Broken Wings
N.W. 1809
The Last Great Stronghold

"Master Lloyd. Summons from the king."

Lloyd turned to look at the dwarf in the doorway in confusion for a moment before he nodded. Clearly there was no material notice to go with this summons, and it wasn't often that Athame called for him formally.

A side-effect of him raising the dwarf from a young age.

Even after all the time he'd spent in Vraelheim among the dwarves, he'd only learned the importance of his claiming Dirk as his father when a young Athame had made the decision to call him 'father'.

After all, the dwarves were truly creatures of earth and fire, and so the women were considered to be the 'earth' that each dwarf came from... But the men were the fire that gave each dwarf life, the fire that was the source of their magic.

And so to claim one not biologically related as 'father' or 'mother' was the greatest of honors among the dwarves, because the child had deemed the adoptive parent to be a greater provider of their own earth or fire than their birth parents.

Lloyd idly wondered if he should have been calling Dirk 'mom' all those years. Truly, the dwarf had filled what was more the mother's role in dwarven society, whereas his biological father, Kratos, had taken a role far more suited to a dwarven father than a human father.

He sighed to himself as he finished packing up his forge and then left. The messenger was gone already, though it seemed that there was some hustling about. That was odd in and of itself, because Vraelheim's population didn't fill the city as it used to... and because of the hour. It was far too early for most people to be up.

Again, Lloyd had to wonder over the summons.

But he wasn't going to get answers by standing around outside his workshop.

Once, he might have taken to the air to cross the distance between his forge, which was in an area left abandoned by most of the dwarves, and the large central building his adoptive son had inherited from his birth parents.

Six hundred years ago, Lloyd's forge and home within Vraelheim had been a part of the city, not on the outskirts.

Then again, six hundred years ago, the dwarves hadn't had a king, either, and they'd only just taken in the refugees from Hviturlind, Dalmasca, and Borgarde.

Lloyd looked around as he walked through the city streets, noting the wear and tear of the buildings that simply couldn't be maintained any longer, and he felt the regret settle in his chest like a heavy stone. No matter what he did, the dwarves continued to simply... die.

It was with these grim thoughts at the forefront of his mind that he arrived at the Great Hall, the largest gathering place in Vraelheim... and the unofficial audience chamber of their king. Lloyd knew that Athame preferred to stay here, where he could mingle with and address his people, rather than in the palace that had been carved into the cavern when Vraelheim had first been founded many millennia ago.

"Ah, Master Lloyd. What a surprise ta see yeh out an' about at such an hour!"

Lloyd paused, turned, and smiled to Master Yosher, a stonemason who, while having been taught by Lloyd, had achieved his mastery through his own experimentation with his stonework.

"Good morning, Master Yosher. And what do you mean, 'at such an hour'?" he asked teasingly.

The dwarf laughed. "Yeh know exactly what I mean. Yeh're usually neck-deep in yer projects at this time o' day!"

"Aye, that he is."

"But a summons is a summons..."

"An' he's ne'er ignored one before."

Lloyd glanced over his shoulder and began to get the feeling he knew what Athame was doing. Because behind him stood the only set of dwarven twins that had been born in the last millennium, Mokie and Bykie, both of whom were Master Blacksmiths in their own rights... and though both had been trained by Lloyd, the next master to arrive had not been... Because Lloyd had never trained a woodworker.

"What, are we gatherin' outside the hall instead of in?" Master Korum asked, amused by the fact that they were all standing on the steps.

Lloyd chuckled and stepped inside, the other masters following him, and from the small gathering already within the Great Hall, it seemed they hadn't been the first to arrive.

He was right, he mused as he walked around, taking in the familiar faces, not a single dwarf in the hall under the age of two-hundred. Athame was gathering every Master in the city. And from the number who had already arrived, it wouldn't be much longer before they would all be in attendance.

Speaking of Athame...

A simple metal band around his head served as a crown, the only true indicator of his rank that he would accept save for in the most formal of events. Dark, burnt sienna hair hung around his head in waves, his beard kept uncommonly short and neatly trimmed. Lloyd had heard comments time and time again about how unnatural it was for a human to raise a dwarf, but as he had always pointed out when concerns were raised, he as a human had in turn been raised by a dwarf.

And Athame's father had been a good friend. It was Lloyd's honor to raise Arandur's son, and not one he'd even once taken lightly.

"Father."

He smiled and nodded his head in the only 'bow' Athame would put up with from him. "Gathering the Masters, I see."

"All of the still-practicing Masters, at least," Athame replied. "I'd be surprised you realized it, but then..."

"As the senior Master Smith, I've made all of their Mastery Amulets," Lloyd said softly. "And trained a rather good portion, as well."

The new blood from the other dwarven cities had revived the dwarven magic a little, and resulted in a new influx of Masters... but to Lloyd's disappointment, it wasn't lasting. Once again, the dwarves were facing extinction, and he could do nothing but stand by and watch.

"Aye... Father?"

"Yes, son?"

"I'd like ta meet with yeh after the rest o' the Masters have left. And... I need yeh ta find a glass worker and a stonemason yeh can trust an' work with."

Lloyd hummed. "I'm not sure about a Master Glazier, since we've only got two to choose from at the moment, but Master Yosher's used to working with me and he takes great pride in his work."

Athame sighed. "It doesn't have ta be a Master. Preferred, aye, given the nature o' the project, but I don't think yeh want ta be tryin' ta do it yerself."

He nodded. "In that case, Miss Ernola. To be frank, I can't stand Master Brackem, to whom she was apprenticed, but she's very skilled, and I've started setting aside the metal I'll need to forge her Amulet."

This seemed to amuse his adoptive son greatly. "She'll be a Master before she's needed then."

Lloyd frowned to himself as he started to consider what Athame could possibly need them for.

He'd come to Lloyd first, which was a bit of a clue, as Lloyd had spotted three other Master Smiths in the room before himself, and he'd specified for Lloyd to choose people he could trust. And normally, after a request like that, and given the fact that he was the only family Athame had left, he'd assume it was burial-related.

Except... why a glass worker instead of a wood worker?

This bothered Lloyd greatly, even as Athame called for order and stood upon the dais at the end of the hall, hands raised to draw attention and indicate that he was ready to speak. Everyone was here, waiting with baited breath for whatever announcement their king had summoned them to give.

Silence descended over the hall as the king lowered his hands, looking over all of them slowly, grimly. "Thank you all for coming. I know some of you had already begun your days," a faintly amused glance Lloyd's direction, "and most of you were preparing to. I apologize for the timing, but I did not wish to call upon everyone at a more inconvenient time."

Lloyd smiled slightly, proud of his son's enunciation. Though Athame would always carry the accent every dwarf seemed cursed with—and, admittedly, even Lloyd found himself speaking with the accent fairly regularly—and though he made no attempts to curb it when speaking informally, speeches like these were always delivered clear and free of it.

"I confess I've spent much time of late worrying about our people, our culture. It is not a pleasant thing, to realize that our people are dying. And though I am aware of how little we can do to stop it... I do not wish for us to fade into obscurity as the elves seem so desperate to do. I wish to see to it that the achievements of our kind be preserved. We are a people of earth and fire, of creation, and I would have that creation be our legacy, a mark on this world to last for millennia after we are gone." Again, Athame glanced at Lloyd, and the lone angel among the dwarves understood what it was his son wanted from him right now, in this moment.

And with a single nod and a sorrowful but determined smile, Athame had all the permission he needed to continue.

"Our culture and the knowledge of our magic will live on in my father. But our techniques, our legends, our histories cannot be left to him alone. Vraelheim is the last great stronghold of the dwarves. Let it stand as a testament to our presence in this world. The bodies of our people may fade... but the memories of our people must not. Let this be our last battlefield, the last enemy our people face as a whole." Athame stopped and thumped a fist to his chest over his heart, the traditional salute from one warrior to another. "I've never known a dwarf to go down without a fight... and now should be no different."

For a breathless few seconds, it seemed as if the Masters weren't going to be on board with the plan.

And then, in a great wave usually only seen in a war rally—and thank the spirits Lloyd had only ever seen one of those, and the 'war' had lasted a bare few months—dozens of fists rose to their owner's chests, Lloyd relying on his instinctual reactions to keep pace, because he knew full well what came next.

"Dwarven vow number one; Let's all work together for a peaceful world." Athame was smiling as he joined the hall in reciting the next two.

"Dwarven vow number two; Never abandon someone in need. Dwarven vow number three; Two hands build more bridges than one."

And as Athame dismissed the gathering of Masters and gathered Master Yosher and not-yet Master Ernola, whom had been retrieved by a messenger during the king's speech, Lloyd felt the hope re-kindling itself in his heart.

The dwarves may die... but in his heart and in their legacy of creation, they would live on...

Creation...

An idea formed with all the unpredictability and suddenness of a lightning strike, and he heard Origin chuckling in the back of his head. "I can get onboard with that. And, perhaps, Gnome and Ifrit might help as well..."