“1,744 days left…” by Duvencrune, Edgar O. Diary of the Long Night, 111th Edition

  Eighteen Winters ago, Glint and his wife, Tessa, crossed the borders into Mir-Alma, their belongings pared down to what could fit in their sturdy, travel-worn wagon. Behind them lay Skoe Scana, their homeland, filled with memories they hoped to replace with brighter ones in Ostesh. The couple sought and dreamed of a new beginning in the shadow of the Long Night.

  In Ostesh, the sight of a dwarf and his wife setting up home was a rarity; their presence sparked curiosity and whispers among the local humans. Yet, the town held an opportunity for Glint, whose hands were skilled in the art of metal and fire. With a forge newly built from local stone and an anvil that had seen the passing of many hammers, Glint set about establishing himself as a weaponsmith. The sparks flying from his forge at night became a beacon of his growing reputation, promising not just survival but a thriving life in this new land.

  In the early hours of this morning, Glint eased out of the bed they shared, careful not to disturb the gentle rise and fall of Tessa's breathing. The room was dark, and the air outside was crisp like it was every day.

  Tessa, now four moons pregnant, lay peaceful and undisturbed, a faint smile playing on her lips as she dreamt. Watching her for a moment, Glint felt a surge of gratitude and love; she was truly unlike any other dwarf from their homeland with her fair skin that glowed even in the dim light, her cheeks a natural blush of rose, and her hair a golden cascade that framed her face beautifully.

  He cherished these quiet mornings, stealing a moment to admire her as she slept, feeling the luckiest man alive to have her in his life. Yet, as the blacksmith of the town, responsibility awaited him outside their small, cosy world. With a heavy sigh, he stood out of bed.

  The stillness of the room broke with the gentle creak of the closet door as Glint opened it. He pulled out a pair of sturdy trousers and a woollen shirt, preparing for the day. As he dressed, his gaze inadvertently met his own in the dusty mirror on the wall. The image reflected back at him was that of a man marked by Winter—hazel eyes, once bright, now carried the shadows of weariness from the many trials he had faced. His hair had thinned, revealing a balding crown, and his beard sported flecks of grey-like speckles of salt.

  "Baby?"

  Glint cursed himself softly before turning to Tessa with a tender smile. "Sleep, honey," he turned back to the closet, a muttered curse slipping from his lips. “I really need to fix this bloody closet."

  "I had a dream," Tessa said, her form outlined by the faint glow filtering through the window.

  "What dream?"

  "I dreamt of our son," Tessa said while her hand tenderly rested on her swelling belly. "Tariq."

  "Tariq? I don't know what it means," Glint admitted.

  "What do you think as a name?" Tessa asked, her eyes searching his for approval.

  Glint closed the closet with another heavy sigh, "Tariq... what does it mean?"

  "I think it's Orcish for mountain."

  "Well, he will be a dwarf for sure," Glint replied, though his heart wasn't fully in his words.

  "Come here," Tessa beckoned her husband. Glint obeyed, settling beside her as she enveloped him in a warm embrace from behind.

  "It's alright; it's not the baby's fault, and for sure, it is not yours," Tessa reassured him, "Bad things happen to good people, that's all."

  "How does it work? Dwarves have stone blood... what did we do for him to..." Glint's voice faltered, "What will it do to you? What will I do without you?"

  "I'm happy. I'm good," Tessa murmured, her fingers gently smoothing his hair. I want you to be happy—to be happy with me. When I go, I want to see that I made you happy. I want to know that it's alright for me to leave."

  Glint locked into Tessa's eyes, full of love. They seemed to pierce straight through to his Saat. Despite the joy that their unborn child brought, it came with a heavy toll on her health, yet Tessa's focus remained steadfastly on his happiness, her own well-being a secondary concern.

  Her selflessness was as clear as it was heart-wrenching. Each day, as he observed her growing more fragile, his heart was torn. He was caught in a painful dilemma, wrestling between the profound love he held for her and the growing fear of what their future might hold. The very thought of choosing between his love for Tessa and the safety of their coming child filled him with dread, binding him in a silent struggle of love and fear.

  "I need to go open the shop," Glint said, rising from the bed. "Do you need something? Are you hungry? Maybe a mug of tea?"

  "No, I will go back to sleep."

  "I need to go open the shop," he repeated.

  "Take care, my love."

  "You need something, you shout out my name very loud! When the forge is on, I can't hear anything," Glint reminded his wife.

  "I'll shout twice," She said with playful challenge.

  "Are you cold? I can get you a hot water bag for your feet."

  "Go, I'm fine."

  With a tender kiss to his wife's forehead, Glint bid her farewell.

  He rushed to the bathroom, splashing water on his face and briskly grooming himself. After slipping into his work clothes with practised haste, he descended the stairs. Entering his store, he immediately ignited the twin furnaces, their flames roaring to life with a satisfying whoosh. With the furnaces beginning to cast a warm glow around the workshop, he stepped outside, the cool air brushing against his skin as he made his way to the front facade to gather more wood, preparing for the day's labour.

  As Glint stacked wood, a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision. He turned, only to find nothing but the empty, snow-dusted street. He paused, scanning the area, but the figure had dissolved as quickly as it appeared. With a slight shrug, he attributed the fleeting apparition to the swirling snowflakes and the intermittent glow from the nearby lamp poles, their light casting strange, shifting patterns on the ground. Dismissing it as a mere trick of the light, he turned back to his task, the momentary distraction fading as quickly as it had appeared.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Returning indoors with an armful of logs, Glint distributed them between the two furnaces and resumed his daily tasks, pushing the strange sighting to the back of his mind.

  Glint hunched over the sales logs spread across the counter, his initial assumptions about his clientele in this human-dominated town proving to be off the mark. Instead of the expected orders for elaborate weaponry, his ledger was filled with entries for more everyday items: pitchforks, nails, hammers, simple kitchen knives, and even chains for car tyres—essentials for daily life rather than tools of war as he was used to.

  He perched on his high stool, the wood creaking slightly under his weight, and drew a pencil from the drawer. Methodically, he began to list out his tasks for the day, plotting out time for repairs and new projects. His focus was deep, the tip of his pencil scratching quietly against the paper. But this bubble of concentrated silence was suddenly punctured by the sound of footsteps approaching the shop. Glint's eyes flicked up, pencil pausing mid-word as he prepared to greet whoever was coming through the door.

  "Tessa, darling, is that you? Do you need anything?" Glint's words floated out into the quiet. He paused, squinting into the dimly lit corners of the store, half-expecting to see his wife appear with a reply. But there was nothing—only the hum of the furnaces and his own steady breathing.

  Glint rubbed his temples, wondering if the Long Night were starting to get to him, perhaps mingling fatigue with his imagination. Shaking his head, he dismissed the unsettling quiet and refocused on the ledger before him. But just as he began to lose himself in the figures and notes again, a sudden movement caught his eye. Startled, he looked up to find someone standing silently across the counter.

  "By the fucking stars!" Glint gasped, his heart leaping into his throat as his hand darted beneath the counter to grasp the cold metal of his hidden firearm. Standing before him was a figure whose mere presence seemed to command attention—a man of average height, his gaze partially obscured by an eyepatch, leaning heavily on a cane that was clearly the work of a skilled artisan.

  The man's face, though partly hidden, struck a chord of familiarity in Glint, his features igniting a flicker of memory that he couldn't quite place. This wasn't just any stranger; there was something eerily familiar about him.

  "Good morning. My apologies for startling you," the stranger said, extending his hand in a gesture of peace that Glint cautiously accepted. “I am Professor Edgar Duvencrune, though you may simply call me Edgar."

  Glint's grip on Edgar's hand seemed to linger in slow motion as he processed the stranger's enigmatic words. "Do I know you?"

  "Well, that depends on whether you seek an answer from the then, now, or later," Edgar replied cryptically.

  "What do you mean?"

  "In the present, you know me now by name. In the future, our acquaintance will deepen. As for the past, let's just say we've had this conversation one too many times," Edgar explained.

  "We've spoken before?" Glint's brows furrowed in confusion.

  "Yes."

  "Prove it," Glint challenged, his scepticism evident.

  "Your wife's name is Tessa."

  Glint's disbelief was clear as he withdrew his hand, dismissing the man's words with a sweep of his arm. "Nonsense! Everyone in town knows my wife. You must be blind not to have noticed her!"

  "Tariq."

  Glint's face drained of colour as he struggled to comprehend the stranger's words. "What did you say?"

  "Your son... and I know this is hard to believe, but he will have a major role in the events that are to come. I know you are thinking of your son like a parasite feeding on your wife. But he is so much more, and I can prove it to you!"

  "How do you know all of this?"

  Edgar placed his cane over the counter, "As I've said, we've had this conversation too many times," he stated, locking eyes with Glint. "I'm aware that you're holding a gun right now. Thinking of shooting me right in the face... it's funny, you never actually do it."

  Glint's hand relaxed over his gun, "Tessa, will she survive?"

  Edgar looked down and rubbed the tip of his nose with his thumb. "No."

  "I was hoping doctors were wrong," Glint murmured.

  "About your wife, no... they are not. About Tariq, they are."

  "How do you know these things? I barely talk with the townsfolk, how..."

  Edgar leaned on the counter, "You told me... over and over again. How much you love her, how much you wish things were different... but this time they will be different."

  "What are you talking about?"

  Edgar straightened, pointing to his cane resting on the counter. "This."

  "A cane?"

  "Look closer."

  The dwarf's eyes narrowed with curiosity as he took the cane from the man's hand, turning it over to inspect it from every possible angle. His brows furrowed in concentration. He was initially puzzled by the weight and balance of the object. It felt too heavy, too purposeful, for a simple walking aid. Slowly, realization dawned on him—it was not just a cane but a disguised rifle, though curiously lacking a magazine.

  His fingers traced along the steel, feeling the subtle indentations and grooves that hinted at its true function. His interest peaked as he discovered intricate symbols etched along the shaft, leading like a map from the trigger up to the tip. There, a tiny round lid discreetly covered what he now understood to be the muzzle of a cannon.

  "If one pressed the trigger, the lid would open, but where goes the ammo?" Glint mutters, his astonishment growing. “With this design, this is no ordinary cane or rifle. This is Magesitek."

  "Correct. I just need to focus my magic through the lines, which will work as ammo," Edgar clarified.

  Glint's eyes widened in astonishment as he continued to examine the cane rifle. The craftsmanship was impeccable, the design sophisticated, every detail finely tuned—an undeniable reflection of his own handiwork. This was his hammer signature.

  "I never did this. I don’t know who, but this is good," he murmured, almost to himself. He held the cane, turning it over in his hands once more. He marvelled at the quality and felt a strange sense of pride mingled with the mystery of its origin. The realization that someone could replicate his style so closely was both flattering and unsettling.

  "Well, you will," Edgar stated with conviction. “You are the one who made my cane.”

  "I don't have the schematics! Mate, I have no idea how to forge this," Glint explained, his frustration evident as he placed the cane back on the counter. "I can see it has solutions I would apply, and the steel bears my hammer signature, but... I didn't do this."

  "You asked me what this conversation has that is different from the ones we had. Well... this time, instead of giving you the schematics, I give you the Magesitek," Edgar replied calmly. "And all those moons you would need to build it will be focused on your wife. You'll close the store. You will take her on pretty trips, eat good food, see good plays, listen to good music, and simply make good memories. It's the best I can do."

  "I don't understand, mate."

  "In a couple of days, you will meet a brilliant and beautiful young woman. She will bring you detailed designs, formulas, and schematics. She did it all by herself... Muna Dragustea... she is... she is like your son, but it doesn't stop her at anything. She will give me this cane for my eighteen birthday."

  Glint opened his ledger to a new sheet. "So you say Muna..."

  "Dargustea," Edgar confirmed.

  Glint scribbled her name on the page, "Well, it's obvious that in this now, I'm not going to do it. So, how much should I charge?"

  "Two thousand," Edgar replied, his discomfort evident as he shifted position without his cane.

  "Coins?"

  "You think you need more?"

  "At this price, I could close this store until my son is born," Glint mused aloud.

  "That's the plan."

  "I feel like I'm taking her money for nothing. I don't know how I feel about this," Glint admitted, shaking his head.

  "One One One," Edgar interjected, pointing at the handle of the cane.

  "What?" Glint was puzzled.

  "One, one, and one carve it here," Edgar clarified.

  "Some magical number?"

  Edgar smirked, "It's my daughter's birthday. I would like to remember it."

  

  As I have noted on numerous occasions, the period known as the Long Night, marked by the harsh reign of Winter, brought profound changes to the lives and customs across the Map. There was no territory left untouched by its cold grip. Yet, amid the widespread adversity, an unexpected phenomenon emerged: a universal cessation of hostilities. Throughout the Map, people set aside their weapons and armor, choosing instead to focus their energies on survival. It is curious, indeed, to reflect on how the dire shortages of food and the abundance of misery seemed to unite the world in a tacit agreement for peace. When faced with overwhelming challenges that threaten the very fabric of daily existence, the usual disputes and conflicts that once seemed so crucial begin to lose their significance. Survival, a fundamental and unifying goal, takes precedence over all else. ——The Hexe - Book Two by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer