Aye, this back’s been singing a sore tune since dawn. I was down in the Minoc East Mine again, same tunnel I’ve worked near a hundred times, but today the rock felt different—tighter, meaner, like it didn’t want to give up its iron. I swung the pick once, twice, and on the third strike, the head bit clean through a seam and sparked blue off a quartz vein. That sound—sharp, bright, almost laughing—echoed off the walls and made my teeth ache. I wiped sweat from my brow with the back of my wrist and nearly dropped the pick when I saw the nugget sitting there: fat, dark, nearly the size of my palm. I pried it loose with my belt knife, and the weight of it in my hand felt like a promise. Seventeen more strikes after that, and I’d filled my pack near full—nearly fifty ingots rattling against my spine with every step back to the surface.
The walk to the mine forge wasn’t long, but it might as well’ve been from Vesper to Trinsic with all that weight pulling at my shoulders. Sunlight hit my face like a slap when I climbed out, and I squinted like a mole. At the forge, I stoked the fire myself—vendor’s apprentice was off flirting with the tailor, I reckon—and fed the coals until they glowed white at the heart. When I dropped the first bar in, the heat wrapped around my arms like an old friend. I watched the metal soften, the edges blurring, and thought about how fire never lies. It doesn’t care if you’re tired, if your palms are split, if last week’s sell was lean. It just works. I pulled the bar with tongs that’ve been in my kit since I first came to Minoc, their grip worn smooth by sweat and soot.
Sold the lot at the blacksmith’s counter to old Halden. He didn’t haggle much—knew I’d earned it, maybe, or just didn’t want to argue before noon. Twelve gold clinked into my palm, cold and real. I stood there a moment, thumb brushing the coins, thinking how close that felt to enough. Not rich, not by far, but enough to eat, to drink, to buy a new pair of boots when these finally fall apart.
Tomorrow, I think I’ll try the north tunnel. Heard the ore’s deeper there, but purer. And if the fire’s kind again, maybe I’ll walk out with more than just sore muscles.
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