Today was destined to be a sleepless night.
The sudden battle between Ascended in the afternoon, followed by the first large-scale thunderstorm of early summer, had left everyone—from Viscount Grant down to the most ordinary harbor residents—still shaken.
The ceaseless thunderclaps and lightning filled half the night with harsh brilliance. Even though all the residents knew the Great Storm could not possibly return so soon, the sensitive nerves of the Southern Border's people still kept them from sleeping peacefully.
Elder Pude was no exception.
In his second-floor office in Harrison Port's Elder Hall, the old man gazed at the night rain and dark clouds beyond the window. Elan breathed softly in his arms, already fast asleep.
The White Folk child's head pressed down on Pude's beard. He did not move it away, merely turning his head to count each time the lightning lit up the dark curtain shrouding heaven and earth.
Amid those flickers of light, he gradually sank into melancholy.
Pude Chehalorvo, once a member of the Chehalorvo Family, the child of one of the Thirteen Elders.
His childhood had passed under the care of a powerful and influential family. In his youth, however, his peers had kept their distance because he had no father. The family did not discriminate against Dwarf bloodlines themselves; the discrimination stemmed from one simple reason—he had possessed a great beard even as a child, and while everyone else grew during puberty, his short stature had never increased.
Those who differed from the rest were anomalies. Distance and mockery among children were that simple. If not for the White Folk's strict clan rules, bullying would have been perfectly ordinary too.
He was different from the others.
Pude knew that, and accepted it. Though he had not inherited the true bloodline of the Mountain Folk,