Chapter 2: The Journey

“Wait, wait, wait,” Johan not wan interrupted, waving his hand clumsily, nearly spilling the flask he’d been nursing. “Let me get this straight. As a baby, you survived a Deep Roads explosion, got thrown God knows how far, smashed into rocks, and still lived to somehow end up in Ember Ward? How the hell does that even happen?”

Avery was sprawled out on the cot, lazily dragging the tip of her dragon claw along the wall. The sharp talon carved precise symbols into the stone with an ease that bordered on casual menace. Her expression didn’t shift much as she replied, “Yep. Even as a baby, I was a stubborn little ass.”

Johan snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Look, I’m a drunk, all right?” He jabbed a finger at himself for emphasis, his flask sloshing precariously. “But even I think that story sounds a little… contrived. Has anyone ever told you, you’re, uh, what’s the word? Oh, yeah full of yourself.”

Avery’s lips curled into a sly smirk as she scratched another mark into the wall. The faint screech of claw on stone echoed in the cell. “Oh, plenty of people. But here’s the thing.” She paused, turning her head to meet his gaze. Her dragon-scaled hand flexed, the light catching the gleam of the talon. “It’s not bragging if you can back it up.”

Johan tilted his head, considering this. Then, with a chuckle that turned into a full laugh, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know what? Fair enough. You got a point there. But seriously, how the hell did you make it out of the Deep Roads as a baby?”

Avery rolled to the side, her claw tracing one last line in the stone before she swung her legs over the cot. She leaned forward, the sharp talon tapping idly against her knee. “Here’s the thing I’ve never gotten a straight answer. Not once.”

Johan raised an eyebrow, curiosity cutting through his drunken haze. “Never?”

She shook her head, staring at the claw as it caught the dim light. “Harrowmont the dwarf who raised me once told me he found me himself. Then, later, he said I was brought to him. When I asked questions, he’d either brush me off or tell a different version of the story.”

“Sounds shady as hell,” Johan muttered.

Avery shrugged, dragging the edge of her claw against the stone floor, the scraping sound sharp and deliberate. “Doesn’t it? But that was Harrowmont for you. Always had his secrets. Maybe he thought he was protecting me, or maybe it was just his way of keeping control. Either way, the truth’s buried deeper than the Deep Roads themselves.”

Johan frowned, tilting his head as he studied her. “So, you’re saying you don’t know how you survived?”

“Not a damn clue,” Avery admitted, leaning back and tapping her claw on the cot’s edge, the sound steady and rhythmic. “Guess I’m just lucky.”

“Lucky,” Johan echoed, shaking his head with a wry grin. “Yeah, sure. Let’s call it that.”

Avery chuckled softly before leaning forward, her voice dropping slightly, almost conspiratorial. “Wait,” Johan said, narrowing his eyes. “How do we even know that story? Who told you all this?”

Avery smirked, her gaze flicking to the wall where her claw had carved yet another mark. “Oh, that’s the best part,” she said, her voice dripping with irony. “As an adult, I reconnected with my mother. Courtesy of a demon lady.”

Johan froze, his flask halfway to his lips. “What? A demon lady? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Avery replied, reclining back onto the cot. “But that’s a story for another time.”

The bustling market of Ember Ward was alive with its usual cacophony of voices, bartering, and the clatter of hooves on cobblestones. But the commotion quieted as a hooded figure staggered into the center of the square, clutching a screaming infant. The figure’s steps were unsteady, their cloak torn and dust-covered, their movements labored.

The baby’s cries pierced the air raw, desperate, and filled with terror. It was dirty, scratched, and bleeding, its tiny arm bent at an unnatural angle. The hooded figure stumbled once, then twice, before collapsing entirely in the middle of the square, the baby’s wails still ringing out.

A stocky dwarf with a long gray beard and sharp, observant eyes was the first to react. He rushed forward, his sturdy boots pounding against the stone as he pushed past startled onlookers. His attention immediately went to the child, his heart clenching at the sight of the tiny, injured form.

“Stone preserve us,” he muttered, carefully scooping the baby into his arms. The infant screamed even louder as he lifted it, its cries echoing in the stunned silence of the market. Blood smeared against his hands as he cradled the child gently but firmly, his voice rising above the crowd. “I need a healer! Someone, now!”

A few moments later, a healer arrived, rushing to his side with a bag of supplies. The dwarf passed the crying baby into their care, his movements careful and deliberate. “The arm’s broken,” he said, his voice tight with urgency. “The poor thing’s been through hell. Take care of it.”

The healer nodded, already examining the infant with practiced hands as they hurried off toward their clinic, the baby’s cries gradually fading into the distance.

The dwarf turned back toward the collapsed figure, his chest heaving from adrenaline and worry. “What in the name of the Stone happened to you?” he murmured, stepping closer. But as his eyes scanned the ground, his heart sank the figure was gone.

The cloak that had covered them lay discarded on the cobblestones, its edges frayed and dirt-streaked. Whoever they were, they had vanished without a trace.

He bent down, his sharp eyes catching something pinned to the cloak tattered shirt. A folded note and a single, well-worn coin were attached. Carefully, he unfolded the note, his rough hands trembling slightly as he read the words scrawled inside:

Hello,
If you’re reading this, something bad has happened. My name is Bargery. I’m a dwarf from Orzammar. If you’re reading this, odds are the dwarves and this baby’s mother, Liliana, are all dead or unable to assist any further. This baby’s mother was an extraordinary woman, and she was good to us in ways words cannot describe. It was our duty to get this child and her mother here safely, but…

Only the baby made it.

Her name is Avery.

The dwarf read the note twice, his throat tightening with emotion. He glanced in the direction the healer had gone, the baby’s cries still echoing faintly in his mind.

“By the Stone,” he whispered, tucking the note and coin carefully into his pocket. He straightened and looked around the square, his heart heavy with the weight of what had just unfolded.

Whoever this child was, her story had only just begun.

Part 2

“Avery, it’s time to wake up!” Lord Harrowmont’s booming voice carried through the stone chambers of their home, reverberating off the sturdy walls. The gray-haired child groaned softly, her pointed ears twitching at the sound. She stirred beneath the blanket, pulling it over her head as if to shield herself from the inevitable. “Five more minutes,” she mumbled, her voice heavy with sleep.

“No, child,” Harrowmont barked, his tone both stern and fond. “You’ve already skipped school twice this week. You’re going, and that’s final.”

Avery peeked out from under the blanket, her sharp green eyes narrowed in protest. Her unruly gray hair stuck out in all directions, and she pouted dramatically. “But it’s so boring,” she whined. “The teacher just drones on and on. No excitement, no fun just endless lessons about stuff I’ll never need.”

Harrowmont crossed his arms, his bushy eyebrows furrowing into a familiar stern expression. “Boring or not, you’re going. Education is important, and one day, you’ll be grateful for it.”

Avery snorted, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “Doubt it,” she muttered, slumping back against her pillow. “All they talk about is dwarven history, rocks, and more rocks. What am I going to do with that?”

Harrowmont let out a long-suffering sigh, though his lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. “You’re lucky I’ve the patience of the Stone, girl. If you were mine by blood, I’d have dragged you there by your ears already.”

Avery’s hands reflexively shot up to cover her pointed ears, her expression turning defensive. “No! They’re long enough already, and I get teased for it all the time. Even Thargrin calls me ‘knife ears.’”

Harrowmont, who had been halfway out of the room, froze in his tracks. The warmth and humor that had softened his face vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp edge. Slowly, he turned back to Avery, his expression unreadable but his tone laced with a quiet, dangerous intensity. “He does what?”

The shift in his demeanor startled Avery, and she hesitated, lowering her hands slightly. “It’s not a big deal,” she mumbled, her voice wavering just enough to betray her discomfort. “It’s just… you know… dwarves being dwarves.”

Harrowmont’s thick brows drew together, his beard twitching as his jaw clenched. “Knife ears,” he repeated, the words like gravel in his throat. His voice was low and measured, but Avery had lived with him long enough to recognize the fury simmering beneath. “That’s no joke, child. That’s a slur.”

Avery looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic. “It’s just words,” she muttered. “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

Harrowmont stepped closer, kneeling slightly so he was at her eye level. His voice softened, though the steel in it remained. “Words like that are meant to hurt, Avery. Don’t let anyone tell you different. And don’t you ever think for a moment that it’s acceptable for anyone to speak to you that way ever.”

Avery’s eyes flicked up to meet his, her lip trembling slightly as she nodded. “I… I didn’t think it was a big deal…”

“It is,” Harrowmont said firmly, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder. “You’re not less than anyone else because of your heritage, do you hear me? Not to me, not to anyone who matters.”

For a moment, silence hung between them, the weight of his words settling in Avery’s chest. Then, Harrowmont stood, his usual gruffness returning. “Now, tell me who is this Thargrin, and where can I find him?”

Avery blinked, startled by the shift. “It’s not worth ”

“Not worth it?” Harrowmont interrupted, his voice booming with sudden authority. “The child I raised, the one who teases me at breakfast and gets into trouble every other day, is worth it. You are worth it. And if anyone says otherwise, I’ll make sure they regret it.”

Avery’s lips curved into a small, shy smile. “You don’t have to do anything, Harrowmont.”

“We’ll see about that,” he muttered, adjusting his belt as he headed toward the door. “Now hurry up and get ready. We’ll talk more about this after school.”

Avery was five years old and learning fast, her sharp mind absorbing everything around her like a sponge. She stood just shy of four feet tall, lanky for her age, with gray skin that occasionally drew curious glances from the people of Emberward. Harrowmont hadn’t thought much about it he wasn’t sure what kind of elf she was, and it didn’t seem to matter. She was simply Avery.

Life in Emberward was bustling, the city a crossroads for trade and travelers, and Harrowmont believed that this environment could teach her as much as any formal schooling. But he also knew that a structured education was important, so he enrolled her in lessons early, much to Avery’s dismay.

“I don’t see why I have to go,” she grumbled one morning, her arms crossed as she stared at her breakfast. “School’s boring. The teacher just talks about rocks and kings all day.”

“You might find it boring now,” Harrowmont replied, sipping his morning brew, “but you need to know how to read, write, and count if you want to make your way in this world. Besides, it’s not just about Dwarven history you’ll learn arithmetic, too.”

“Great,” Avery muttered. “Now I’ll know how to add up all the ways I’m bored.”

Harrowmont chuckled, his patience as solid as the stone foundations of the city. “You’re a sponge, Avery. Even if you won’t admit it, you’re already soaking up more than most kids your age. One day, you’ll thank me.”

Emberward’s school was small, nestled between a blacksmith’s forge and a bustling market stall, where the scent of fresh bread mingled with the tang of metal. Avery, with her quick wit and sharp curiosity, often found herself distracted, watching the activity outside the window rather than listening to her lessons. Still, her innate ability to learn couldn’t be denied. Whether it was writing sentences on a slate board or solving simple equations, she picked it up quickly, even if she complained every step of the way.

Though she might roll her eyes and mutter about the boredom of Dwarven kings and dusty old tomes, there was a spark in her eyes whenever she mastered something new. Harrowmont saw it, even if she tried to hide it. He made it a point to celebrate her small victories with a firm pat on the shoulder or an extra sweet roll at the market.

In a city like Emberward, where the streets were alive with the chatter of merchants, the clang of blacksmiths, and the hum of travelers passing through, Harrowmont knew that Avery needed both knowledge and resilience to thrive. She was unique, even in a city filled with all kinds of people, and he was determined to give her every opportunity to make her mark on the world.

Avery sat at her desk in the small classroom, her quill pausing as she finished the last equation on her parchment. She leaned back slightly, satisfied with her work, and glanced around the room. The low murmurs of her classmates blended with the steady drone of the teacher at the front.

Next to her, Thargrin, a stout dwarf child with a scowl that seemed permanently etched on his face, leaned over. His beady eyes darted to her completed parchment, then back to his own unfinished work. With a sneer, he said, “Wow, you must think you’re pretty smart, finishing so fast.”

Avery met his gaze calmly, brushing off the comment. “It’s just basic adding and subtracting,” she replied evenly. “Not that difficult.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “I could help you, if you’d like. Maybe listen to the teacher a little more.”

Thargrin’s sneer deepened into a scowl. “Shut up, knife ears,” he spat, the words sharp and venomous.

The insult hit like a slap, but Avery forced herself to remember what Harrowmont had told her that morning. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her posture and replied firmly, “Please don’t call me that. It’s not nice.”

Thargrin’s face twisted with cruel delight. “That’s the point, knife ears,” he said, leaning closer. His tone dripped with mockery. “What are you gonna do about it, huh?”

Avery’s hands curled into fists beneath the desk, but she didn’t flinch. Her green eyes locked with his, and she took another steadying breath. “I asked you nicely,” she said, her voice calm but edged with steel. “Don’t push me.”

Thargrin smirked and leaned back in his chair, clearly amused. “Whatever you say, knife ears.”

Before Avery could respond, the teacher’s voice cut through the tension. “Thargrin!” he barked. “Enough chatter. Focus on your work.”

Thargrin grumbled under his breath, turning his attention back to his parchment. Avery unclenched her fists, her gaze dropping to her desk. She could feel her ears burning, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it.

Harrowmont’s words echoed in Avery’s mind: You’re not less than anyone else because of your heritage. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

By lunchtime, the sting of Thargrin’s earlier taunts had dulled, replaced by her natural curiosity as she delved into a book about combustion and propellants. Sitting against a carved stone pillar in the school’s common area, she absorbed every word, fascinated by the diagrams and descriptions. The soft glow of rune lanterns lit the space, and the faint murmur of other children eating and chatting created a distant hum in the background.

Her focus was abruptly shattered when the book was ripped from her hands.

Avery looked up, startled, to see Thargrin standing in front of her, his chest puffed out and his face twisted with anger. He clutched her book tightly in his stubby fingers, his expression a mix of smugness and fury.

“You think you’re better than us, knife ears,” he growled, loud enough to draw the attention of nearby children.

Avery, already fed up with him, stood slowly, brushing the dust from her simple tunic. Her sharp green eyes locked onto Thargrin, her expression steady but simmering with annoyance. “Everyone? No. But you, Thargrin?” she said flatly. “You most definitely.”

The murmurs of the gathered children quieted as her voice carried through the space.

“If you’d use the ears you’re given and actually listen to the world around you, you might learn something,” she continued, her voice measured but cutting. “Instead, you like to pick on anyone smaller than you, thinking it’ll make you feel bigger.”

Thargrin’s face turned redder than molten iron, his breathing quick and heavy. Avery could see his fists clenching tighter, but she didn’t back down. The words were out before she could stop herself, her irritation spilling over into defiance.

Her monologue was abruptly cut off when Thargrin’s meaty fist swung forward, connecting squarely with her chin.

The world tilted as the force of the punch knocked Avery off her feet, sending her sprawling onto the cold stone floor. Pain shot through her jaw, sharp and searing, and for a moment, everything blurred. She wiped at her mouth with her sleeve, her green eyes catching the faint smear of blood against the rune-lit glow of the room.

The crowd around them erupted into chaos some dwarven children cheered Thargrin on, their jeers echoing through the stone walls, while others exchanged nervous glances, unsure whether to intervene.

But Avery didn’t stay down.

Slowly, deliberately, she pushed herself to her feet. Her small frame straightened with quiet determination, her sharp green eyes blazing as they locked onto Thargrin’s. Her jaw throbbed, but her expression remained calm. When she spoke, her voice dripped with venom, every word measured and precise.

“Clearly,” she said, her tone steady despite the sting of the punch, “your mother consorted with a cave troll, because you’re really quick to violence.”

For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then, laughter erupted from the crowd. The absurdity of her insult, combined with her refusal to back down, sent waves of amusement rippling through the gathered children.

Thargrin’s face twisted further, his humiliation now burning brighter than his rage. He took a step forward, his fists trembling, but before he could react, the teacher’s booming voice cut through the commotion.

“What’s going on here?!”

The laughter died instantly, the children scattering like startled animals. The crowd dissolved, leaving Avery and Thargrin standing in the center of the room.

Avery straightened her back, her chin tilted slightly upward. Despite the ache in her jaw and the sting of her pride, she refused to show fear or weakness not now, not ever.

Avery didn’t want to admit it, but her adopted father had been right. Dwarves were proud fiercely so and their lineage was a cornerstone of their identity. To insult someone’s parentage, even in jest, was a deep wound, one that cut far more than any act of physical violence could.

And she had just wielded that knowledge like a blade.

Thargrin’s face, still red from humiliation, was etched into her mind. The way his fists had trembled, the way his fury had boiled just beneath the surface it was unmistakable. She hadn’t just angered him; she’d shamed him in front of their peers, and she knew that shame would fester.

Her sharp retort, though satisfying in the moment, had consequences.

Avery wiped her sleeve across her face again, trying to ignore the ache in her jaw and the sting of her pride. Her sharp green eyes flicked briefly to where Thargrin had stormed off, his heavy footsteps echoing down the stone corridor. She swallowed hard, her throat tight with unease.

You just made a mortal enemy, she thought to herself, the weight of it settling on her shoulders.

It wasn’t fear that gripped her, though Avery was no stranger to standing up for herself. It was the quiet knowledge that she had escalated the situation. Words, she realized, could be sharper than fists, and she had struck a blow that Thargrin wouldn’t soon forget.

Her thoughts turned to Harrowmont’s lessons, to his gruff yet patient wisdom. She could practically hear his voice now: Words have power, girl. Use them wisely, or they’ll come back to bite you.

Avery sighed, brushing a strand of her gray hair from her face as she gathered her things. She didn’t regret defending herself, not entirely, but she couldn’t shake the sense that this wasn’t over.

Avery returned to the classroom and slipped into her seat, her eyes scanning the room. Thargrin’s chair was empty, and she let out a silent sigh of relief. For now, the immediate tension was gone.

The other children had begun to cautiously resume their routines, though furtive glances were still cast her way. Whispers buzzed faintly from the corners of the room, but Avery ignored them. Instead, she squared her shoulders and focused on the lesson ahead, even as her jaw throbbed with a dull ache.

If Thargrin wants a fight, she thought, her sharp green eyes narrowing slightly, he can come find me. But I’ll be ready for him.

Her mind began racing as the classroom settled into quiet focus. Thargrin was at least twice no, three times her size. If it came down to sheer strength, she didn’t stand a chance. The fight earlier had proven that much. His fists were like hammers, and he knew how to throw them. An outright brawl wasn’t just risky it was suicide.

She’d need to use her wit. Her strength wasn’t in her fists but in her ability to outthink her opponent. She began to think five steps ahead, her mind working quickly to form strategies. The key wasn’t to overpower him it was to outmaneuver him, to exploit his weaknesses.

He’s big and strong, but that makes him slow, she thought, tapping her fingers lightly on her desk. And easy to anger. If I can stay ahead of him, keep him off balance, I might have a chance.

Her thoughts flicked to the book she had been reading earlier about combustion and propellants. Ideas started forming simple, crude ideas, but they had potential. She didn’t need to hurt him, just to defend herself and create an advantage. If she could think quickly enough, she could avoid his brute strength entirely.

A faint smile tugged at her lips as her mind continued to churn. She wasn’t afraid of Thargrin not anymore. The ache in her jaw and the humiliation of the punch only fueled her determination.

Class ended, and Avery began her quiet walk home. The corridors of Emberward were dimly lit with rune lanterns, their glow casting long shadows across the carved stone walls. She hummed softly to herself, a melody drifting through her mind something Elven in nature. She didn’t know where she’d first heard it, but it felt familiar, comforting, like a thread connecting her to something long forgotten.

Her soft humming was interrupted by a sudden, sharp pain as something heavy slammed into the back of her head. The force sent her stumbling forward, her knees hitting the cold stone before she collapsed face-first onto the ground. Stars danced in her vision, and her heart pounded in her chest as she instinctively rolled onto her back.

Standing over her was Thargrin, his broad frame blocking the faint light of the rune lanterns. His fists were clenched, and his face twisted with cruel satisfaction. But he wasn’t alone. Two other dwarven boys flanked him, their grins as menacing as his.

The sharp crack of stone on stone echoed through the narrow corridor, and a fresh wave of pain erupted as a small rock struck her temple. Avery gasped, her hand flying to her head as she winced. “You little ” she muttered under her breath, forcing herself to sit up despite the spinning in her vision.

Her eyes darted around desperately, looking for anyone anyone who might help. But the corridor was empty, eerily quiet save for the echoing footsteps of the three boys.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. She was alone.

Her gaze shifted to the ground around her, searching for something anything to defend herself. Her fingers closed around a jagged rock, its sharp edge rough against her palm. Gripping it tightly with both hands, she held it up between her and her attackers, her voice trembling but steady.

“Please,” she said, trying to keep her tone firm despite the fear crawling up her spine. “We don’t need to do this.”

Thargrin stepped forward, his two friends falling into line behind him. His movements were deliberate, his face twisted into a sneer. Mimicking an adult he’d likely overheard, he said, “Yeah, we do.”

Avery’s grip tightened on the jagged rock, her knuckles whitening as her heart pounded. Her sharp green eyes flicked between the three boys, her mind racing for a way out. Thargrin was bigger, stronger, and now he had reinforcements. But she wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Thargrin,” she said, her voice firmer now, though her pulse hammered in her ears. “You’ve made your point. If you really want to settle this, fight me one-on-one. Or are you too scared to face me without backup?”

The words left her mouth before she could think them through, but they hit their mark. Thargrin stopped, his eyes narrowing at the implied insult. “What did you say?” he growled, his tone low and dangerous.

Avery held her ground, clutching the jagged rock like her life depended on it. Her breath was shallow, her heart racing, but her sharp green eyes burned with defiance. She didn’t know how she was going to get out of this, but she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t giving them the satisfaction of seeing her afraid.

“Fine…” Avery said, her voice low and steady. “If that’s the way it has to be.”

She braced herself, her small frame taut with tension as Thargrin sneered and launched forward. His heavy boots pounded against the stone floor, the sound like distant thunder, as he barreled toward her.

But Avery didn’t hesitate.

Using his momentum against him, she thrust the jagged rock forward with all her strength. The pointed edge drove deep into his face, straight into his eye socket, until her hand pressed against the sharp edges of the stone. The wet, sickening sound of impact was followed by a guttural grunt from Thargrin as his charge faltered.

He stumbled back, letting out an agonized howl, his hands flying to his face. Blood poured from the wound, dripping between his fingers and splattering onto the cold stone floor. His one good eye was wide with shock and fury, the pain contorting his face into something monstrous.

Avery’s breath came in ragged gasps, her hands trembling but still gripping the rock buried in his eye. She wrenched it free with a sharp, jerking motion, the crimson-streaked stone slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor. Thargrin’s screams filled the corridor, raw and primal, reverberating off the stone walls.

His friends froze, their bravado crumbling as they stared in horror. “Thargrin!” one of them shouted, his voice high-pitched and panicked.

“We have to get him to a healer!” the other boy stammered, grabbing Thargrin’s arm and pulling him back. Thargrin swayed, his roars of pain devolving into incoherent growls as blood streamed down his face.

Avery stood her ground, her chest heaving, her hands smeared with blood. Her mind was a whirlwind of shock and fear, but she refused to show weakness. She watched as the boys dragged Thargrin away, his shouts of agony fading into the distance.

The silence that followed was deafening. Avery looked down at her bloodied hands, her stomach twisting at the sight. She staggered back, her foot knocking the jagged rock, which rolled a few inches before coming to a stop.

She clenched her fists, trying to steady her breathing. She had defended herself, yes but as the adrenaline began to fade, the weight of what she’d done began to settle over her.

What have I done? she thought, her knees threatening to buckle. But deep down, she knew she had done what she had to in order to survive

Avery’s instincts finally took over, and she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. The cold, damp corridors of Emberward blurred around her as she raced home, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t stop until she burst through the front door of Harrowmont’s home, her breath ragged and her bloodied hands trembling.

A maid was the first to see her. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight of Avery covered in blood, and a piercing scream escaped her lips. “My gods, child what happened?!”

The scream brought Harrowmont running. The old dwarf skidded to a halt when he saw her, his usually stern face twisting with alarm. “Avery!” he bellowed, rushing forward. “Stone preserve us, what’s happened to you?”

Avery stood frozen, her green eyes wide, her face pale beneath the streaks of blood. The mask of composure she’d been clinging to shattered at the sound of his voice. The dam broke, and all the fear, pain, and shock came pouring out in a flood of tears.

“Papa,” she choked, her voice breaking as she reached for him.

Harrowmont didn’t hesitate. He swept her into his arms, holding her tightly as she sobbed against his chest. His beard brushed against her gray hair as he murmured reassurances, his voice steady despite the worry etched across his face. “I’ve got you, lass,” he said softly. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

For several long moments, Harrowmont held her, his large hands cradling the trembling child as she cried out all the fear and guilt that had been threatening to consume her. He rocked her gently, his grip firm but comforting, letting her release everything she had been holding in.

When her sobs finally quieted and she was ready to talk, Harrowmont carried her to the sitting room and settled her onto a cushioned chair. He knelt in front of her, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. “Tell me everything,” he said, his voice soft but commanding. “No holding back, Avery.”

She sniffled, wiping her tear-streaked face with the back of her sleeve, and began to recount the events. The taunts, the ambush, the jagged rock everything poured out of her in a shaky stream of words. Harrowmont listened intently, his brow furrowing deeper with every detail.

When she finished, he sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “You did what you had to do to defend yourself,” he said firmly. “But this isn’t over, lass. Not by a long shot.”

Harrowmont stood and summoned one of the household guards. “Send word to the city guard,” he ordered. “We need to get ahead of this mess before it comes knocking on my door.”

The guard nodded and hurried off, leaving Harrowmont to return to Avery. He crouched down again, his sharp eyes softening as he looked at her. “You’re strong, lass,” he said quietly. “Stronger than most. But you don’t have to face this alone. I’ll handle it. Do you understand?”

Avery nodded, her lips trembling as she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Harrowmont shook his head, pulling her into another hug. “No need for that, girl. You’ve nothing to apologize for. You’re safe now. That’s what matters.”

Part 3

Avery sat quietly in the study, her small frame dwarfed by the large, carved stone chair she perched on. Her hands rested in her lap, freshly cleaned but still trembling slightly. The events of the day played over and over in her mind like a bad dream she couldn’t wake from. The weight of it all pressed on her, but she forced herself to sit straight, her green eyes focused on the guard who had just entered the room.

The guard was a stout dwarf with a stern but not unkind face. His armor clinked softly as he took a seat across from her, his sharp eyes studying her closely. “Avery,” he began, his voice steady, “Lord Harrowmont tells me you’ve been through quite an ordeal. I need you to tell me everything, lass. Don’t leave anything out.”

Avery swallowed hard, her throat dry, but she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible at first. She cleared her throat and began, her words gaining strength as she forced herself to relive the events.

“It started with the name-calling,” she said, her voice trembling slightly but growing steadier with each word. “Thargrin he called me knife ears. Over and over. He’s been doing it for weeks. I asked him to stop, but he just got meaner. He likes to pick on me because I’m smaller, because I’m different.”

The guard nodded, making notes as she continued.

“Today, he started again in class. We argued. I said… I said things back. About how he could be smarter if he just listened. I…” Her voice wavered as she remembered her own retort. “I insulted him. And I shouldn’t have. But then he hit me first punched me, right here.” She pointed to her bruised jaw.

“I thought it was over,” she continued, her voice quieter now. “But on my way home, he and his friends ambushed me. They threw a rock it hit me in the back of the head. When I turned around, they were all there, blocking the way. I tried to talk to them. I even begged him to stop.”

Her hands curled into fists on her lap, her voice shaking as she recounted the next part. “He rushed me. He was so much bigger, and I didn’t have a choice. I grabbed the first thing I could find a sharp rock and I… I stabbed him. In the eye.” Her voice broke as she said it, tears welling up again, but she pushed forward. “I didn’t want to. I just wanted him to stop.”

The guard’s face was grave as he listened, nodding slowly. “You were defending yourself,” he said quietly, as if to reassure her. “Go on.”

Avery sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “His friends panicked. They took him and ran. I… I ran home after that.”

She looked up at the guard, her eyes shining with tears but filled with resolve. “I didn’t want to hurt him,” she said earnestly. “I didn’t. But he didn’t give me a choice.”

The guard studied her for a long moment before setting his notes aside. “Self-defense is what it sounds like to me,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “I’ll make sure the report reflects that. You did what you had to do to protect yourself, lass.”

Avery nodded, her shoulders slumping slightly with relief. But deep down, she knew this was far from over.

The guard took meticulous notes after hearing Avery’s side of the story. Her detailed recounting of events calm despite the turmoil beneath gave him a clear picture to work from. Once her statement was complete, the guards began canvassing the area, questioning witnesses and piecing together what had unfolded.

It didn’t take long for them to find Thargrin. He was at the healer’s clinic, his left eye now permanently lost, the wound freshly closed with magical and medicinal care. The boy sat hunched in his mother’s lap, clutching her tightly, his face pale from the trauma and the lingering pain. His father, however, was far from quiet.

“I can’t believe this shit!” Thargrin’s father bellowed, pacing back and forth in the cramped healer’s room. His fists were clenched, and his face burned red with fury. “There will be a reckoning for this mark my words! My boy was assaulted by some filthy knife-eared little ”

The tirade continued, a string of derogatory slurs pouring from his mouth. Each word seemed sharper than the last, cutting through the tension in the room like a blade. His wife flinched but said nothing, her focus entirely on comforting their injured son.

The guards entered the room, their presence commanding immediate attention. “Enough,” the lead guard said firmly, his voice sharp enough to cut through the man’s rant. “We’re here to get to the bottom of this. If you want us to do our job, you’ll answer our questions civilly.”

Thargrin’s father glared at the guards but grudgingly fell silent, his chest heaving as he tried to rein in his temper.

The guards turned to the two boys who had been with Thargrin, still lingering near the corner of the room. The boys looked anxious, their earlier bravado long gone. At first, they stammered, trying to spin their version of the events. But as the guards pressed them, their story began to align more closely with Avery’s account.

“She didn’t start it,” one of them finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thargrin… he, uh… he kind of ambushed her. We threw a rock first.”

The other boy nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. She tried to get him to stop. She was holding a rock, but only because she was scared. Thargrin rushed her.”

The father’s face darkened further as the truth began to take shape. But his fury flared anew when the guards added a crucial piece of information.

“The girl in question,” the lead guard said, glancing pointedly at the father, “is Lord Harrowmont’s adopted daughter.”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Even Thargrin’s father, red-faced and ready for battle, froze for a moment as the weight of that revelation hit him. His wife’s eyes widened in surprise, and even Thargrin looked up from his mother’s arms, his expression one of shock.

The father quickly recovered, his indignation boiling over. “Oh, I see how it is,” he spat. “Because she’s got status and privilege, this is just going to get swept under the rug, isn’t it? My son was assaulted! His eye is gone!”

The guards exchanged glances but remained professional. “This situation is being investigated thoroughly,” the lead guard said. “We’ve spoken to multiple parties, and the evidence points to self-defense on the girl’s part.”

“Self-defense?” the father roared, stepping closer to the guards. “She blinded my son!”

“Your son and his friends ambushed her,” the guard replied calmly but firmly. “They threw the first rock. They initiated the confrontation. And she responded to protect herself.”

“That’s a load of ” the father began, but the guard held up a hand.

“We’re gathering all the facts,” the guard said, his tone unyielding. “But I suggest you temper your language, especially when referring to Lord Harrowmont’s ward.”

The father’s face twisted with frustration, but he bit back whatever insults he was about to hurl. Instead, he pointed a trembling finger at the guard. “This isn’t over. That little knife-eared brat will pay for what she’s done Lord Harrowmont or not.”

The guard sighed, making a note on his parchment. “We’ll see what the full investigation determines. For now, I recommend you focus on your son’s recovery.”

As the guards left the room, the tension lingered, thick and suffocating. Thargrin’s father seethed, his fury unspent, while his son sat silently, his face a mix of pain and humiliation.

But one thing was clear: the reckoning he promised wasn’t aimed at justice it was aimed at revenge.