I blinked.

  One second, I was at my desk, fingers twitching from my fifth espresso, drowning in error logs and server outages. The next—pain. A sharp, crushing weight in my chest, a sudden vertigo, and then—nothing.

  Until…

  Cool air brushed my skin. The scent of earth and… pine? filled my lungs. Sunlight filtered through towering trees, their leaves shimmering in impossible shades of green and gold. I sat up. The ground beneath me felt too soft, too alive…The hell?

  This wasn’t my office. My hands pressed into the dirt, fingers sinking slightly into the damp earth. A light breeze sent a ripple through the leaves above, making golden patches of sunlight flicker along the ground. I swallowed hard, my breath coming in short, uneven pulls. Where the hell am I? Had I passed out at my desk? Hit my head? Before I could piece together an answer…

  “You! What are ya’ doin down there?” a burly voice barked. I turned, squinting against the blinding sunlight. A broad-shouldered shadow loomed over me, but the glare made it impossible to make out any details.

  “My name… is Arthur. I think something’s wrong. I don’t know what happened or how I got here, I…” I trailed off as the figure stepped forward.

  Stocky. Barrel-chested. Thick. And short. Really, really short. His shoulders were massive, his arms thick with the kind of strength that came from real labor. There was a weight to the way he stood, solid and unmoving, like nothing short of an earthquake could knock him over.

  His hair was a wildfire of deep red, thick and untamed, spilling over his shoulders in a wild mane. But it was his beard that truly stole the show—a waist-length curtain of hair, thick as a shield, its ends curling upward slightly, as if defying gravity itself. A single-bladed battle axe rested in one hand, its edge nicked and worn from use. Slung across his back was a musket.

  I swallowed, trying to take it all in—Stocky didn’t even begin to describe this guy. His entire frame was so absurdly wide for his height that he looked like someone had squashed a full-grown man into a half-size, but kept all the muscle. Thick arms, thick legs, thick neck, if he even had one under all that hair.

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  And the only thing I could think of, the only logical explanation was... this is… a dwarf? My brain resisted the thought, but what else could he be? My throat went dry.

  “I asked, what are ya doin’ down there in Bob’s pit?” the dwarf grunted. Then the largest hand I had ever seen reached out, offering to help me up.

  “Thank you!” I said while gripping it, only to be hauled out of the hole like I weighed nothing. My feet barely touched the ground before I was set upright, my head still spinning from the sheer force of it. I glanced back at the pit I’d just been yanked from. Freshly dug, uneven, and—hold on. Bob’s pit? I turned to the dwarf, fighting the urge to laugh.

  “Wait, Bob?” As if on cue, a giant pig trotted into view, its tiny, beady black eyes locking onto me with an unsettling intensity.

  I froze. Bob was huge. Nearly as tall as the dwarf himself, built like a walking fortress of muscle and bristle, and just as wide. His thick, grey hide, scarred from who-knew-how-many fights, rippled as he moved, each step hitting the ground with a dull thud. Curved tusks jutted from his lower jaw, long enough to gut a man in one swipe. And yet…

  He stood there. Motionless. Mouth slightly agape. Breathing. Just…staring. I cleared my throat. Bob did not blink. A bead of drool slipped from his mouth, slow and deliberate. The breathing got louder. Why is this pig breathing so loud?

  The dwarf exhaled through his nose. “Aye. Bob.”

  I stared at the towering, battle-scarred boar. Bob stared back. This… this was not normal. “I, uh… sorry. I seem to be lost,” I said, trying not to trail off, but I couldn't pull myself from Bob’s gaze. Bob’s nostrils flared. A deep, guttural huff. I took an instinctive half-step back.

  “Ya’ sure you’re okay? Ya’ look pale,” the dwarf said.

  I shook my head quickly. “No, I’m fine. Thank you. Just… collecting myself after the fall.” That wasn’t a lie. I still had no idea where I was or how I got here. “I was…ugh– I am not sure where I am….”

  The dwarf let out a booming laugh. “You, lad, must’ve come from The Frog Leg.”

  The… Frog Leg? I frowned. “What’s that?”

  “The inn,” the dwarf said, pointing a finger over my shoulder. I turned—and froze.

  A massive, two-story building stood just beyond the tree line, built from thick timber and thatched straw. A large, weathered sign swung above the entrance, the painted letters bold and unmistakable: The Frog Leg Inn.

  “Go on with ya, else Bob might get angry with you messing up his digging pit and all.” Bob let out a thick, deliberate grunt, his beady eyes narrowing at me. I swallowed. Did… did that pig just glare at me?

  I didn’t wait to find out. Without hesitation, I stumbled off toward the inn, putting as much distance as I could between myself and the oversized, judgmental boar. Behind me, the dwarf let out a sigh. “Drunkards… Go on, Bob. Go play.”