Faith is Earned 1, page 24
Fewer slimes now, happily. Just traces. The occasional trail of acid-etched stone, or a chunk of broken mud crust that flaked away under touch. They weren’t gone, but they weren’t watching the path anymore.
The hill had changed its weapons.
Now the cold was the enemy and the dry air that clawed the throat after ten words. The wind that turned a stumble into a fall. Suth misjudged a ledge crossing, her foot slipping on the frost-slick rock and for a half-second, her center of gravity turned against her.
Luke caught her without a word. A hand around her elbow, weight shifted. He didn’t even look at her as she righted herself. He couldn’t. She started to say something, but caught the look on his face and just grunted once then moved on.
He didn’t want thanks. All things remaining they were still his team. Brag’s.
The Skill is quiet. It’s not pushing, not like yesterday.
But it never truly left either. It just sat in the back of his thoughts like a pressure behind the eyes, not active at the moment, yet always there. The way fire leaves heat behind after being doused.
Brag climbed like nothing had changed. No hesitation in his stride and no avoidance in his posture. He helped two dwarves cross a broken ridge and steadied a fraying knot in Jori’s harness. He even whistled a short tune, something that sounded older than he looked.
Luke kept catching himself watching him from the corner of his eye.
Nothing. Just a man climbing. So why can’t I put the axe down?
At one point, Luke slipped slightly on a slope of loose scree. Brag was the closest to him. The dwarf turned, extended a hand. Luke caught himself instead, drove his axe haft into the stone and used it to lever upright.
Brag didn’t comment. Just nodded and turned away.
That was worse, somehow.
Was it the Skill that made me act? Or was it me? And if it was me, what does that mean?
The question looped as the climb dragged on. The sky overhead was too clear, sunlight bouncing off pale rock, giving the illusion of warmth without delivering any. Their breaths steamed in the thin air and they paused more often now, if only to rewrap their fingers or let blood return to their calves.
Around midday, the trail spilled into something flatter, a plateau of fractured stone, jagged at the edges but wide enough to walk without climbing. The wind blew clean across it, pushing grit into their eyes.
They gathered without needing a call. Just staggered to a natural halt, boots scuffing against the rock, breaths rough with effort.
Then they saw it.
Against the far wall, half-grown from the base of the stone, was a formation. At first glance, just a mineral bloom, quartz or agate perhaps, something crystalline. Irregular, a little too smooth in places.
It shimmered faintly.
Luke stepped closer, just enough to let the sun catch it from a different angle. The structure shifted, though not physically, but optically. The shimmer wasn’t just from mineral reflection. It had depth. Layers. Facets that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
Two nights ago… I saw a glow. Far off, barely there.
I thought it was moonlight.
Behind him, Suth narrowed her eyes.
“That’s not rock.”
Brag didn’t respond. His axe was already in hand.
No one drew weapons with a shout and the only orders given were of the silent variety. They just started to spread, naturally, instinctively, forming the arc of a half-circle, eyes on the shape.
Jori bent to pick up a stone. She tossed it gently. The crystal didn’t react.
At first.
Then, as the stone clicked against its surface, the entire formation shifted. It didn’t do it abruptly, there was no sudden shudder, but rather, an unfolding. Plates of mineral swung outward, folding back in patterns too symmetrical for chance. A brief gleam of inner light pulsed.
Then it rose.
What they’d thought was wall-attached mineral detached from the stone behind it. Legs formed beneath it, jointed similarly to limbs, but closer to a facsimile of them.
A golem, one naturally appearing. A wild-formed, Crystal Golem.
Luke stepped back once, drawing in a slow breath, as behind him, someone swore. And in his head, the Skill stirred again. Brag hadn’t moved yet, but Luke felt the pull.
The hill had changed its weapons.
Again.
The crystal creature rose in silence, shedding dust and sunlight. Its body unfolded like a blooming flower of razor facets, arms segmenting into blades of uneven length, refracting the mid-morning sun into lances of scattered color.
Then it moved.
A pulse of light burst from its chest, blinding in every direction. The dwarves flinched, and in that heartbeat of disorientation, the thing leapt.
"Split!"
Brag’s voice cut through the confusion. His axe swung high and he took the front without hesitation. The others scattered around him. Luke veered left, eyes squinting through the after-image burned into his sight. He didn’t call his Skill, not that it would do much good. Just braced, breathing, weapon high.
The golem lashed out. Its limbs struck the ground with enough force to leave gouges in the stone. One dwarf’s shield caught the edge of a blow and cracked straight down the middle. Another was clipped across the leg and spun sideways.
Suth struck next.
"[Impact Cleave]!"
Her axe met the creature's flank with force enough to crack lesser stone, but it skittered off, redirected by some subtle angling of the golem’s surface. It was more than just a glancing blow, it was a deflection, intentional.
"It's refracting force! Aim wide, not straight!"
Luke circled, looking for his moment. Crystal shimmered in every movement of the golem, like it was woven from light. It pivoted without turning, limbs adjusting angles to keep everyone in view.
Then it pulsed again.
Blinding light seared from its core, this time focused, a beam like a needle aimed toward Jori. She barely dove aside. A piece of her pauldron hissed and melted where the light touched.
"That was focused! That can burn, maybe worse."
Brag was right and the golem shifted again, sharp spikes firing from one of its arms, glinting like arrows. A dwarf raised his buckler and took three, yet one managed to pierce through. He dropped, groaning.
Luke ducked another bolt, rolled forward, and came up swinging.
"[Holy Strike]!"
His axe met the thing’s knee joint and sparked. Just that, no true damage. It was the angle, the follow-through. Luke might not have his Holy advantages in his fight, but he didn’t come all this way and not learn how to fight. He pressed the advantage, hacking again, trying to strike the core if he could just see it.
"[Shale Flurry]!”
Small stones rose and whirled, propelled by a spinning hammer. They pelted the golem’s flank, forcing it to shift, drawing its attention and as it turned, Brag moved.
"[Skewer Pierce]!"
He launched upward, blade first, trying to drive into what might have been the torso. The creature twisted, caught the blow across an angled shoulder, but still stumbled.
Luke leapt with the motion, caught its opposite leg. His axe sank deeper this time, hitting a seam between plates. The golem shrieked, a sound like crystals snapping under pressure.
Suth used a Skill and stomped hard, the tremor staggering the golem just a moment.
Then it spun.
One limb caught Brag in the ribs. His armor held, but he was thrown off balance. Another limb rose, curved like a sickle of glass and swung toward his side. He was still turning. Still off-balance. Still open.
Luke saw it coming, but didn't start to move. Just for a breath, just for a sliver of time, he froze. The Skill pulsed in his skull louder and heavier. A warning. A truth.
Danger. Wrongness!
If I wait... if I don't...
"[Shield of Faith]!"
The words burst from his throat and so did the light, forming in a wide arc just as he threw himself forward, shoulder catching the limb before it could split Brag open.
The impact jarred his spine and his shield shattered, but only in light. The divine force dispersed and Luke landed in a crouch between Brag and the golem.
Brag shouted at the team, his axe whirling overhead.
"Break it! Now!"
The dwarves moved in unison, a coordinated push. Suth took the right, as two other dwarves flanked left. Brag struck low while Luke drove his axe into the already-damaged seam.
The golem shrieked again, trying to retreat, but it had been hemmed in. Brag roared and brought his weapon down in a wide arc.
"[Crushing Descent]!"
The axe hit the upper shoulder and drove deep. Fractures spread and light flared from its core.
Then, silence.
The golem collapsed. It did not shatter entirely, no, it just... fell apart. Like tension released, its limbs breaking free and scattering. The torso folded inward and all the glow was gone.
Luke stood over it, heart pounding. His shoulder burned from the impact, but he didn’t speak.
Brag caught his breath nearby. Then turned.
"Lad… you saved me."
The dwarves murmured around them, gathering wounded, inspecting the pieces of the shattered construct.
I almost let him die. But I didn’t.
He looked at Brag. At the man who had fought like a warrior, who led, who laughed, who kept people together. And who still carried something so heavy that the Gods themselves noticed.
Luke exhaled.
"We need to talk."
Chapter 26
The wind on the plateau had teeth.
It came down from higher ridgelines and swept across the narrow, slanted clearing where they’d made camp. Loose gravel crunched underfoot and the remains of the shattered golem, crystal and more in strange, jagged arrangements, glinted in the last of the evening sun. The firepit was shallow, a small circle of gathered stones, barely lit. Most of the others had already turned in, or at least found places to rest with their backs against boulders.
Luke sat apart from them, near the ledge. His axe leaned against a slanted slab of rock. Across from him, Brag eased himself down with a groan that was half theatrical, half genuine and reached for the flask at his belt.
He offered it across the fire.
Luke shook his head.
Brag shrugged and took a pull.
For a while they said nothing. Just wind and ash and the slow settling creak of dwarven armor plates cooling.
Then Luke looked up.
"Do you know how your Skills work?"
"Mine?"
"Yes. The ones that pointed you at me."
Brag scratched his beard, then tugged once on a braided strand.
"Roughly. I’ve got a couple that activate when someone has potential. Suth has [Talent Finder]. The way she tells it, it’s broad. Flickers on people sometimes. Then there's [Evaluate Usefulness], my Skill. This one’s sharper, harder to trigger. Only really hits when someone’s got something burning in them and it gives me a better impression of ‘em. But when it does hit—"
He stopped.
Luke waited.
"—well, lad. It flared like a focking beacon when I saw you."
Luke nodded once, slowly.
"I figured you didn’t know what that meant."
"I figured it meant you were a good bet?”
"It does. But I have a Skill too. That told me something more. Or… showed me something. Something I wasn’t ready to see."
"…go on, lad."
Luke turned slightly, letting the firelight touch the side of his face.
"It's called [Sense Sin]. Part of me being a [Votary], a man of faith and all. It lets me feel the weight of what someone’s done. It’s not numbers or crimes, mind you. But… something emotional. A pressure, a shape, a heat, sometimes. A… color? Each person is different."
The wind kicked a twist of ash into the air. Brag didn’t speak.
Luke’s voice remained even.
"It doesn’t care if you’re a good man now or if you killed for the right reasons. Or even if you regret it, really. It just shows me how much you’re carrying… how far someone is from innocence."
"And me?"
"You burn."
Brag inhaled, held it, let it out. His fingers tightened around the flask.
"I’ve tried to ignore it, Brag, I’ve tried to rationalize it. I’ve thought, well, maybe he’s older. Maybe it’s battle or maybe it’s the hill playing tricks. But it just Doesn’t. Go. Away. And I can’t lie to myself anymore. That’s why I’ve been distant and why I keep watching you."
Brag was holding himself very, very still.
"How much?"
“How much what?”
"How much am I carrying?"
"Enough that I started thinking of you as a threat."
Brag flinched. Not visibly, not very much outwardly even. But something in the line of his shoulders changed.
"I didn’t come to you with this to accuse you, Brag. I came because I need to understand. And I thought… maybe you need someone to hear you."
“Like a confession?”
“You see the robes I’m wearing, yeah?”
Brag tilted his head back and laughed once, just a short laugh, worn and dry.
"Ha! …fair. Well… that’s a hell of a thing."
Brag rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand. When he looked up, his gaze was clearer. And not at all empty, even steady.
"When I looked at you and those Skills hit… I figured you were someone with a spark. Something unshaped. Wild, maybe. But not like this. Not… not this."
He paused.
"You looked at me with that Skill of yours. That’s why you keep looking away, aren’t you, lad? That’s why your voice changed. Bloody hell, lad. No wonder you’ve been giving me eyes like a priest staring at a cursed altar."
Luke didn’t smile.
"You said you were a good bet. You are, I think. You still are. But now I’m not betting, I’m asking."
Brag studied him across the fire. The wind moved behind his shoulders like a slow tide of dust.
"Alright. You’ve earned that much."
Brag tapped the edge of the flask once against the rock, then capped it, setting it aside.
"If you’re willing to hear it… I’ll tell you my story."
"It’s all I’m asking."
✽✽✽
The stone trembled under his boots.
It was a subtle thing at first, a thrum in the bones, like the deep-throated growl of a beast that hadn’t quite crested the rise. Brag kept his stance wide, his gauntlets clenched over the haft of his war-hammer. Around him, the Gate Guard shifted uneasily. Some adjusted their grips. Others spat over their shoulders and muttered oaths. The runes etched into the gate frame flickered again, blue fading toward an uneasy orange.
Beyond the gate was dark, though not absence-of-light dark. The kind that pressed in on itself, made shadows twist. And somewhere beneath it all, something moved.
They were the last ones left in the lower quarter.
He remembered how quiet it had gotten, after the last cart had been loaded, after the last injured dwarf had been carried up the carved tunnels and into safer halls. All the sounds of industry, of orders barked and metal clanging, gone. Just him, his company, and the Gate That Wasn’t Meant to Fall.
It wasn’t a pretty gate. No grand arch. Just thick interlocking slabs of blackened stone with six sigils pulsing softly across its face. A plug against the underworld. A promise.
He had made the oath with his blood and his name.
Brag, Captain of the Ninth Gate, sworn to hold the boundary until relieved, recalled or dead.
He knew what they’d said in the High Council chambers. The orders that came back, penned in haste but sealed with authority. That the treasury vaults behind them were of vital importance. That the reliquaries, the silver caches, the ore deposits, the fucking forgemaster records must be saved before the final retreat. That more carts were coming.
But there were no more carts.
There were only the wounded and the ones already dead. And now, just barely two hundred of them standing in a line before the trembling dark.
He’d told them.
He’d raised his voice in the echoing hush and told his company the truth. That more blood would buy nothing worth keeping. That they’d held longer than any gate in this entire front, that they’d done enough. That they bled and died to save dwarven lives and if a single dwarf remained in this damn sector, he would gladly lead them to their death beneath the mountains. But not for items. Not… not for wealth. He would not sacrifice those who laughed and fought and died with him for that.
Most of them agreed. Quietly, some with nods, others with just the way their shoulders dropped.
Three disagreed, bless their stone armored hearts.
They stayed behind. He never saw them again.
He’d given the retreat order with the same voice he used for battle cries. And as they turned, the gate flared behind them, runes screaming white, then bursting red as the breach began.
They reached the lift minutes before it closed. The last door sealing the quarter behind them thundered shut, echoing with the force of a hundred hammers.
It wasn’t long before the Council’s words followed.
Coward. Oathbreaker. Desertion under sacred charge.
It was only the testimony of survivors, the record numbers of the wounded saved and the relic-bearers who owed their lives to the time he bought, that spared him a noose.
They stripped him of his title, of his command. They stripped his name from the sacred rolls.
But worst of all, they didn’t even have to strip his Class. It changed all on its own.
He had gone to sleep a [Sworn Captain] and woken as something else. Something cracked. Something… damned.
And it stayed with him.
✽✽✽
The fire was low again. The wind had softened.
Brag’s voice was lower now, terribly weighted.
"When I looked at you with that Skill, Luke, I didn’t know what you were. I just felt it, that brightness. Like you had a vow on you that hadn't even fully formed yet, but it already had teeth."
