Their community was located in a warehouse. From the outside, the building looked like a dilapidated mess of steel and brick. It fit right into the row of beige warehouses lining the street. But as the three of them entered, it was evident that two or more warehouses had been joined together to form their commune.

The grinding of machines and clanging of metal filled the air in a continuous hum. A large chunk of the commune was the workshop where cars, bikes and other motor vehicles lay. Most of them were in various states of disrepair, surrounded by dwarves in overalls and machines that Corn didn’t recognise. Sparks flickered everywhere as they navigated their way through this maze.

The rest of the space had been divided from the workshop and was constructed as a building inside a building. The inner building managed to fit seven stories inside the warehouse. Glass walls covered the first floor where dwarves where playing billiards while chugging beer. Likewise, glass walls covered all such common areas while polished steel shielded the residential areas.

Corn stooped to fit through the revolving door and the elevator, but had no problem fitting in the last floor. They reached the main office and saw three elders poring through blue prints. The elder in the centre was tall, about 5 feet tall compared to the average dwarfish height of about 4 feet. He wore a tapered, grey pants and blue shirt. His fingers where covered with gold rings inlaid with precious stones. He had golden bangles on both arms with several chains hanging from his neck and two studded ear rings. He had a manicured red beard and short red hair.

“He’s the one?” asked the tall dwarf. When both father and daughter nodded, he rolled up the blue prints and ushered them into another room. There were five desks in a row facing the glass wall. The elders sat behind their respective desks and bade the other three to sit down.

“Let me introduce ourselves. The name of our community is Stone, my name is StoneOak. These two elders here are StoneBeard and StoneHeart. I’m sure you already know StonePock and his daughter StoneEars,” said the tall dwarf.

“I’m CornWall. Call me Corn.”

“Well then Corn. I’d like to thank you on behalf of the entire community for saving StoneEars. It really is a tragedy, what the city has turned into.”

“No need, I’d never let someone live as a Base Slave.”

The dwarves went silent at that. Oak continued, “So, tell me about yourself. I heard that you just ascended recently?”

“Yeah. Um, from Base slave to Indentured Servant.”

The three elders shared a glance this time.

“Is that so? It has been a long held dream for a community member to ascend. Having a Player in our community would be an honor. But as I’m sure you’re aware, ascension from Indentured Servant to the next few ranks are often costly. I assume yours was by patronage.”

“Um, patronage? Yeah, yeah it was.”

“And your patron promptly abandoned you?” asked StoneHeart.

Corn tried to look embarrassed.

“Don’t be upset, it happens. People in power are often fickle in nature. What Stat have you chosen?” asked StoneOak.

“Magic.”

“Ahhh. I see.”

“Well, the thing is, our community focuses mainly on mechanical work. Normally we repair motor vehicles and the like. We do, however, have a mana forge. It isn’t very big, mind you. But we can produce mana made objects. Ours might be of a slightly lower quality, but mana made nonetheless.”

Corn leapt out of his chair, “Really, could I work there?”

“I wasn’t done explaining; we do have a wee problem. Mana forging is illegal without a licensed mage. Almost all such mages are nobility, so getting hold of a mage is practically impossible for us. We have to manage with a few mechanics and machines.”

“Maybe I could help you become legal.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, stroking his beard. “Tell me, before 16, before getting your freedom counters, where were you from?”

“I don’t know … I have no memories before 16. All my memories start after I already was a slave.”

“Hmm,” hummed StoneOak, stroking his beard more forcefully. “You’re an orphan then?”

Corn nodded silently.

“Alright, we’ve made our decision. You can stay with us on a probationary period of 4 months after which we’ll decide about permanent stay. Pock show him to the men’s dormitory,” said StoneOak.

Elated, Corn left the room with the two dwarves.

“Ok, what game are you playing, Oak? You’re leading on the kid too much. We have a mana forge, it’s illegal, and we need help. Please. If he was a normal citizen, failing Magic would have just made him a Stat-less cripple, but he’s not. He ascended. If he fails to level up, which is obviously impossible in this case, he’s straight back to a base slave. I thought we agreed I was supposed to be the cold one among the five of us,” ranted StoneHeart.

Oak laughed, “Relax. I have two reasons. One. He is as dwarfish as a dwarf could possibly be. Both of you know I’m not wrong about that.”

“And reason two?” asked StoneHeart.

“You’re right. When the three months finish he is going to fail his ascension. There’s no doubt about that. Wouldn’t it be more considerate to simply let him dream a little? There’s no way he’s going to level up so let him enjoy the remaining time he has.”

The other two snorted but didn’t reply.

On the other side of the room were Corn and Pock with their ears to the door. Once the elder’s conversation was over, they sneaked to the stairs and climbed down.

“I told you, didn’t I? Magic is a universally avoided Stat, unless you’re a noble and can afford the money to buy multiple Stats instead of just the first free Stat. You’re doomed,” whispered Pock.

Corn remained silent.

A week later.

Corn was sitting in the mess hall and sleeping, next to a cold bowl of porridge and uneaten sandwich. Even in his sleep his hands fidgeted as though solving the cube. A dwarf with a black leather jacket poked him. “Hey, human.” Corn opened his eyes, glanced at him and went back to sleep.

“You’re missing the funeral. The elders said you’re supposed to escort them. If you’re that tired just take a Whiff.”

“A Whiff?” Corn mumbled sluggishly, opening his eyes.

The dwarf pulled out a plastic tube from his pocket and pulled open the lid. Inside was a dark spongy material. He held it close to his nose and whiffed. He closed the lid and handed the tube to Corn. Corn took a whiff. He could feel his heart beat faster and his drowsiness was cast off like an old cloak. He shot up from the table and tripped, forgetting the table wasn’t sized for him.

The dwarf laughed and Corn joined him in laughter. Both of them left the hall.

The workshop was silent, devoid of any of its usual mechanical hum. A large crowd of dwarves were standing in a circle. Every single dwarf from the community was present. A spectre dwarf stood in the centre, surrounded by his weeping relatives. One of them cried out, “Don’t go father, we can get a healer to-”

The spectre dwarf cut him off, “Shush child, any other method is too expensive. My time has come. I go for the good of the community.”

He bunched his fists and started banging his knuckles. It produced a loud hollow sound. The surrounding community members repeated the banging in a chorus. All dwarves joined in. Corn did not.

“For Stone!” shouted the spectre.

“For Stone!” echoed the crowd. And then they dispersed.

Oak, tears in his eyes, grabbed Corn and pulled him to a corner of the workshop where eight motorbikes stood. He mounted one of the bikes and asked Corn to join him in the side car.

“Can I ride one?” asked Corn.

“No, not this time. You are here as a bodyguard. A human among dwarves looks very intimidating, even without Stats.”

The spectre supported by two dwarves reached them. He slid his hands over the body of the bike, “It’s a beauty.” All their bikes had a curved handle bar and a shorter pedal and were modified for dwarves in every way. He hopped on to a bike and revved the engine. The others revved their engines in reply and they set off.

The rode fast enough to catch the wind. Despite sitting in a side car, when Corn spread his hands he felt he was piercing through the wind. The dwarves howled in delight. On their bikes they were free, they could do whatever they wanted, be whoever they wanted. Nothing could hold them back. The spectre savored his ride with a bony smile, right in the centre. No tricks, no stunts just one last, clean ride. Their tight formation reached the temple.

The temple was a small building abutting a walled tower. The wall was guarded by heavily armored guards and at the entrances people exited the building. All of them donned in black, shapeless robes.

“The resurrection altar,” whispered the spectre, afraid.

A flock of black glass marbles flew over the group. Two of them deviated from the group and flew to the spectre. They floated in mid-air, staring at him for a few seconds and then left.

“Eyes, it’s a bad omen,” gasped a female dwarf.

After scanning their bracelets, the guards let them through. The temple’s entrance was small and painted light grey inside. In front of two stone doors stood a high nymph in a black, shapeless robe with her hood drawn back. Looking at them she said, “The necromancer priest will be with you shortly.”

They waited silently until the stone doors creaked opened. A human appeared in a black robe. All of them entered the hall. It was built in the exact same minimalistic structure as the entrance, except for the floor. The floor had a semi-circle protruding from the sanctum of the temple. It was a darker grey etched with esoteric symbols and geometric shapes. Corn stared at it curiously, it looked like part of a humongous spell circle.

The necromancer priest announced loudly, “Do not enter the resurrection altar.” He then placed the lamp he was holding on the ground and a black spell circle flickered underneath it.

“Are you certain, you wish to die?” he asked the spectre.

“My time is up,” replied the dwarf solemnly.

“Then step forward.” The priest placed his hand on the top of the spectre dwarf’s skull. He started chanting in a language no one understood. He began with a whisper, but the chants grew louder and louder until he was shrieking at the dwarf.

The dwarf crumbled into ash and a life counter clattered onto the floor. The priest turned to the semi-circle. The spirt of the dwarf appeared inside the resurrection altar. It was a translucent blurred image of a younger dwarf.

“Step outside,” intoned the priest. When the dwarf complied, he started chanting. Like a vortex, the lamp started tugging on the spirit of the dwarf and soon sucked the spirt in. It lit up with a black glow. The priest picked up the lamp, opened it and blew out the black flame.

“His soul has been shattered,” the priest announced. And he bent to down pick up the life counter. Instead of the full counter shape, it was only a sliver: the size of a finger. It was spent. “And this was not the promised price.”

They left the hall and while Oak went to settle the amount, the rest waited at the bikes. A female dwarf sat on the spectre’s motorbike.

“Why did they do that? Why did they… why did they just shatter his soul? It feels so wrong,” said Corn uneasily. He could feel goosebumps on his skin.

“It is a rite of passage for the dead. After your life counters completely run out and you die, you lose your body and became a spirit who wander the Abyss.

Shattering one’s soul just before true death prevents your soul from being used even after you die or being eaten by whatever lurks in the Abyss,” said the female dwarf, rubbing tears out of her eyes.

“Everyone dies someday, right?”