Mining was a dangerous job all round. But a necessary one. Without ores and minerals a modern society couldn’t function. It was hard work but it paid well. Or at least that’s what Mica always told herself. She had no illusions about how many fatalities had occurred here. This shaft was notorious for its firedamp pockets. Miners universally referred to them as ‘Foul Bags’. But this area of the Sablestone was exclusively rich with precious metals like gold, silver and iron - so valuable they gave it a name; The Gold Rush. Her greedy General Manager was willing to risk eighty lives for its produce. Progress was slow and steady. Pressure tests were frequent and anything even remotely flammable was left at the mouth.

The smell of raw ore and earth was overly potent here. So sharp she could almost track it to the nearest vein. Mica’s keen nose sniffed the air beneath her protective mask just to test that theory. The odors were melding harmoniously but she had experience here. Nine years of picking, drilling and detonating gave her an almost supernatural awareness of the minerals she worked around. Their appearance, their smell and even their taste. She knew coal dust tasted the worst and inhaling iron flakes could shred your lungs and your throat. All from experience of course.

They were working in near complete darkness. The shuffling of footsteps against stone, the clink of pickaxes and quieted conversation was all she had to guide her way, save for the candles and the rails. On occasion these candles were spread amongst the corridors, shielded with glass and metal to prevent combustion. Little flickering fire light to illuminate her path. Like beacons she followed them down and further in. One led to the next and that one to the one beyond it. There were long stints of darkness where the cart rail was her only guidance forward. Anyone of her greener crewmates would be fumbling over themselves right now. She took pride in knowing that her vacation hadn’t rusted her skills.

“Nickel.” Mica called.

“Nickel…”

She let the hollow carry her voice through its branching depths, hoping to receive a reply. But nothing. She undid the leather strap that held her pickaxe to her hip, finding the nearest empty cart. She struck it seven times in a rhythmic pattern and sat in silence. A few moments later and the rhythm was mirrored back to her. Ahead and left. In shafts like the Gold Rush it was easy to lose your way even with all the markers and signage. So each section created their own tune, a beat or a whistle that they could play ‘marco polo’ with. She reached another empty minecart and did the same once more. Another mimicked pattern was repeated. She was close now.

“Nickel!”

“I hear ya’, boss. Come this way, this way!” A voice reached out to her in the blackness.

All the miners wisely wore bright colors to help combat the lack of sight. And while a Yordle’s dark vision was better than most, it still wasn’t overly helpful some six hundred feet below ground. She could swear she saw the red gloves of Nickel waving at her. She approached with her hand outstretched until she met him then turned to the plink of nearby pickaxes on stone. That must’ve been the rest of her crew.

“Update me.” Mica said.

“Sent two loaded carts on back, gold and iron.” Nickel placed a palm on her shoulder. Perhaps to give him some point of reference.

“Who took it up?”

“Darel and Dixxy both. It was a big ole’ haul.” Nickel’s voice was coarse and rough, almost earthen and with a heavy drawl.

Darel and Dixxy. Her twin brother and sister muscle down here. Darel was usually the one moving and hauling rock. Getting it out of the way so the operation could continue. Dixxy was nearly just as strong and and a savant with machinery. Though machinery like she was accustomed to working with was stretched thin throughout the shaft, purposefully. Their equipment wasn’t of the most modern or stable variant. An errant spark could turn this place into an inferno in a matter of seconds. The head of financing was a stickler when it came to upgrades. The big wigs always wanted more money flowing in than going out. Their excavators were old things that broke down frequently. Engineers were on hand around the clock. In the Gold Rush they were forced to do it the old fashioned way: Hammers and pickaxes.

“Come down here to work?” Nickel asked.

“They said they want all hands in to meet the quota before week’s end.” Mica sighed.

“Well, then. Time to get them hands dirty. Come on.”

Nickel led her down to the nearest stretch of ore. The distant candle light gave just enough illumination for her to make out the glint of raw gold. She could see the scruff of Nickel’s furry face, too. And those big ears. A few more pairs of ears twitched in the very dim light close by. But she couldn’t make out their faces. Of course she knew what they all looked like but it was always strange not being able to match a face with a voice in real time.

“Ya’ know where yer’ strikin’?”

“I see it.” Mica tapped her pick against the vein.

“Bingo. Elementalist should be here soon enough, gonna’ help push some rock. Company says we’re digging at one of the biggest gold veins down here. Plenty a’ money for everyone after this.” Nickel chuckled.

Mica scoffed in amused disbelief. “You know that’s not how this works.”

“I know, I know… I just like to imagine things are a lot more… Liberal? A Yordle can dream.”

“You definitely can.” Mica sighed, taking the first of many swings.

“So, how’ve things been topside?” Nickel followed immediately after with his own pick, plinking into the gold.

“Things are running smoothly. Case is working on mapping out the next stretch. I think we’ll hit quota easily.” Case was one of her favorites. A woman with a love for cartography. Especially of the geological variant. She and the elementalists who bore out of the cave worked on the surface to make sure everyone had an idea of where they were going and where they should be. Shame they couldn’t have her down here like they used to. She really was the life of their party.

“Sounds good. My favorite part a’ the job is heading back up to see all that pretty gold glistening in the sunlight.” Nickel said with an audible smile.

It had been a while since Mica had worked like this. She was sweating hard and aching bad. The monotonous plink of metal on stone was soothing, at least. She never got tired of that sound. On lonely nights past before she met Chelle in one of these very same mineshafts she would dream of striking pickaxes. One after the other, over and over again. No matter what the dream was about she could always count on those pickaxes being there, softly digging in the background. Chelle… Her mind thought to Chelle often down here. The suffocating heat of the mines was similar to sharing intimate space with Chelle. She’d get hot flashes, sweaty palms and nervous coughs.

Mica was worried. She had someone she cared for now. Loved, even. And she was almost sure that Chelle loved her back. Yet here she was working long hours in the Gold Rush. If by some chance this place did go up she would die never having confessed her feelings to Chelle. It was a terrible thing to be wrapped up in. She found herself thinking back to what Lois said. “The world never waited for anyone, why would it wait for you?” She struck a little harder at hearing those words replayed in her head. Suddenly she felt awkward again. As if she were under Lois’ scope. A similar feeling to her sit down with her Division’s overseer; Albion.

Albion was a well meaning gentleman from the Trade Office. A boss first and a businessman second, which was exceedingly rare in this growing company. It was evident he wasn’t money driven considering how many breaks he had given Mica in the past. Too many if she was honest. Ever since her promotion to Foreman she had been screwing up repeatedly. All of the blame wasn’t entirely on her but her higher ups could care less about that. They wanted results and profit. It was her job to manage her staff… So their frustration was warranted.

She hated that they both had one thing in common. What Lois said, Albion’s gripes - they were both true. And she hated it. Her hands gripped the shaft of her pick a little tighter. She wanted to say something to Chelle, she wanted to perform in the workplace but she just couldn’t. There was no one thing she could point to, no one issue that she could fix to make it all go away. She wasn’t confident enough, she wasn’t talented enough and there were so many expectations!

Mica’s background was illustrious. Her family was well known for their achievements. All of them were so good with their hands. Her Mother, a jeweler. Her Father worked in automotives design. He was and still is an integral part of the railways that span Bandle City. Her Brother works with wood as a carpenter and her Sister is a welder. Her family was accomplished. Mica had a standard to live up to. Falling short would bring shame to her household. She was one fuck up away from being fired, one fuck up away from having to tell her parents she couldn’t cut it as a Foreman. Everyone was expecting her to do better, even she expected better of herself. She struck even harder at the ore, chipping a sizable chunk away.

Everyone expected better of themselves but Mica held herself to a much higher standard. With her family’s collective skill and success not only did they quietly demand that Mica make a name for herself in her chosen career, but she too wanted to leave some sort of legacy behind. She worked so hard to achieve her position. All she ever did was work, really. She was now coming to realize that her vacation gave her something she hadn’t had in a very long time. Freedom. Freedom from expectation. Fighting for her life in Bilgewater’s jungles wasn’t her ideal get away but it was different. And she missed that. She grunted aloud as she hammered even harder with her pickaxe. I guess some time off really puts things into perspective.

“Hey, uh- Mica…”

Damnit. She knew that voice. It was Deacon again. Deacon, her biggest admirer, a flirtatious little prick who couldn’t help but be forward at the worst possible times. He never did seem to take a hint. Recently he had been getting a little more bold with his advances. Before he would pick and choose his language but now he was coming directly at her. Asking her out on dates. She’d always politely decline or make excuses but that never dissuaded him from just asking again a few days later. The nerve of this guy, while they were working? Really?

“Not today, Deacon…” Mica groaned, striking just that bit harder with her pick.

“No, Mica… I think-” Deacon stammered, only to be interrupted.

He was seriously pressing today. It only served to irk her that bit more. “Deacon, seriously! I’m really not in the mood for it.”

“Mica, you-”

Mica had finally reached a breaking point, slamming her pickaxe down to round on the voice in the darkness. “What?!!” She shouted.

The clang of metal on rock was soon followed by the crumbling of earth and the pressurized hiss of gas. Mica blinked hard, glancing over her shoulder where she knew the head of her pickaxe was embedded. She could hear it building. Like water coming to boil in a kettle it began to whistle. She couldn’t believe her ears. She couldn’t believe herself, either. In her frustration she threw caution to the wind. Deacon was only trying to remind her to strike softer, she’d bet.

“Fouls! Get fucking clear!” Nickel screamed.

More shouts ran up through the shaft as miners relayed the message up and up. “Fouls! Evacuate! Evacuate!”

It had only just occurred to Mica that she was in danger. She needed to run. The whistling grew louder and more concentrated as if it were a timer to her very demise. Her legs churned whole seconds after her mind gave the command for them to go. She couldn’t see anything but she felt her body moving in slow motion. The lack of light troubled her. The dull and rhythmic striking of pickaxes wasn’t there to guide her any longer. She could only follow the shouting and the frantic footsteps. And that hissing. It was as if her ears only wanted to focus on that and that alone.

The whistling came to a head just as Mica tumbled over the cart rails. Her hands found them and she made to stand second before the whistling ceased. Her head turned to the source of the sound now silenced in the dark. A whip of air sliced through the cavern. She got to running again, hoping she’d be far enough away. But the blast caught her anyways. She swore she could feel the whole Sablestone mountain range shake around her. Her head met stone and her ears rang so loud all she could register was whining white noise. Pulsing pain akin to a migraine wracked her skull and she saw white. Oxygen rushed in from on high seconds after the explosion had consumed it all, filling her empty lungs with fuel.

Mica became a creature of instinct and adrenaline, driven on the need to survive. With whimpers of pain she got to her feet. Silt from the ceiling of the shaft filtered down onto her head, rocks were crumbling and the beams were soon giving way. Earth collapsed around her, threatening to block her path, but Mica never stopped moving. Those months worth of adventuring sharpened her. The trepidatious forests, escaping from the burning mansion, the climbing, running and fighting in Bilgewater’s jungles.

She dipped left to avoid a rolling rock and right to steer clear of a faulty support beam. Her feet felt for the ridges of the cart rail every so often, using her subconscious knowledge of the Gold Rush to ascend higher and higher. Then she saw it. The shine of daylight at the mouth of the failing shaft and the silhouettes of other miners sprinting towards it. Her breath grew short in her lungs as her body was on the verge of breaking. Already aching from hard work and now punished further by the shockwave of a firedamp blast. But she couldn’t feel the agony she was in. It couldn’t bypass the surging wall of her adrenaline.

Her vision began to darken along her periphery. Her singular focus was the exit. Even though her physicality screamed no, her mind pushed it onwards. More rocks fell ahead, crushing one poor soul who had tripped over himself. She passed him by with hardly a glance. Another fifty feet to go and she was stripping away her tool belt to lighten her load. Miners waited for her at the mouth of the cave, waving her and the rest of the fleeing Yordles along. Forty feet, thirty feet, twenty feet… She could see nothing but late afternoon daylight. It soon occurred to her that she was limping. She couldn’t even feel it. Only ten feet left to go and the shaft was coming down behind her. Clearing the exit was like taking in a breath of fresh Ionian air. She was hardly conscious when she collapsed onto the rocky cliffside platform.

The sky above was the same sky as when they danced at the Spirit Blossom festival. She closed her eyes and she was there again. The evening was coming to an end, the music was replaced by fireworks and paper wind lanterns were being sent aloft to float away like leaves on a breeze. She watched them go, a grin on her face. Her hand was tense around something. Another hand. Chelle’s hand. Neither Enzo nor Lois were there to distract them. No one could ruin this perfect moment. Chelle smirked, knowingly. She knew that look as well. They leaned into each other slowly. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she pressed a palm to Chelle’s in that moment. She could feel it beating again. The hint of Ionian wine was replaced by the sweet smelling pastries they’d had an hour before. Her eyes closed and their lips pressed together in a full kiss. The perfect conclusion to a perfect day…

That never happened.

Clink! Glass met glass as executives toast to the closure of a successful business venture. Their laughter and good spirits carried across the restaurant. This establishment was classy with only the finest in foods and drinks for their wealthy customers. Every city had its castes. Bandle City was no different. Chelle sat as a ‘have not’ among ‘haves’, looking down at the brass strings of her beautiful guitar. A late birthday gift from Mica. The wood was hewn from one of the Bandlewood’s tallest trees. Perhaps there was a message in that. But Chelle was none the wiser.

Her eyes fell on the rich and fortunate time and again. It wasn’t long ago she was scrounging on the street for end’s meet. Now she was playing up in fancy restaurants. A job afforded to her by Mica. Her skills with the strings were a well kept secret. She didn’t like to draw attention to herself like that. Ever since Lois’ blood money stopped flowing in she needed to help pay the bills somehow. And this was it. A pianist nearby snapped to get her attention, directing her hateful stare from the party of rich folk to him instead. He gestured towards the woman in the sparkling dress who was ready to sing her number. Chelle nodded in understanding.

She herself was dressed to the nine. It was one of two dresses she owned. This one was a black out tube dress, lower cut than most but still respectable for the occasion. The other one was from the Spirit Blossom festival. She brought the guitar close to her chest and settled her fingers along the frets and the strings. The piano led them in with a smooth and jazzy melody. The young woman, gorgeous as a Demacian statuette, tapped her heeled foot in time with the sound. She cast a half-glance over to Chelle. That was her cue.

Chelle started her notes with a cool strum before plucking at each string individually. A prelude to the singer’s voice. Like honey and fire she introduced herself, grabbing every patron’s attention all at once. It was something like a love song, but with a little more passionate feeling. She sang well. Chelle admired her voice work. She wasn’t one to exchange compliments, though. She wasn’t one for gigs, either. Just because she could play well didn’t mean she wanted to. But it was for Mica so she grit her teeth and swallowed the bitter pill. She owed her that much.

Her fingers ran along the fret swiftly, causing the strings to whine into a pause. The singer took a dramatic breath in accordance with the song’s rhythm and the pianist fell dormant on his keys. Then they all resumed. It was hard to keep her focus in a place like this, surrounded by so many boring people. This life could never be for her. Working a day job was the antithesis of everything it meant to be herself. She knew Mica was somewhat of an introverted homebody so she dealt with it, but in truth she missed adventuring with Lois and Enzo. It had only been a month since they slept around the hearth on the tortoise’s back and said their goodbyes. Lois never did say if she’d be back and neither did Enzo. It was just goodbye…

She couldn’t believe she was actually sad about it. For so long she wanted the journey without the other two and just Mica. But now she was coming to realize that the journey was only so exciting because they were there. Without Enzo’s stupid quips and Lois’ wisdom everything would’ve been much more dull. She was ready to toss away her guitar when a low thrum shook every glass on every table. Silence reigned and patrons stirred, looking about in confusion. The faint sound of distant screaming prompted Chelle to leap off her stool, with the guitar still strapped across her person. Several others joined her as she came to the door and stepped onto the street. More curious citizens stood and looked in a noth-eastern direction. Chelle stepped further out into the thoroughfare to gaze over the highest point of the building she’d just exited. An avalanche of rock and dust fell down one side of Sablestone’s highest peak. Suddenly she felt the urge to vomit.

“Mica?!”

The warmth of the fire paled in comparison to Chelle’s warmth. Mica would give the world to be this close to her again. This was their last night all together. Enzo would go to Shurima and Lois planned to finish business in Ionia. She never did quite believe that, though. But that didn’t matter now. It was just the four of them and the fire on this little island in a sea of darkness. She could faintly make out the details of the little abode hidden within it. Am I dreaming? Nevermind that. Mica shook her head. That didn’t matter now. Chelle mattered now. In times like this she often thought back to when they first met. A frigid and rainy night. Mica and her crew were one of the last to leave the Deep Iron, another shaft with a name befitting the ore it predominantly housed. Her overseers had apparently caught a delinquent taking shelter near the mouth of the cave.

Mica saw this girl, covered in dirt and mess. They planned to take her to prison for trespassing. She saw the worn rags the girl called clothes and couldn’t help but take pity on her. She was homeless, it was raining, she didn’t deserve to go to jail. She could remember stepping to the overseers with a hardly serious look on her face.

“Sorry, she’s with me.” Mica had said. They weren’t very convinced but instead levied the mishap on Mica’s head since she decided to take responsibility. It didn’t matter to them how the issue was resolved, so long as it was resolved. They docked her pay for a week after that.

Mica’s eyes closed to picture Chelle. It was just after her bath. She was sitting on the guest bed too proud to just say thank you. But Mica knew she was thankful. She was wearing some of Mica’s old clothes. She even remembered her old street rags, worn as they were and dirty as all hell. She just left them on the bathroom floor. Mica couldn’t believe it. She let this woman into her home and she couldn’t even be bothered to pick up her dirty clothes? Put them in the hamper or at least ask where Mica would prefer them? Looking back now it all seemed so funny.

Their first real conversation wouldn’t happen until a few days after she took Chelle in. Before all the problems started. She asked about how Chelle came to end up this way. Chelle confessed that she had been a vagrant for quite a long time. Her personality wasn’t conducive to steady work. Chelle fancied herself a nomad of sorts… Even though she wasn’t. A nomad… Mica thought. What a life that would be. A nomadic lifestyle. Always on the move, seeing new things, surrounded by nature.

Her eyes opened again to find Chelle staring at her. The way the firelight danced on her face was the very definition of perfection. Mica so desperately wanted to make a move. But this was enough… For now...