On More Than One List

Eric woke up and looked over at Kaelen’s bed. It was empty.

He pushed himself upright with a quiet groan, then rolled out of his own bed and headed straight for the bathroom. As he walked, a stray thought rose through the morning fog—for a dwarven city, nothing here felt built for dwarves. The doorframe, the ceiling, the hall outside—everything was just a little too tall, a little too wide.

It nagged at him. Why would dwarves build a place that made them feel small?

He paused at the sink, splashing cold water on his face, and wondered when exactly he’d started expecting to duck under every doorway in this place.

Trade, maybe. Or pride, he thought, or just the practical math of stone and weight—if you were carving a mountain open, it didn’t cost much more to make the ceiling a few feet higher, and it made visitors feel less like they were being buried alive.

Still, part of him had expected dwarven halls to feel cramped and crushing. This felt more like a cathedral.

Eric changed his clothes and headed downstairs. Everyone was already gathered at a table. Welyvyne sat upright, hands wrapped around a steaming mug; she looked up when she saw him and waved him over.

Lyren was groaning dramatically, elbows on the table, her head braced in her hands like the world was ending. Kaelen didn’t look much better—he was blankly staring into his own steaming cup.

“You look”—Eric grinned as he took in the table and finally settled on Welyvyne—“unreasonably chipper this morning.”

Welyvyne lifted her mug in a little salute. “Lowland constitution,” she said, eyes amused over the rim. “Hot-climate elves don’t fold that easily.”

Lyren groaned louder and slumped deeper into her hands. Kaelen didn’t react at all; he just kept staring into his cup like it might eventually start explaining his life choices.

Eric took a seat next to Welyvyne. “So, Grendar would like to have our watches mass produced here, that is what this has all been about.”

Welyvyne lowered her mug a little and turned toward him, interest sharpening behind the sleep-soft edges of her expression. “Mass produced how?” she asked. “As in… proper line work? Not just a few apprentices at a bench?”

Eric smiled, remembering the grand forge. “Yeah, this place is like a giant industrial factory, they could produce them quickly. The question is though, what do you think? I already agreed on the premise, but you have the final say.”

Welyvyne studied him over the rim of her mug, some of the lingering amusement fading into something more serious.

“From what you’re saying,” she said slowly, “it sounds… smart. Scary, in a way, but smart. If they handle the parts and we just kick them alive, that’s a lot less work chained to a bench.”

“Yeah, here’s the thing though.” Eric focused on Welyvyne. “He says he will hire people to do that. We don’t have to do anything else, just get paid and design new things.”

Welyvyne’s brows lifted slightly. “So we give him the patterns, the theory, and after that it’s all dwarves and half-elves on the line?”

Eric nodded. “Pretty much.”

She leaned back in her chair, considering that, thumb rubbing along the handle of her mug. “Then I think it’s a good deal,” she said. “Less time chained to a single project, more room for you to build the next impossible thing. For both of us.”

Eric hesitated, then drew a quiet breath. “Yeah. That’s what I thought too.”

He glanced toward the door, remembering the heat, the glow of molten metal, the weight of the air down there. “But that’s the part that’s bothering me, actually. The foundry. The iron in the air. Yrarik made it sound like it would drop you in minutes. How bad is it really?”

Welyvyne smiled. “You saw me when I handled iron. It didn’t kill me. It’s itchy and uncomfortable. It would be bad in the lungs—it wouldn’t kill me, but I wouldn’t be able to leave on my own.”

Eric’s jaw tightened. “So if you went down there and stayed too long, you’d just… lock up? Collapse?”

Welyvyne smiled. “Yeah, it’s like breathing sand. Not pleasant, and eventually not great.”

Eric grimaced. “That sounds a lot closer to ‘terrible’ than ‘not great.’”

She shrugged lightly. “I’m not going down there, Eric. Not unless I absolutely have to—and if I do, I’m not staying long. As long as the work happens here, I’m fine. You and Grendar can have your grand forge. I’ll take clean air and a workbench that doesn’t try to kill me.”

Eric looked at Lyren and Kaelen. “You two going to make the trip back?”

Lyren made a sound like someone stepping on a wounded animal. She didn’t lift her head, just tipped it enough to squint at him through her fingers. “Define ‘make,’” she muttered. “If it involves standing upright, the answer’s no.”

Eric huffed a quiet laugh.

Kaelen didn’t laugh at all. He stared into his mug for a heartbeat longer, then took a careful sip and set it down. “I’ll be fine,” he said, voice low. “Sitting in a carriage isn’t the worst thing I’ve done with a headache.”

He still didn’t quite meet Eric’s eyes.

Lyren waved a limp hand. “If I die on the way, you’re carrying me,” she said. “Both of you. I want equal suffering.”

Eric furrowed his brows. “What’s up Kaelen? You’ve been giving me the silent treatment since we started this trip.”

Kaelen’s fingers tightened around his mug. For a moment he just watched the steam curl up, jaw working, like he was considering three different answers and didn’t like any of them.

“It’s not…” He exhaled slowly. “It’s not on purpose. I just wasn’t sure you wanted me talking to you. After, you know.”

Lyren cracked one eye open. “He’s brooding,” she mumbled. “That’s all. Elves can brood, too. It’s not just a human thing.”

Kaelen shot her a flat look, then finally glanced back at Eric. “I pushed. Harder than I should have,” he said quietly. “You were already… wound tight. I knew that. I did it anyway.”

Eric blinked at him, some of the irritation bleeding out of his expression. “So you decided to punish yourself by riding with Ragnar and pretending I don’t exist?”

Kaelen’s mouth twitched. “Something like that.”

Welyvyne watched the two of them over the rim of her mug, saying nothing, but her eyes had gone a shade more intent.

Eric smiled, not quite letting it reach his eyes. “You know, I’m not angry about it, I understand your intent. I’m not volatile, Kaelen, I’m sad. It’s not anyone’s fault. Especially anyone at this table. If you feel guilty for it, don’t be. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

Kaelen went still, the kind of stillness elves did when something hit deeper than they wanted to show. His fingers eased on the mug, shoulders slumping just a fraction. Lyren peeked at Eric through the curtain of her hair, studying him with an expression that wasn’t quite pity, wasn’t quite approval. It looked more like recognition, at least to him.

Welyvyne set her cup down with a soft click. She didn’t say anything, but the look she gave Eric was warm in that quiet, steady way she had when she understood more than she was willing to voice out loud.

Kaelen cleared his throat. “I didn’t think you were volatile,” he said softly. “Just hurting. And I made it worse.”

Eric shook his head. “You didn’t. I’m just… working through things. That’s all.”

Kaelen nodded once—slow, accepting, and still a little unsure.

But he finally met Eric’s eyes.

The door to the common room swung open and Grendar stepped in, boots thudding on stone. “Oy, good ta see everyone up and about. Let’s get on tae road—daylight’s burnin’, and we won’t have time to make any stops.”

Lyren groaned like the very idea of standing was a crime. Kaelen straightened a little too fast, as if grateful for something to do that wasn’t talking about feelings. Welyvyne lifted her mug in greeting.

Eric pushed back from the table. “Sounds like our cue.”

Grendar’s eyes swept the group, lingering on Lyren’s slumped form. “Ye look like hammered slag,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t worry—I’ll make sure the ride’s nice ’n bumpy fer ya.”

Lyren lifted her head just enough to glare. “You wouldn’t.”

Grendar grinned, all teeth. “Try me.”

Kaelen stood with a quiet sigh, smoothing his hair back. “I’ll help her to the carriage,” he said, already reaching for Lyren’s elbow.

Lyren slapped at his hand half-heartedly. “Don’t touch me unless you’re lifting me.”

Kaelen hesitated—just one beat—and then actually lifted her. She yelped, then sagged into it with a defeated groan. “Fine. But this is a war crime.”

Welyvyne shook her head, rising to join Eric. “Let’s get moving before she dies dramatically on the floor.”

Grendar barked a laugh. “Aye, there’s spirit in the lot o’ ye. Come on then, time tae be on our way. Carts are all loaded up an’ ready tae go.”

He jerked his chin toward the door in a clear move it gesture.

On the walk back toward the carriage yard, Welyvyne stepped up next to Grendar. “Eric told me about the deal, I think it’s a great deal. I don’t feel like you're the kind of person that would cut us out.”

Grendar chuckled, beard shaking. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He shot her a sidelong look, eyes crinkling. “Coin’s best when everyone’s gettin’ their fair share. Ye an’ the lad keep buildin’, I’ll keep the wheels turnin’. That’s how we all get rich, aye?”

Eric smiled at the interaction, warmth easing some of the tightness in his chest. He was glad she’d taken the initiative to speak for herself—glad she wasn’t just letting him make decisions for both of them.

When everyone finally reached the carriage yard, Ragnar was already perched on the cart. It was overflowing—tarp stretched tight over the load—and a massive trunk sat in the seat beside him.

Eric opened the carriage door and gestured Welyvyne inside. Behind them, Kaelen all but nudged Lyren through the doorway; she slid gracelessly onto the carriage floor with a soft thump.

“Hey,” Lyren protested from the boards, “not going to at least put me in a seat?”

Kaelen chuckled. “Nope. You’re not fooling me with the drama. You liked being carried way too much.”

Lyren gasped, one hand to her chest, the other trying—and failing—to hide the creeping smile. “I did not!”

Eric shook his head and clapped Kaelen on the shoulder. “Come on in, plenty of room, Kaelen.”

Kaelen shook his head and smiled. “No, I’m going to sit up in front in case we run into something on the road.”

Eric chuckled. “Fine then, brood up front.”

Kaelen laughed. “Not brooding this time. Honestly, I’d rather watch the trail—I like the view from here.”

Eric smiled. “Alright, not going to force you.” He glanced over his shoulder into the cabin. “Well… probably best you stay out here. I’m sure conversations in there will get…”

Kaelen smirked. “Yes, that too.”

Eric watched Kaelen climb up to the seat beside Grendar, then stepped into the carriage and pulled the door shut behind him. As he settled in next to Lyren for the day’s travel, he pulled a strip of jerky from his dimensional storage. Before he could even get settled in, the carriage lurched into motion. The snap of the reins and the rumble of the wheels were comforting—simple, predictable things in a world that hadn’t been either for a long time.

Eric turned to Lyren. “Glad you made your way to the seat.”

Lyren leaned her head on the cabin wall. “Yeah, seat is softer than the floor.”

Eric glanced out the window, seeing the world from up high. Red, purple, blue, and orange rifts were scattered across the land—far more than he’d ever noticed from the road. They speared through fields and forests alike, ominous, unnatural things in his mind. He couldn’t believe they were natural. Just looking at them sent a shiver up his spine, the kind of wrong that made his fingers tighten on the windowsill before he forced himself to look away.

Welyvyne was looking at Eric when he turned away from the window. “So, you promised me you'd talk about it today.”

Eric groaned. “I did, but I was really trying to get you to go to bed without this conversation while you were compromised.”

Lyren perked up beside him. Welyvyne crossed her arms. “You know I won't let it go right, I care about you Eric, that is a fact you'll just have to get used to.”

Something in him flinched at that—like she’d stepped somewhere he didn’t think anyone should go.

Eric knitted his eyebrows together in frustration. “Why though... Why would you or anyone actually care, I'm not even from this world.”

Welyvyne frowned deeply. Eric caught Lyren's expression soften beside him as well.

Welyvyne uncrossed her arms and looked down. “It wasn't an accident you know.”

Eric's frustration turned to confusion. “What do you mean, what wasn't an accident?”

Welyvyne sighed. “Me running into you, I knew who you were before we officially met. I wanted to meet you, I just couldn't figure out how I was going to until lord whatever his name was trying to humiliate you.”

Eric frowned. “So you're saying you set me up, you wanted to be tied to me for some reason?”

Welyvyne shook her head emphatically. “No! It wasn't like that, I just, thought I could make a friend, you know, someone with nobody, like me, I felt like you could use a friend but I wasn't sure if you wanted a friend. It was the moment you said that you could use a friend I decided to tie myself to you.”

Eric’s frown deepened. “So us being bonded was your plan then, to be tied together because what, you saw me as a lost puppy? You know you can't fix how you feel by trying to fix someone else, right.”

Welyvyne straightened, eyebrows knitting together. “No! That was an accident, I don't see you as a lost puppy.”

Welyvyne’s voice softened. “I see you as a reflection of me, you're right, I can't fix myself through you. That was never my intent, I was paying forward what my grandfather did for me.”

Eric held her gaze, the fight bleeding out of him. “What do you mean? What did your grandfather do?”

Welyvyne sighed. “I was a disgrace to my family, I wanted to study and be something more than just another adventurer fighting rifts. I began focusing on artificing, for 20 years I dealt with my own people calling me a failure, my own parents looking at me like I was a disappointment.

I fought with them about it nearly every day, but I didn't want to be like them, the prominent adventurers protecting the world.”

Eric frowned. “And this is normal for your society, pushing everyone into what they want you to do? And they call my race barbaric.”

Welyvyne smiled. “Yeah, kind of dumb when you really look at it, but yeah, when I decided to go to the Arcanum my grandfather stopped me and handed me the etcher I let you borrow. He had bought it for me, looked for it and said he was proud of me.

When he handed it to me he told me I was his favorite grandchild, he was always nice to me, he never treated me poorly.”

Eric shook his head. “Your whole society expected you to be an adventurer? I'm finding that a bit hard to take in.”

Welyvyne sighed. “No you're right, just the people around me. I was placed in schools for the purpose of adventurer training, so I was surrounded by people that didn't understand why I wouldn't want to be an adventurer. Everyone else, well, they just didn't care.”

Eric sighed. “Sorry, that was unfair. When your own parents treat you like a disgrace that is your whole world really. You know, they were the problem right, not you.”

Welyvyne’s face went pensive as she leaned back. Lyren also sat back and looked at Eric before smiling. “I don't know why you think you're not worth caring about, Eric, but trust me when I say a lot of people care about you, Eric.”

Eric frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Lyren shrugged, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It means you’re on more than one list now,” she said. “Grendar’s. The Arcanum’s. Probably a few we don't know about yet. People pay attention when someone starts tilting the board.”

Eric stopped moving.

He hadn’t considered being watched by anyone other than the Arcane Anomaly Authority. That alone had felt like a noose. But more than them? The thought slid in like cold water down his spine.

Who else would be concerned about what he was up to?

Merchants? Scholars? Nobles? The Arcanum proper? Rival artificers? Whatever passed for intelligence agencies in this world?

He suddenly wasn’t sure.

And that was the part that bothered him most—he didn’t even know enough about this world to tell who would care, or why.

Eric turned to Lyren and frowned, the realization settling in his chest like a weight. “You know something.”

Lyren lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I know enough to be worried when the wrong people start paying attention,” she said. “And you? You’re very hard to ignore.”

Eric sat in silence, the world slipping past the window while his thoughts ran through who might care, only to hit the same wall every time—he didn’t know enough to even guess. What was Lyren not saying? Or Kaelen, for that matter. Maybe even Welyvyne.

He sighed to himself, realizing he was sliding into a paranoia spiral. Lyren was just messing with him. Right?

The carriage rocked on, wheels humming over stone and dirt. Conversation drifted in fits and starts—little jokes, travel complaints, Grendar’s occasional shouted curse at the road—but nothing sharp enough to pull Eric fully out of his head.

In the end, the rest of the journey passed without incident. No ambushes. No rift-creatures. Just miles of road, the creak of wood, and the steady rhythm of hooves carrying them back toward home.