goin’ down here,” he said, leaning against a sturdy wooden workbench. “Y’all holdin’ up with the iron supply?”
One of the older smiths, a burly man with hands the size of mallets, chuckled and nodded. “More than holdin’ up, Chief. Supply’s comin’ in faster than we can work it. But we’re keepin’ everyone armed. Armor, shields, blades—we’re stockin’ up so anyone who needs gear’ll be ready to fight.”
Elmore scanned the forge and caught sight of a well-crafted metal helmet sitting on a nearby bench. It was simple, a polished iron piece with a sturdy design, and a bit of an idea began to form in his mind. “Mind if I take a look at that helmet?”
Frank handed it to him with a grin. “You want it, Chief, it’s yours. But if you’re askin’ for something custom, might take a couple of days.”
Elmore hefted the helmet in his hands, the weight solid and reassuring. It felt like it was built to last, and an idea for a little touch of personal style came to him. “Think you could add a few feathers to the top? Somethin’ that’ll make it stand out. I reckon, being Chief and all, might as well wear a bit of flair, huh?”
Frank laughed, giving a nod. “Feathers it is. I’ll get it lookin’ fine for you. Come back in a few days, and we’ll have it ready.”
Elmore thanked him and continued through town, stopping by each workshop, store, and business to check in. He greeted each person he met, taking the time to talk with them, learning about their work, their families, their small worries, and their hopes for the future. It surprised him, but everything seemed to be running smoothly. The people were content, industrious, and fiercely dedicated to making the town thrive.
It was a good feeling, knowing that his role wasn’t just about overseeing. It was about being a part of the town, knowing each face, and ensuring each person felt valued. And by the end of the day, as he walked home, he felt a deep satisfaction. His people were taking care of themselves, improving the town with their own hands, and it was a powerful reminder that the strength of a community didn’t come from its chief—it came from everyone working together, each person playing their part.
During his downtime while the road was being built, Elmore found himself experimenting with the pick he’d taken from the miners. He’d done his fair share of landscaping over the years, but wielding a pick as a weapon required a different sort of skill. The balance was unique, the triangular spike and flat scoop creating a very different motion and weight from his ax. At first, he fumbled with it, adjusting to its heft, the way it swung in a wide, sweeping arc, and the way it could gouge into hard surfaces with precision. After some practice, he began to realize its value in situations where his ax might not cut it—especially against hard, unyielding materials.
As he grew more comfortable with the pick, Elmore decided it was time to see if his idea for using it on the strange ore held water. Heading down to the mines, he joined the men, who were eager but frustrated after countless failed attempts to chip away at the turquoise-crenellated veins they’d uncovered deep underground. The mine’s setup was a series of narrow vertical shafts branching off into thin tunnels, each passageway hand-dug with remarkable efficiency thanks to the Aither-enhanced speed of the workers.
The tunnels were cramped, lit only by the pale glow of bioluminescent mosses from the dungeon and a few lanterns scattered here and there. The air was thick and cool, carrying the earthy scent of rock and stone. Elmore and the miners pressed forward, winding through the narrow passages until they reached the veins of ore. The ore itself was beautiful—a turquoise network of thin, flat veins snaking through the stone, shimmering faintly with an otherworldly glow.
Elmore examined the vein for a moment, then gripped the handle of his pick and brought it down with a firm swing. The tool connected with a satisfying thud, but the ore remained untouched, hard as diamond, without so much as a scratch. He tried again, but the pick simply bounced off.
Taking a deep breath, he focused, channeling Aither into the tool. As he swung again, this time the pick sliced clean through the ore as if it were mere glass, a sharp *crack* echoing through the tunnel as a sizable chunk broke free. Elmore noticed something curious: upon impact, the turquoise ore seemed to soften, almost liquefy, right where the pick struck. It was as though the Aither imbued the pick with enough force to alter the ore’s natural state, allowing it to cut through with remarkable ease.
With a careful eye, he continued, each swing taking only a small amount of Aither but enough to sever large slabs of the turquoise-veined stone. Over the course of an hour, he amassed a sizeable pile of ore, roughly 300 pounds. Just as he was about to swing again, he felt the pick grow heavy and unresponsive—the Aither was drained.
Satisfied, Elmore climbed back up to the surface with the miners, hauling the chunks of ore as they emerged into the daylight. The men gathered around, their eyes wide with a mixture of awe and relief. They’d been trying to mine this material for a whole, but now they could see that it was indeed possible, and the answer lay in the Aither itself.
“Here it is, boys,” Elmore said, dropping the ore in a clinking pile. “It’s doable, but you’ll need Aither in the tools for it to work. Notice how the metal almost seemed to melt on impact? That’s the key. Without Aither, it’s like hittin’ diamond—no chance. But with Aither, it’ll break clean.”
The miners crowded around, inspecting the chunks of ore as if they were treasure. They asked him question after question, keen to understand the exact technique, curious about the flow of Aither and whether it affected the ore during smelting. They even discussed how the ore might respond in the forge, the effect Aither might have on its melting point or its composition.
Elmore raised a hand to quiet them, smiling as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Just remember, Aither may play a part in forgery too, so pass that along to the smiths. Might be we’re dealin’ with more than just rock here—this stuff could be somethin’ altogether different.”
After a round of hearty congratulations and back-patting, he made his way back home, the miners’ voices echoing behind him as they shared plans and ideas, energized by the success. He couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride—not only in himself but in his people, who were pushing their limits and discovering new things.
When he finally reached his front porch, exhaustion hit him hard, the weight of the day’s labor settling into his bones. But beneath that tiredness was a quiet satisfaction. He’d given his people another tool to build their future, and now, even as their Chief, he could step back and watch them forge ahead, ready to face whatever came next.
