Clank.
Clank.
Clank.
Besides the low yet frequent heavy panting from a mix of humans and dwarves, the sound of worn out solid iron picks smashing against solid walls echoed through the tunnels.
Deep beneath the surface, at a depth of three hundred feet, several tunnel systems spread out like webs.
The earliest of them dating back to around four years ago, when a fracture, like the many others that came before it, bridged two worlds. One which bore beings called demons and their various races, and the other also a mix of various races, the most prominent being humans.
"Huff, huff." Allen let out heavy breaths as though his life depended on it. His forearms quivered like disturbed jelly as he let go of the pick's handle. "I can't anymore, my hands are so sore they're actually going to fall off," the dark haired youth complained, on the verge of tears from exhaustion.
A muscular man a few inches away, his ragged clothes barely resembling a shirt, noticed the wailing boy and walked over, wiping the sweat from his face as he called out.
"Allen." His father's voice was firm but not unkind. "Just a little more. Break is not far off."
But before Gram could reach him a hand landed on the boy's shoulder.
"Get up."
The boy, still wiping his overflowing tears, looked back. Noticing a familiar face he cried out, "but Orynnnn.."
Nar: His drooping snot and saliva had collected into something that genuinely should not be looked at directly. Oryn looked at him and thought, 'if there was one thing worse than his sister it was definitely kids'.
tap
-==-
"narration has been dissabled."
-==-
Oryn's eyes twitched slightly. Seriously, who describes a kid's cry like that.
Taking a deep breath he spoke in a caring tone, something he rarely did in his past life as Roswald.
"Allen, don't cause others trouble, the overseers are going to come back for another round."
"Bu-but..." the boy almost started crying again.
Oryn was dumbfounded.
It wasn't in his nature to involve himself for another's sake unless money was involved, but this was an exception. If anyone in the team screwed up the whole team faced the consequences.
Oryn softened his brows and spoke in a calm voice. "Let's make a deal Allen, just make it through the rest of the shift and I might consider giving you a portion of my lunch."
The words landed instantly.
Allen's eyes shifted. Though the tears hadn't disappeared entirely, he got a new resolve that pushed him forward. Picking up the pick's handle with both hands he turned back to the wall and drove it in with considerably more effort than he had managed in the last hour.
Oryn watched him for a moment then turned back to his own section of rock. His eyes settled on an ore deposit jutting out from the wall, spiking outward like crystal shards.
"Mano."
The whole reason demons sent slaves to mine in the first place. Not unlike gold to every other species, it was simple in comparison. Mano, short for mana accumulated natural ore, was exactly what the name suggested. A special ore capable of accumulating mana over time. The quality of it was determined by the shape and void spaces within the ore during its formation, before the mana began to collect inside it.
"Thanks for that Oryn, but you don't have to give him your share. You should eat well and grow strong," Gram said with a solemn expression.
Allen's father, Gram, had been a close friend of the original Oryn's father long before Roswald had taken over his body. The two had been nearly inseparable, the kind of friends you rarely came across, almost family despite sharing no blood.
Unfortunately their village was one of the few that sat closest to the gradually expanding demonic territory, and one day the luck ran out. Demons invaded. The village retaliated but was met with an expected defeat. The survivors were taken as food and slaves. Oryn's father was neither, having died in the rebellion along with his older brother.
His mother was the only family he had left. Oryn understood what Gram felt, that quiet sense of responsibility to look after him and his mother, as if it were something he had promised someone who could no longer hold him to it.
"Okay, uncle Gram."
Just as Gram nodded Oryn spoke up. "Actually I have been meaning to ask, why is it that the mana is more dense the deeper you dig? When I asked the elder from our village he explained that it was because of the gods and goddesses, that their cycle of repeated breathing is the reason the mana gets replenished. With each breath new mana appears and whatever remains after, the opposite of mana, gets absorbed or something?"
Gram smiled, covering his face as a laugh escaped him. "Haha, is that what he told you? That old fool thinks the gods are the answer to everything. I'll explain while we mine."
His chuckles settled and he picked up his pick. Oryn followed, the two of them smashing away at the ore as Gram continued.
"Listen well Oryn. I am not as smart as your brother was but during my travels to the capital I had a similar question and a merchant answered it like this. Mana is not something created on the surface. Rather it comes from the centre of our planet Tria. He said that there is actually an unimaginable amount of mana at the core and it gradually seeps through the earth reaching the surface. He also said, and I think this is how it went, that after mana is used whatever remains returns to the centre and once again becomes mana. He used words I had never heard before." Gram paused, squinting as he tried to recall. "Difsuaision? I don't know."
"Diffusion." Another terminology too similar to earth to be a coincidence. The chance of two things that exist in two separate worlds being named the same was just stupidly high, Oryn thought.
It had been nearly 2 weeks since Roswald had taken over Oryn's body. The first thing Roswald saw was guts and entrails pouring out from what looked like huge claw marks, but the damage seemed to reverse itself after a while. He was eventually found in a drained tunnel by an overseer and brought back to the slave camp.
Oryn sighed. I wonder how much longer I can keep up the 'slight memory loss' act. But after a week he was definitely sure, or at least ninety nine percent sure, of where he was.
"How the hell did I end up in an otome game.