Lares spread the map of the mountain region across the table. His fingers moved slowly over the old markings, over collapsed shafts and tunnels that had long been abandoned.
"Master Garett," he began calmly, without looking up.
"Forget the iron. We're no longer searching for what shines."
Garett frowned.
"I need the grey stone from the northern slope," Lares continued. "And the fine sand from the old riverbed."
Garett stared at him.
"But, my lord…" he said slowly. "That's worthless stuff. You can barely build barns with it."
Lares lifted his gaze.
For the first time in a long while, he truly smiled.
"With what I make from it," he said quietly, "we will cast walls no battering ram in the world can break."
He tapped a finger against the map.
"We will call it concrete."
Mister Zaun stepped closer, curiosity already lighting his eyes.
Lares continued, speaking faster now, as if his thoughts had finally found a clear path.
"And we must examine everything left behind from the mining. Every grain of dust, every stone, every scrap that's cut away."
He looked at them.
"What used to be thrown away… will soon be worth gold."
The two men exchanged a glance.
"And one more thing," Lares went on. "I call this new discovery glass."
He reached into a small pouch he had brought and let fine sand run slowly through his fingers.
"Where there used to be holes in houses to let in air and a little light, there will soon be windows. Clear as water."
His eyes shone.
"While the nobles celebrate owning a bathtub… we will build bathhouses."
He paused for a moment.
"Large halls. Warm. Bright. Places where people can gather. Places where you can see the stars without freezing."
Garett and Zaun were no longer interrupting. They simply listened.
"And when our mountains grow flatter in a hundred years…" Lares said softly, "that will not be the end."
He took a slow breath.
"That will be the beginning of a time that will make other kingdoms pale."
A crooked, brief smile crossed his face.
"I will show you later with magic what I mean. But don't worry. Most of it will work without magic. With skill. With patience."
His gaze remained on the two men.
"And for that… you are the best."
The two masters stood in silence for a moment.
Surprised.
Curious.
And visibly moved.
At their age, to dream of something so big again felt strange. And yet, they couldn't shake the thought.
If anyone could do it…
It was this boy.
The same boy who had once asked them endless questions. Who had stood among the stones with dusty hands, wanting to understand everything.
It almost seemed as if he had been blessed by the Earth Goddess herself—and by fire as well. His red hair reflected it. His golden eyes seemed older than his face.
The carriage rolled on slowly.
The bandits, bound by earthen restraints, walked behind it. Lares had made sure no one was dragged across the cold ground. The injured lay on the roof, held in place by shaped earth.
Inside the carriage, it was quiet.
Until it came to a stop once more.
All three were pulled from their thoughts.
Lares looked out the window.
The last watch post.
The northernmost point of Schneeberg.
Beyond it lay the old mines.
The soldiers stationed there looked confused when they saw the carriage, the prisoners, and the two masters.
Lares opened the door and stepped out.
This time slower. More deliberate.
"Soldiers," he said calmly, but clearly. "Leave your post and come with us."
The men looked at one another briefly, then saluted.
"The mines are being reopened," Lares continued. "And you will be needed there. Not up here, waiting for a monster that might wander by once a year."
He glanced briefly toward the mountains.
"From today on, the work begins again."
The soldiers nodded and joined them.
Behind them, the bandits followed with heavy steps, their heads lowered. It was clear they were beginning to understand just how far they had strayed from the right path.
The wind howled through the mountains, carrying the cold scent of stone and dust. Even before the mine came into view, one could feel it was close.
When it finally appeared, the two masters fell silent.
The old buildings lay abandoned between the rocks. The lodgings, the workshop, the small forge—everything looked worn, broken, as if time itself had gnawed at it. Windows shattered. Roofs caved in. Doors hanging crooked in their frames.
A ghost place.
Garett and Zaun stood there like two boys suddenly returned to a place from their childhood.
Even among the bandits, a low murmur spread. Some of them had worked here once. Had sweated here. Laughed here. Cursed here. They had never thought they would see this place again.
And now they had returned.
In chains.
When the carriage stopped, Lares stepped down together with the two masters. They, too, seemed torn—between joy, pain, and uncertainty.
Lares, however, let his gaze move calmly over the grounds.
"Soldiers," he said at last. "Take care of the prisoners first."
He pointed toward the buildings.
"Search for usable tools. Anything that still works is to be collected. Get the small forge running again. The lodgings need to be cleaned and repaired."
The men nodded and immediately began to spread out.
The earthen bindings around the bandits' wrists slowly dissolved. Instead, the earth reshaped itself into simple, solid bands around their hands.
"You can move with those," Lares said calmly. "But remember one thing: if you go too far from me, the earth will tighten."
His gaze hardened for a moment.
"And then it will crush your hand."
Silence followed.
"So stay here. And work."
He pointed toward the injured.
"Those with broken legs are to be taken to the lodgings. They can clean the old dishes and pots. I'll send a healer tonight. Until then, everyone finds something to do."
Some of the men nodded quickly.
Then Lares turned to the two masters.
"So," he said more quietly. "Now to you. Today, I will show you the future."
His eyes gleamed.
"Are you ready?"
Both nodded, but Zaun raised his hand once more.
"Wait, young lord," he said carefully. "I know they've done wrong. But I recognized three faces. Men with great potential."
He turned and called out:
"Sven! Thomas! Richard! Step forward. Now."
The three flinched. Ashamed, they stepped out of the group, their heads lowered.
"You should still remember them," Zaun said to Lares. "Even if they're older and… rougher now. They were good men. Hard workers. They used to work under me."
Lares studied them briefly.
Then he nodded.
"Very well, Master Zaun. If you say so, they may stay."
He reached into his pocket and let some fine sand run through his fingers.
"I told you about this earlier," he said calmly. "The sand you've been throwing away all these years."
He looked at the three men.
"Raise your hands."
Hesitantly, they did. The sand slipped through their fingers.
"I want several buckets of it," Lares said. "You have ten minutes. Bring it to the workshop."
A short, crooked smile appeared.
"We'll start with concrete."
Then he turned to Garett.
"And Master Garett… I'd like some quartz sand. Two buckets should be enough."
He nodded toward the large bandit with the loose tongue.
"Take that one with you. The loud one. Let him do some real work for once."