Chapter 210: Hope
The portly shopkeeper stood in his doorway, watching the miner's receding
silhouette disappear around the street corner. He shook his head and spat on the
cobblestones.
"When this Empire finally makes everyone rich, I'm going to find a way to skim
every single copper back into my own till," he grumbled, wiping his hands on his
apron before retreating into the cool shade of his shop.
Not long after, a young girl with twin tails came bouncing through the door, her
footsteps light and carefree.
"Papa!" she chirped. "Where's my new doll? I want to take it to show the other
girls!"
At the sound of her voice, the shopkeeper's gruff face melted into a doting
smile. "Ah, there's my little princess!" He moved with surprising agility,
hoisting the girl up and planting a loud kiss on her cheek. "Right there in the
window, just waiting for you!"
The girl squirmed, pushing his face away playfully. "What about my old one? I
want to take that one, too!"
The shopkeeper's smile faltered, and his eyes darted toward the empty shelf
where the tattered doll had once sat. He scratched his head nervously. "That
one... well... you said you didn't want it anymore, remember? Papa... threw it
away."
"Thrown away?" The girl tilted her head, considering this for a moment. Then she
leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Oh well! One is enough
anyway, and the new one is much prettier! I'm going to go find my friends now!"
With a giggle, she wriggled out of his arms, snatched the pristine doll from the
display, and sprinted out the door.
"Watch the road!" the shopkeeper bellowed after her. "Don't go tripping on the
stones!"
"I know!" her voice drifted back from the distance.
The shopkeeper lingered at the door, watching her happy figure until she was out
of sight. A tender, rare warmth settled in his chest. He turned back to his
ledgers, humming a discordant tune as the sunlight streamed through the window,
casting a golden glow over his rounded frame.
Meanwhile, Barlow was in the best mood of his life.
The doll was old, yes—tattered and stained—but it was his peace offering. As
soon as he received his final wages today, he would head to the finest tailor in
Leaffall City. He'd have them sew a new dress for it, fix that loose button eye,
and give it a proper cleaning. It would look brand new.
He began to rehearse the apology in his head. He would tell Hilde he was sorry
for the long nights away. He would promise to be home for dinner every evening.
He would be the father she deserved.
He could almost see her face—the way her eyes would light up, the way her shy
smile would bloom. Barlow clutched the doll tighter, a surge of pure,
unadulterated hope swelling in his chest.
She's going to love it.
He quickened his pace, practically marching toward the mine. He wanted to finish
the shift early. He wanted to be home before the sun dipped below the horizon.
A large crowd of miners had already gathered at the pit entrance. Today was the
final day, and the air was thick with a strange mixture of relief and anxiety.
Some were glad to be done with the back-breaking labor; others looked toward the
future with hollow eyes, wondering how they would put bread on the table
tomorrow.
The foreman stepped onto a high crate, cupping his hands.
"Listen up! Today is the final shift! Give me your best work! Don't let me catch
a single one of you slack-jawing or dragging your feet!"
The foreman cleared his throat, a rare, oily grin spreading across his face as
he pulled a scroll from his belt.
"Furthermore, the Viscount has decreed a rare stroke of benevolence! He's
decided to select a few of our top performers to be integrated into the City
Guard!"
The miners held their collective breath. The City Guard. That meant steady
wages, a clean uniform, and a life of dignity. It was a ticket out of the dirt
and into the light.
The foreman relished the silence. He unrolled the parchment and began to recite
the names.
"Thomson!"
A man nearby let out a strangled cry of joy, jumping into the air and embracing
anyone within reach. The foreman ignored him, continuing down the list. With
every name, a cheer erupted or a sigh of defeat followed. Barlow's heart
hammered against his ribs like a caged bird. His palms were slick with sweat,
his ears ringing as he strained to hear.
"Barlow Andreas!"
The final name.
Barlow froze. He was certain he had misheard. The world seemed to slow to a
crawl as the miners around him turned, their gazes filled with envy and
begrudging respect.
"Congratulations, Barlow!" Old Jack slapped him so hard on the shoulder he
nearly tipped over. "A Guard! Look at you! Don't forget your old mates when
you're wearing that shiny breastplate!"
Other miners swarmed him, offering congratulations and well-wishes. Barlow
couldn't even find his voice; he just stood there with a wide, goofy grin
plastered across his face. He felt like he was floating.
"Alright, enough chatter! Get to work!" the foreman barked, waving them toward
the dark maw of the mine.
Barlow carefully took the doll and tucked it into his personal tool locker,
wrapping it in a clean piece of rag before locking the latch. He'd take it out
when the whistle blew.
He gripped his pickaxe and followed the line into the darkness. The familiar
smell of sulfur and damp earth greeted him, but today, it didn't feel like a
tomb. To Barlow, the rhythmic clink-clink of the tools sounded like the ringing
of celebration bells.
His arms felt stronger than they had in years. His heart was overflowing with
purpose. A Guard. It meant a better life for Hilde. Pretty dresses, roasted
meats, a house that didn't leak when it rained. No more worrying about the next
meal. No more bowing his head to every passing noble.
The hours bled into one another. Barlow didn't know how long he had been
digging; he only knew that his muscles burned and the blisters on his hands were
raw, but he didn't care. He was going to be the first one out. The first one to
collect his pay. The first one to tell his daughter the news.
Then, he heard it.
Crack.
It was faint. A tiny, crystalline snap that shouldn't have been there.
Barlow stopped. He looked up. Around him, other miners had frozen, too, their
heads tilted like startled deer.
"What was that?" someone whispered.
No one answered. They didn't have to.
Crack-crack-crack.
The sound intensified, becoming a rapid-fire staccato. Dust began to hiss from
the ceiling like falling sand. Barlow looked up into the flickering gloom of the
oil lamps. He saw a fissure—a jagged black line—racing across the stone ceiling,
branching out into a lethal web.
"GET OUT!" someone shrieked. "THE CAVE IS COMING DOWN!"
Chaos erupted. Tools were discarded as men bolted for the entrance in a blind,
screaming panic. Barlow turned to run, his boots skidding on the loose gravel.
But after only a few steps, he stopped.
The locker!
The doll was still in the locker. The apology. The proof of their new life.
He was close to his work station. The entrance was a lifetime away.
Barlow spun around, fighting his way through the tide of fleeing men.
"BARLOW! YOU IDIOT! RUN!" Old Jack grabbed his arm, trying to haul him toward
the exit. "GET OUT OF HERE!"
"LET GO!" Barlow ripped himself free, his eyes wild.
He lunged back toward his station, his fingers trembling as he fumbled with the
latch of his locker. He ripped the door open, snatched the rag-wrapped bundle,
and turned to run.
Just then, the mountain groaned.
BOOM.
The entire mine buckled. The ceiling simply gave way, massive slabs of rock
shearing off like paper. The oil lamps were crushed instantly, plunging the
world into a suffocating, absolute black. Shrieks and pleas for mercy were cut
short by the sound of grinding stone.
Barlow sprinted through the dark, clutching the doll to his chest. He tripped
over rubble, his breath coming in jagged sobs. He was too slow.
He looked up just in time to see a shadow larger than his world descending from
above.
Barlow didn't try to shield himself. Instead, he curled his body into a ball,
burying the doll deep beneath his chest, using his own flesh and bone to shield
the tattered toy.
Impact.
White-hot agony flared, followed by a terrifying, heavy silence.
His head throbbed. He couldn't move. He couldn't even feel his legs. His vision
was a blur of gray and red, and he couldn't find the strength to open his eyes.
I'm sorry, Hilde, he thought, his consciousness fading like a dying ember. I'm sorry... I never got to say it properly...
☆☆☆
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