Prologue. Of Dwarves and Dragons.

King Rörun Ild Eldur walked slowly, the heavy sound of his steps echoing loudly through the cavernous hallways that led to his daughter's chambers, the warm glow of the magic lamps casting long shadows as he passed them by.

He was tired after his trip, his mind preoccupied with the fact that the number of things he needed to worry about appeared to only be increasing faster and faster lately.

But he always made sure to make time for his daughter, or at least he tried to. Ever since his beloved wife had left them and rejoined the earth, he had taken upon himself to visit her every night before bed, spending the little free time he had just to be with her, to tuck her in and tell her stories until she fell asleep. But much to his consternation, the world's current situation hadn't allowed him to do it as much as he would've liked.

Just now, he was returning from another secret meeting with Larfal Ljos Alf, King of the high elves. The old relic was starting to get worried about the impending confrontation between Zeus and Hera Familias and the One-Eye Black Dragon, and if Rörun was being honest with himself, so was he.

Battles of such magnitude were indeed capable of reshaping the land, often for the worse. Such a thing had been proven in the past by the battle against the Behemoth and the sterile desert of ash it had left in its wake. But it wasn't just that. Surface monsters were getting bolder, as if feeling that something was about to happen. Old enemies to the east were stirring once again, and bandits, slavers, and other kinds of scum were increasing their activities along unprotected roads and villages, probably knowing that no matter the result of the fight, the world was about to change forever.

But he was confident as well. For, while the elves lived in their luscious and flammable forests, Bál Eldur, the last home of the dwarves, was a veritable fortress of stone and steel carved deep into the mountain. Its tall gates and strong walls had stood proud since before ancient times, enduring against invading monsters and people both, and Rörun had faith it would continue to do so long into the future.

The sight of her daughter's door finally brought him out of his musings; he began to open it slowly, fully expecting her to be fast asleep by now.

"DADA!" He heard his daughter cry before feeling a pair of tiny arms trying to hug the life out of his leg. "YOU'RE BACK!"

Small and cute she may be, but by the earth! She was strong for a six-year-old dwarfling.

"Rünira, I'm quite sure I remember telling you not to stay up so late waitin' for me," he said, a mix of amusement and exasperation in his voice as he knelt down to give her a proper hug.

"You know you need your sleep if you want to grow up strong like Dada."

"'m sorry," she mumbled, looking up at him, her fiery red hair and deep green eyes combining in an innocent expression that could melt a statue's heart. "But I wanted to hear a story!"

Rörun debated with himself for a short while before nodding in acceptance. He was tired, but not enough to deny his daughter. Picking her up and walking toward her bed, he gently put her down and started tucking her in.

"And what story would the princess like to hear this time?" he asked teasingly. "I've already told you all the stories I know."

This, of course, wasn't even remotely true, but it always amused him to see his daughter pouting at the possibility of not getting bed stories anymore.

"Eldur and Jarðar!" Rünira exclaimed excitedly with a giddy look on her small face. She always had it when asking for a story, for he knew well that she enjoyed hearing them. He had been made aware that she went around the palace, pestering guards and maids for stories while he was away.

"Eldur and Jarðar," repeated Rörun stroking his thick white beard with a pensive look as he sat in a cosy armchair next to the bed. "It has been a long time since I've told that story, 'tis a good choice indeed."

Making himself comfortable, he took a big breath thinking about where to begin.

"Listen well Rüni, for this is a story passed down for generations going back to untold times, a story of great significance and fiercely treasured by our people."

Rünira was already almost bouncing in anticipation, her starry-eyed expression and childish excitement bringing joy to his old heart.

"For it is the story of the first dwarves."

Long ago, so long even the gods cannot remember, came to be the first dwarves. Born twins from the union of fire and earth, the son, flaming mane and a burning spirit, was named Eldur in honour of fire. The daughter, with her emerald eyes and grounded disposition, was named Jarðar, honouring the earth.

And just like fire and earth, they worked together to build the first dwarven settlement, a place their people could call home. And thus was born the great city of Hraûn.

For years the city grew under the guidance of the twins, prosperity and affluence emanating from the union and cooperation of its people. Eldur and Jarðar would go and perform many great deeds during their lives together, defeating mighty monsters, erecting impressive structures, and creating priceless artefacts. Still, none of these things would compare to the greatest of their accomplishments.

The forging of the Founding Hammer, dubbed Hraûn's might; The Aflhraûn.

Rumoured to be one of the mightiest weapons the world had ever seen, capable of shattering mountains, spouting firestorms, and melting the ground itself with its power. The Twins declared it their crowning achievement and the symbol of the city, a symbol that marked the greatness that could be attained by merging the power of earth and fire.

But the harmony would not last, for you see, with great wealth and power comes great greed, and in greed lies the seeds of destruction.

A group of dwarves, brash and brazen, grew discontent with the status quo. They wanted more, and after rousing enough support, they named themselves The sons of Eldur and started clamouring for conquest and expansion to satiate their avarice.

Some voices rose to oppose them, dwarves more pragmatic and levelheaded who thought that seeking conflict wasn't the answer, though scattered at first, they started organizing in defence of wisdom and advocating in favour of diplomacy, and thus were born The daughters of Jarðar.

Peaceful at first, the twins, engrossed with their adventures, did not think much about these groups, although not exactly pleased at them for using their names, they thought the dispute mere political banter. By the time they realized the full extent of the situation, it was far too late.

It only took one death to spark the fires of violence, a daughter lying dead by the hand of a son, and conflict erupted. Eldur and Jarðar futilely tried to quench the flames, but it was all for nought.

And so, at the brink of a civil war, and with the future of the dwarves on the line, they made the hardest choice of their long lives, and decided to split up. For centuries they had lived and dreamed, won and lost together, but now it seemed that the only way to avoid spilling the blood of their kin was separating. And so, they left Hrâun, sealing the only entrance to the city until such a time when a true dwarf of earth and fire would come to reclaim it as the home of all dwarves.

Eldur took the Hammer with him, for, while not his, conquest was the desire of his group, and led The Sons north, finding a mountain range where he built the mighty stronghold of Bál Eldur.

Jarðar guided The Daughters west, and like his brother, she found an uninhabited mountain, but decided instead, to build a beautiful city showcasing the architectonic prowess of the dwarves, not for war, but for peace, resulting in the free city of Gim Jarðar.

But the twins weren't meant to be separated, and shortly after, their hearts grew heavy and their bodies frail, they returned to the earth urging their people to find balance, for they were all made equally from earth and fire and putting one over the other could only bring harm to them all.

Rörun finished his tale with a heavy tone and a heavy heart, not understanding how Rünira could smile so honestly while listening to it. To him, the story represented the biggest shame of the dwarves, their biggest failure. But maybe her innocence protected her from such dark thoughts.

He was brought out of his musings by a light tug on his beard. Turning his head to look at Rünira, he saw her watching him with a small frown on her freckled face.

"Dada, are you sad?" she whispered softly, green eyes shining with innocent worry.

Shaking his head, he tried to reassure his daughter, "No Rüni, I was just thinking about the dwarves of old. I wish our Eldurian ancestors could have gotten along better with the rest of our kin."

"We could go visit that Gim city and be friends again!" she said, her face clearly showing that she thought this was the most obvious thing in the world. "A-And then! Then we could all go to Hraûn together!"

Rörun could not stop himself from laughing. "HA! I wish we could Rüni, I sure do," he said fondly, with a wistful smile. "But Hraûn was lost millennia ago, and sadly Gim Jarðar was destroyed by monsters during the Ancient Times, few Jarðary dwarves survived, and those who did ended up scattered throughout the world."

Rünira looked conflicted by that, her eyes showing that she clearly was not expecting such bad things.

So, he tried thinking of something to lift the mood somehow.

Standing up, he reached towards his belt, grabbed his one-handed hammer before striking a comically heroic pose, "Behold! The last of Jarðar's legacy," he stated proudly, which seemed to confuse Rünira, judging by the look on her face.

''A mallet?''

Suppressing a sigh, Rörun shook his head. He wasn't very surprised at his daughter's question; after all, she'd never seemed that interested in weapons, much to his eternal dismay.

"It's Hraûn's Might! the Aflhraûn itself! passed down in our family for as long as we can remember, it's the only thing we have left related to Jarðar, though I have never heard of anyone being able to get even a spark out of it," he replied, starting to swing it theatrically, almost as if daring the hammer to prove him wrong.

Rünira let out a tiny laugh at her father's antics, "Maybe it just doesn't like you," she said with a small smirk on her face—the cheeky bugger.

He didn't try to contain his laughter this time.

"Maybe It doesn't, I guess we'll have to see how much it likes you when you are old enough," said Rörun, playfully tapping her nose with a gentle smile on his bearded face. "This is the founding hammer after all. Only kings and queens are allowed to wield it."

The mood had been lifted somewhat, bringing a more jovial atmosphere, but Rörun could see that Rünira still seemed bothered by something.

"Nana told me stories about gods and goddesses livin' among mortals and giving them power to fight monsters," she began. "Wouldn't they know where Hraûn is? Maybe we could ask them."

A deep frown appeared in Rörun's face at his daughter's words. He would need to have words with his daughter's caretaker about her choice of stories.

He didn't like gods, mingling where they didn't belong, manipulating mortals for their own sick pleasure, he still blamed them for the loss of his wife. But he had sworn on her empty grave that he wouldn't pass his hatred on to Rünira.

While his anger was understandable, it was not completely justified.

"Gods don't know everything Rüni," he said letting out a deep sigh, his mind naturally going to The Dungeon, and how its mysteries seemed to elude even divinity. But it wasn't the only example, in fact, he had another one very much at hand. "Take The Aflhraûn for example, do you see the runes engraved in it?"

Seeing her nod, he continued.

"That's the language of the dwarves of yore, we don't get to use it much anymore outside of the old rites, runes are words of power and even while spoken we have to be careful. Long ago, our ancestors decided it would be safer to adopt the common tongue of Koine for mundane speech and writing.

"Nowadays, besides some of the older priests and blacksmiths -and the royal family of course" he added with a wink, "very few dwarves know it, and even fewer are bothered to learn."

Looking at her daughter with a pointed stare, he said. "But if you want to be queen, you are going to have to learn it."

He saw Rünira trying not to flinch too much at his remark, he knew that she was keenly aware of her lack of academic prowess and that it was a sore point for her.

"I know Dada! But what does that have to do with the gods?" she asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation back to safer topics.

"I was just getting to that. You see, the gods are unable to read our runes, or at least incapable of understanding them as we do."

Seeing the look of incomprehension on her daughter's face, Rörun elaborated further.

"Since their descent, we have allowed a couple of gods that came to Bál Eldur looking for servants to see The Aflhraûn, some said its runes spoke of grandiose heroes, others got closer, saying they were words of power, an ancient spell capable of great destruction. Some of the buggers had the gall to say that it was merely decorative gibberish." The look of outrage on the king's face clearly reflected what he thought of the later gods, "The only thing in common is that every single one of them gave us a different answer."

Rünira looked mystified by his tale, trying to comprehend why the gods couldn't or wouldn't read the old Dwarven runes.

"So what does it really say?" she asked finally, looking at the runes on the hammer with barely restrained curiosity.

"They are the tenets of the Dwarven people, written by Eldur and Jarðar themselves on the dawn of our kin, meant to guide us, and give us strength," he explained carefully, as he showed her the hammer closely, "each side of the hammer was carved by one of them, the runes are on different sides, but they read as one text, and that's because, though separated, they were meant to work together, just like the twins and just like fire and earth."

Rörun paused for a moment, letting Rünira digest what he had just told her. Then, with his eyes still fixed in the runes' intricate patterns, he began to speak.

"From the earth we come, forged by the fire of our soul. By the earth we live, tempered by the fire of our will. To the earth we go, blazed by the fire of our love."

He recited slowly, emphasizing each word and each sentence, trying to convey to his daughter the weight they carried. Even speaking in the common tongue, he could still feel it in his bones, the power behind those words, making his blood quicken and his muscles tense.

He let out a big sigh, letting the feeling pass, before continuing.

''Earth symbolizes birth, growth, and death, it's tied to the physical part of ourselves," Rörun explained. "Fire represents our soul, our will, our love, it speaks of our more spiritual traits. Combined they make us who we are."

"mmh …"

Rünira didn't seem to be very excited anymore if her half-asleep expression and mumbled response were any indication. He decided to leave it there, she was still young, and they would have many more nights to talk about their heritage.

"Remember, Rünira, we dwarves are beings of earth and fire, never let anyone, not even the gods, tell you otherwise," he said, leaning over the bed to kiss her on the forehead. "But it is getting late, and you should be sleeping, not hearing an old man's banter."

Having said that, he reached with his arm and turned off the small lamp resting on the desk next to her daughter's bed. Heading to the door, he was about to leave when he heard Rünira's sleepy voice.

''g'night Dada.''

''Good night, my little ember.''