Weight of Two Worlds

Eric and Welyvyne waited at the eastern gate. Out beyond the wall, children chased one another through the grass while guards walked their routes in loose clusters and farmers moved steadily between the rows of crops.

Welyvyne hadn’t said much that morning, which suited him well enough; he wasn’t in much of a mood to talk. Still, the silence felt… tighter than usual, like there were words sitting just behind it.

A dull pang tightened under his ribs as he watched the kids run, something sharp and homesick sliding through before he could shove it down. He dragged his gaze away from the field—and found Welyvyne watching his face.

The intensity in her eyes made Eric flinch. “What?” he asked, looking away like he’d done something wrong. “What did I do?”

Welyvyne sighed, her eyes softening. “We can see it, you know, Eric,” she said quietly. “Kaelen is right to be concerned about you.” Her voice lowered. “We are all concerned about you. You said you keep busy and joke to hide pain. You're still doing it. That is why Kaelen is worried you'll lose it.”

Eric sighed, pulling his watch out of his pocket and rubbing it with his thumb. “I'm not going to lose it, I'm fine,” he said, the words coming out a little more sharply than he'd meant.

“Yeah,” Welyvyne said, furrowing her brows, “I don't believe you.” She pointed at his chest, just barely touching him. “I saw your face—the pain you reflected as you watched the children. I can't even imagine how that feels, but we are here for you, Eric. I'm here for you. You can talk to me about it, you know.”

Eric frowned. “I don't need to talk about it. I need to work harder. I need to figure out how to fix my situation.”

“No,” Welyvyne said, her voice sharper than Eric had ever heard it, “you need to come to terms with how you feel. You need to talk to someone, if not me, Seltherin, somebody!”

Eric snarled and snapped back. “Seltherin is the reason I was torn from everything I ever loved, my whole existence is gone because of a screw up and the funny part is, I can't even be mad at him! He didn't do it on purpose!”

“Whoa,” Lyren said from behind them, “everything good here?”

Eric crossed his arms. “I'm fine, Lyren.”

“You're not fine, Eric,” Welyvyne snapped back.

Eric sighed, uncrossing his arms. He clenched his hands once, then forced himself to relax. “I'll be fine Welyvyne, I do appreciate the concern, and I'm sorry for snapping at you, none of this is your fault or your responsibility.”

Lyren huffed beside them. “I don't think you get a say in what other people's responsibilities are Eric.”

Eric furrowed his brow at Lyren while she only smiled back at him. A low rumble drew his attention down the road—a carriage rolling toward the gate, wheels clattering over the packed stone.

“Aye, there ye are, ye ready to get a move on then?” Grendar said as he brought the carriage to a stop.

Eric put on a familiar smile." Hey Grendar, just waiting on Kaelen."

Eric caught Welyvyne and Lyren trading a look before he climbed up to sit beside Grendar. “Mind if I sit here with you for a bit?”

Their shared look made something in his chest twist, and he decided he’d had enough talking about feelings for one morning.

“I don' mind at all, Eric. We don' have ta wait for Kaelen, he went on ahead with my brother earlier while I was gettin' the stupid drayhorn to let me put tack on it. We'll catch up when we get ta the human settlement.”

It didn’t take long. Eric sat back and watched the familiar road slip by.

When they reached the fork where he’d fought the bandits, he frowned. The capsized cart had been stripped of everything metal, the boards and broken wheels scattered around the spot.

It felt like a gravesite.

This was where he’d killed for the first time—done something he’d never imagined himself capable of back on Earth, something he would never want his family to see. On his world he’d built things, fixed things, kept people alive with circuits and tools. Here, in that clearing just off the road, he’d ended lives instead.

Something in him had died that day, and it was buried here, under ruts and dust and broken wood.

He realized he’d been staring as they rolled past. Grendar’s hands stayed steady on the reins, but the dwarf’s eyes flicked his way for a moment.

“Bad spot, that?” Grendar asked quietly.

Eric swallowed. “First time I killed someone,” he said. “First time I killed a lot of someones.”

Grendar grunted, not unkindly. “Aye. Road’s full o’ places like that, if ye walk it long enough.” He paused, then added, “World’s better for what ye did here, even if ye’re not. That’s the weight o’ it.”

He clicked his tongue and gave the drayhorn a light snap of the reins. “Ye honor it by movin’ on, lad. Not by lettin’ it chain ye to the ditch.”

“How do you know I didn’t kill random people?” Eric asked, folding his arms.

Grendar let out a rolling laugh. “Lad—I heard the story o’ what happened here. Folk talk. Guards at the settlement talk even more. Lost merchant, bandit camp, girl near dragged off screamin’, human lightning-mage who tore through ’em like bad timber in a storm.” He snorted. “If ye’d butchered innocents, that’s not the tale I’d be hearin’.”

He shrugged, beard twitching. “An’ besides—men who kill for sport don’t stare at the ground like it’s a grave when they pass by. They don’t ask if they might be the villain. They just count coin.”

The fork fell behind them, swallowed by the curve of the road.

Eric sighed. “I guess it was something like that, problem is, I'd do it again, that much I know.”

Grendar was quiet for a few breaths, reins creaking softly in his hands.

“Aye,” he said at last. “That’s how ye ken it wasn’t sport. Ye’d do it again for the same reason, in the same place, for the same folk. That’s choice, not hunger.”

He snorted. “If it ever stops botherin’ ye, that’s when ye come talk tae me. Until then, ye’re still on the right side o’ the line, even if ye don’t like standin’ there.”

Fields began to creep back in—scrub and brush giving way to rough-cleared plots and low stone fences. Smoke curled from a cluster of chimneys ahead, the faint murmur of voices drifting on the wind long before the walls came into view.

The human settlement rose out of the landscape in practical lines: rough-hewn stone stacked high enough to turn aside beasts and bandits, timber bracing darkened by smoke and rain. The gate stood open, though a pair of guards lingered under the arch, spears grounded, watching the road with the worn attention of people who’d seen trouble before.

Grendar eased the drayhorn down to a slow clop. “There she is,” he muttered. “Human stone. Ugly as ever, but it holds.”

They rolled up to the gate. One of the guards straightened, eyes flicking over the drayhorn, the wagon, and the unfamiliar mix of elves and dwarf.

“Morning,” he said cautiously. “What’s your business?”

“Passin’ through,” Grendar replied. “Headed for the mountains. Just stoppin’ tae water the beast an’ see if yer folk have anythin’ worth spendin’ coin on before we’re back this way wi’ a proper load.”

The guard relaxed a fraction and stepped aside. “Market square’s straight in, then left. Wells on the right.

Inside, the settlement opened into a broad, packed-dirt square ringed with rough stone buildings and stall-lean-tos. Smoke curled from low chimneys; the air smelled of sweat, grain, and a hint of something frying in oil. A handful of traders had set up awnings along one side, their goods laid out on tables or blankets—tools, leatherwork, bundles of dried herbs, a few crude charms.

Grendar slowed the carriage as two familiar figures came into view near the edge of the square. Eric recognized Ragnar’s broad shoulders and Kaelen’s easy stance at a glance.

Before anyone could say anything, Eric turned to Grendar. “Hey, I've got some things to grab, I'll be back.”

He swung down from the carriage, boots thudding into the packed dirt.

“Eric—” Welyvyne started behind him.

He lifted a hand without looking back. “Just errands,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be quick.”

The noise of the square rose around him—voices, haggling, the clatter of carts—blurring whatever else she said as he pushed into the flow of people and headed toward the street he remembered.

Eric shouldered his way through the crowd, scanning the stalls for the jerky vendor he remembered. The air was thick with voices, smoke, and the sharp tang of cured meat and sweat.

He spotted the stall ahead—same warped counter, same sun-faded awning, strings of dried meat hanging in uneven rows. As he angled toward it, a flash of electric-blue hair bobbed above the press of bodies behind him.

Of course.

“Really,” Eric muttered under his breath.

He stepped up to the stall anyway. The vendor squinted at him, then snapped his fingers in recognition.

“Back again, are you? Thought the elves had carted you off for good.”

“Not that easy to get rid of,” Eric said. “Same as last time.”

The man grunted and turned to cut from a few different strings.

Someone drifted into his peripheral vision and stopped at his side, close enough that he felt the shift in the air before she spoke.

“You didn’t honestly think I wouldn’t know where you were going,” Welyvyne said.

Eric closed his eyes for a heartbeat. “There are at least twenty stalls here,” he said quietly. “Statistically, I had a chance.”

“Statistically,” she said, “you always go for food first when you’re trying not to think.”

He huffed out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You make me sound very predictable.”

“I don’t think you are,” she said. “That’s why I get worried when you start doing predictable things to avoid us.”

The vendor slid a wrapped bundle of jerky across the counter. Eric paid, more by muscle memory than attention.

He tucked the bundle away. “You didn’t have to follow me,” he said.

“Yes,” Welyvyne replied. “I did.”

Eric frowned. “Look, I already said I was sorry for snapping at you, can we just leave it at that?”

Welyvyne looked at him, then placed her hand on his chest. “I will if you really want me to Eric, but I'm not going to leave you alone right now, you snapping at me was welcomed to me. I want you to get this out, not kill yourself avoiding it.”

She turned her head away, ears angling down. “You are my friend Eric, I care about you.”

The man behind the counter cleared his throat, loud enough to cut through the moment. “Would you two mind getting away from my stall, your scaring all the customers away.”

Eric blinked and finally noticed the empty space around them—three open feet in every direction, other shoppers very pointedly *not* looking their way.

Eric looked at Welyvyne and smiled. “Yeah—we should go.”

Welyvyne slowly removed her hand from his chest. “You're not going to try to avoid me again, are you?”

Eric frowned. “No promises.”

He tried to make it sound like a joke.

It wasn’t.

Eric and Welyvyne drifted back into the flow of the market, the smell of spice and smoke swallowing the last of the awkwardness at the stall. They didn’t say much on the walk—didn’t need to. Her shoulder stayed an easy half-step from his, close enough that he could feel her there without her crowding.

By the time they reached the square, Grendar’s carriage was already hitched and waiting near the gate. Ragnar and Kaelen stood beside it, talking with Lyren. Kaelen glanced up first, eyes flicking from Eric to Welyvyne and back again.

“You get your ‘things’?” he asked.

Eric nodded holding up the bundle.

Grendar climbed up to the bench, boots thudding on the wood. “Right then, on wi’ ye,” he said, snapping the reins loose. “We’ll be there by dusk, if I can get this stubborn beast movin’.”

Lyren swung herself up onto the other side, grinning at Eric like she’d just stolen something from him. “You two can sit in the back, I want a better view this time.”

Eric huffed out a breath through his nose. Of course she’d claimed the front before he could. Welyvyne didn’t say anything, but he could feel her amusement even without looking.

He climbed into the back of the carriage with Welyvyne and sat opposite her as Grendar snapped the reins and the drayhorn lurched into motion.

“You know,” Eric said as he summoned his chest plate from his inventory, “we still have this to tinker with.”

The mana crystal at its center caught the light from the carriage window, throwing pale facets across Welyvyne’s face. She let out a slow breath and gave him a small, knowing smile.

“Good,” she said. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten. You know we can still talk while we come up with enchantments for this, right?”

Eric’s fingers tightened on the edge of the plate. Of course she wasn’t going to let him get away with just hiding in the work.

Eric sighed. “I'd rather not, honestly, but I am glad you are here. Can we just work?”

Welyvyne blew out a breath. “Fine. Just… don’t hold it all in, okay?”

He nodded once, eyes dropping back to the armor. He couldn’t promise that—but he could try, for her.

Eric and Welyvyne spent most of the climb arguing quietly over shielding runes. There were plenty of options; the problem was choosing. Some rune combinations were better at turning aside spells, others absorbed the force of a physical hit, and every combination came with tradeoffs. By the time they’d talked through advantages and failures, the steady rattle of the carriage had started to slow.

“Oi’, we’re here,” Grendar called from the front.

Eric looked up—and whatever thought he’d had about runes fell straight out of his head.

The road had wound itself along the side of the mountain without him really noticing—hugging ledges, curling around outcrops, climbing in stubborn switchbacks. Now it straightened along a broad, carved shelf, and the rock rose beside them in a sheer wall of dark stone that swallowed the sky to his right.

What he’d taken for a natural cliff at a distance was anything but. The face of the mountain was too smooth in places, too deliberate. Lines he’d thought were fractures resolved into clean cuts. Ledges became platforms. Every angle was a choice.

Two massive pillars were hewn straight out of the mountainside ahead, framing a recessed section of wall where the road dead-ended into stone. Each pillar was thick as a city tower and wrapped in reliefs—dwarves with hammers and chisels, stylized rivers of ore pouring on to anvils, horned stone beasts crouched at their feet. Between them, sunk into the vertical face of the mountain, sat the gate.

It wasn’t just a door.

Three layers of stone and metal interlocked like teeth, each offset from the next, all of it set back into the rock as if the mountain itself were biting down. Heavy plates rested in deep-cut tracks, ready to slide or drop; above them, the shadowed outline of a portcullis waited like a row of buried fangs. Runes bit into every surface—not the flowing script of the elves, but deep, blocky sigils carved so hard into the rock that even time hadn’t blurred their edges.

Their glow was faint, ember-red instead of elven starlight, but Eric could feel the mana humming in the stone. Reinforcement. Impact dispersion. Wards he couldn’t name yet, but the pattern was obvious enough: nothing about this entrance was meant to fail.

The carriage rolled to a halt on the broad shelf of stone before the gate. On one side, solid mountain. On the other, a drop that fell away into mist and distance. There was nowhere to run if the dwarves chose to close this door. The world simply… stopped here.