The Ember Forge
The Soulchaser soared high above the mists, its sleek frame cutting through the golden glow of dawn as it approached the island of Entella. Below, the jagged peaks of the Entellan Mountains rose like sentinels, cradling the ancient city of Sufar deep within their shadowed embrace. Older than the Aenean Empire itself, Sufar was the forge capital of the realm, renowned for its unparalleled craftsmanship.
Despite their legacy of weaponry, the people of Entella were devout pacifists. Followers of Mycolism, an ancient religion rooted in peace, they had long sworn off violence in all its forms. When the Aeneans annexed the island nearly six centuries ago through the Entellan Treaty, they made a solemn promise: the Entellans would never be forced to fight, so long as they supplied the Empire with the weapons needed for its defense. For six hundred years, this arrangement endured. The Entellans, paradoxically, became the artisans of their own protection, crafting tools of war to ensure they themselves would never have to wield them.
From a distance, Entella seemed untouched by civilization. The island’s pristine facade stretched wide—a barren mountain range flanked by lush western jungles and dotted with a few modest farms surrounding Lake Oea, its waters glinting like polished glass. Yet as the Soulchaser drew closer, signs of life revealed themselves. Black smoke billowed from vents carved into the mountain’s rock, a telltale sign of the bustling world hidden within.
At the mountain’s summit lay the Entellan docks, a hive of activity where airships of all shapes and sizes came and went at all hours. Merchants, mercenaries, and emissaries from across the Empire sought the treasures of Sufaran blacksmiths, whose skill was unmatched. The air was thick with the scent of coal and molten metal, a reminder of the industry that kept the Empire armed.
Ringo guided the Soulchaser toward the docks, his practiced hands steady on the controls. As the airship approached, he grabbed the radio transmitter.
“This is Soulchaser tuh Sufaran docks. Requestin’ clearance tuh land a helium submistial explorer. Over,” he drawled, his accent lilting over the static.
A crackle of static preceded a crisp reply. “Sufaran docks to Soulchaser. Pad PD II CXIII. Over.”
“Much obliged,” Ringo replied, steering the ship toward the designated pad. With a hiss of hydraulics, the Soulchaser locked into place, its landing gear engaging with a satisfying clunk as the bridge extended to the ship’s entrance.
The long journey from Solinum had taken its toll. In the ship’s barracks, Arjun lay sprawled in his bunk, dead to the world after two grueling days without sleep. The lingering exhaustion of recent events weighed on him like lead, but here, cocooned in the hum of the ship’s engine, he finally found some measure of peace.
“Still out cold, eh?” Ringo muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Can’t blame ‘em.”
They had arrived in Sufar at last—a city of peace, forged in fire. The contradiction hung in the air like the ever-present haze of soot and smoke rising from the mountain’s forges. Ringo moved with purpose, packing his gear and strapping on his weapons, his motions deliberate but unhurried. He glanced toward Arjun’s bunk, where the boy still slept soundly.
By the time he was done, Arjun began to stir, blinking groggily as the acrid tang of forge-smoke reached his nose. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Already here?” he mumbled, his voice thick with lingering fatigue.
Ringo chuckled, the sound low and gravelly. “Already? Boy, yuh’ve been out fer almost a day. Thought yuh could use the shut-eye after the past few days we’ve had. Feel any prettier?”
Arjun smirked, stretching before climbing out of the bunk. “Not with all this smoke choking me,” he quipped. He grabbed his gear, strapping his one good gama to his belt alongside a plain steel dagger. Within minutes, he was dressed and stepping into the main cabin.
“Ready when you are,” he said, fastening his jacket. “But can we stop and grab something to eat first? I’m starving.”
Ringo gave a nod, adjusting his hat. “Reckon that’s a good idea. Gonna need tuh ask around anyhow—been a long time since I’ve seen Kaelen. Couldn’t tell yuh where he’s holed up these days, but someone here’ll know.”
Arjun nodded, his stomach already growling at the thought of food. Together, they stepped out of the Soulchaser and onto the bustling docks of Sufar, the clamor of metal and the hum of life within the mountain greeting them like an old song.
Just outside the airship, an Entellan dockworker stood waiting, a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. “Welcome to Sufar, gentlemen. Docking fees are thirty senecs a day. Do you know how long you’ll be staying?”
Ringo paused, reaching into his jacket to retrieve a thick wad of cash. He peeled off 500 senecs and handed it over. “Ain’t sure how long we’ll be here, but this’ll cover it. Keep what’s left fer yerself when we take off.”
The man’s eyes widened as he took the money, momentarily at a loss for words. “Thank you, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“Less yuh know a Kaelen Tyrus, I don’t think yuh could,” Ringo said, sliding his thumbs into his belt.
The dockworker scratched his thick black beard thoughtfully. “Kaelen… the name rings a bell. Is he a blacksmith? I know plenty of other craftsman here—some of the best in the Empire.”
Ringo shook his head. “It’s gotta be this one. I got somethin’ only he can do.”
The man nodded, a glimmer of understanding in his expression. “I see. If he’s registered in the city, a guild house will have his location.”
Ringo tipped his hat. “Much obliged, partner. One more thing—where can a man grab somethin’ good tuh eat ‘round here?”
The dockworker’s face lit up. “Oh, plenty of options, but I’d recommend Azure Dreams. It’s closer to the surface, serves some of the finest Entellan cuisine. Tell them Awadah sent you—they’ll make you something special.”
“Appreciate it,” Ringo said with a nod before turning toward the mountain’s entrance.
As they stepped inside, the sheer scale of Sufar revealed itself. The city was a sprawling labyrinth carved into the heart of the Entellan Mountains, its narrow streets teeming with life. Every square centimeter of space seemed meticulously planned, from the towering forges spewing black smoke through vents above to the layered housing units that stretched deep into the rock. With over three and a half million residents, Sufar dwarfed Solinum in size and industry.
The business district hummed with activity as crowds bustled between shops, guild houses, and restaurants carved into the stone walls. Among the glowing signs, they spotted the one for Azure Dreams, its name etched elegantly above the entrance in silver lettering.
Inside, the restaurant buzzed with energy, but they managed to snag two seats at the bar. The smell of sizzling spices and roasting meats filled the air, making Arjun’s stomach growl audibly.
A bartender approached, wiping his hands on a clean rag. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“Awadah sent us,” Ringo said, leaning on the counter. “The boy here’s lookin’ fer a good meal, and I’ll take a Ioan whiskey. Neat.” He placed a crisp 100 senec bill on the bar. “Keep the change.”
The bartender nodded, pocketing the money with a practiced ease. “Yes, sir. One moment.”
A few minutes later, he returned with a steaming plate of food and a glass of whiskey. The plate was piled high with fragrant rice, juicy chicken, and sweet mangoes draped in a reddish-orange glaze that shimmered under the warm light.
Arjun didn’t wait. He dug in like a man starved, earning a chuckle from the bartender. “Need anything else?”
“Actually,” Ringo said, swirling his whiskey, “we’re lookin’ fer someone. Pale skin, white beard, bald head. Goes by Kaelen. Tends tuh keep tuh himself. Know anyone like that?”
The bartender frowned thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “Sorry, can’t say I do. If he’s in Sufar, though, he’ll be registered with the guild. You’ll find what you’re looking for there.”
Ringo tipped his hat in acknowledgment. “Figured as much, but it don’t hurt tuh ask. Thanks, partner. That’ll do us for today.”
With that, he leaned back, savoring his whiskey as Arjun continued devouring his meal, their next steps already falling into place in his mind.
As soon as Arjun scraped his plate clean, they were on the move. In Sufar, guild houses were as common as iron, with the nearest one right across the road from Azure Dreams. However, being so close to the surface, it was bustling with activity, and Ringo wasn’t one to deal with unnecessary crowds.
Instead, they ventured deeper into the city, walking along sloping streets that spiraled downward in a grand corkscrew design. Sufar’s layout felt both methodical and labyrinthine, a testament to the millennium of craftsmanship poured into its creation. After passing several crowded guild houses, they came upon a quieter one tucked into the curve of the spiral—a modest stone building with fewer patrons coming and going.
The entrance was carved with intricate reliefs depicting Mycolic imagery, and even the floors bore fantastical patterns, polished to a mirror shine. The artistry was a subtle boast, a reminder that Sufar’s artisans excelled not only in metallurgy but in masonry as well. Inside, rows of wooden chairs and tables lined the walls, and the scent of parchment and ink filled the air. At the far end of the open room, three men sat behind a raised counter, engrossed in their work.
Ringo strode toward the desk at the center and cleared his throat. “‘Scuse me, would yuh happen tuh know where I can find a blacksmith by the name of Kaelen Tyrus?”
The man in the middle, an Entellan with a neatly groomed beard and sharp eyes, glanced up from his papers. “Does he work in Sufar?”
“Last time I checked,” Ringo replied, adjusting his hat.
The guild master leaned back in his seat. “Is he an Entellan?”
Ringo shook his head. “Doubt it. His complexion’s more Scuran or Ioan, if I had tuh guess.”
With a nod, the man pulled out a thick leather-bound ledger. He flipped through its pages with practiced efficiency, his finger gliding over rows of neatly handwritten names. Finally, he stopped, tapping the page with satisfaction. “Kaelen Tyrus. He’s registered. His forge is called Steelbound, located on the lowest level of the city.”
“How far down we talkin’?” Ringo asked, crossing his arms.
“Take the L-Train to the final stop, then walk about half a kilometer east. Can’t miss it.”
Ringo exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Bastard always was a recluse.” He tipped his hat. “Thanks fer yer help, partner.”
The guild official gave a perfunctory nod and returned to his work. “Safe travels, gentlemen.”
Ringo and Arjun left the guild house, stepping back into the bustling streets. Their next destination was the train station—a marvel unique to Entella. Unlike the rest of the Empire, which relied on airships for transport, Sufar’s engineers had repurposed coal-powered airship engines to create mechanical wagons that ran along iron rails. Originally built to haul materials from the mountain’s depths to the surface, the system had been adapted to carry passengers as well.
The trains were sleek, metallic beasts capable of reaching speeds of fifty kilometers per hour, reducing what would otherwise be over a day-long journey into a little more than an hour. They approached the station, where polished platforms buzzed with activity as trains rumbled in and out of their stops, belching steam and light.
“Guess it’s the express route tuh the bottom,” Ringo said, stepping onto the platform and glancing down at Arjun. “Hope yuh don’t mind crowded spaces, kid.”
Arjun smirked, adjusting his gama. “After what we’ve been through, I think I can handle a train ride.”
Ringo chuckled. “That’s the spirit. Let’s get this over with.”
After what felt like an eternity, Ringo and Arjun stepped off the train and headed eastward, following the directions given at the guild house. The atmosphere at the bottom of Sufar was a stark contrast to the bustling surface above. Here, the cavernous streets stretched wide and empty, flanked by massive structures carved directly into the stone. Nearly every building housed a forge or foundry, their chimneys belching faint smoke that barely reached the cavern ceiling.
The air was dense with the scent of molten metal and coal, and the glow of dim, flickering lights gave the entire area the feeling of an eternal night. It was quieter here, save for the occasional clanging of hammers or the echoing rumble of minecarts. The lower level was a paradise for the reclusive and industrious alike, where the isolation seemed more a feature than a flaw.
After a long trek through the dimly lit path, they finally found it: Steelbound. Tucked into one of the darkest crevices of Sufar, the shop was unassuming compared to the colossal forges around it. Though modest in size, it was clearly well-equipped, with a reinforced stone chimney that hinted at the power of the forge within.
Inside, the front of the shop was lined with meticulously displayed weapons—swords, axes, and spears, each a testament to the skill of their maker. But the true heart of the forge lay in the back, where Kaelen Tyrus himself crouched over an anvil. Sparks flew as he hammered away at a blade, his movements precise and practiced.
Ringo approached the counter and tapped the small bell sitting atop it. The sharp ring cut through the shop, but Kaelen remained focused on his work, oblivious. Ringo sighed and tried again, this time adding his voice. “Kaelen?”
The smith jumped, startled, and looked up. He straightened, setting his hammer down, and lumbered toward the counter. “What can I do fer—” His words froze mid-sentence when he recognized Ringo standing there. His expression hardened, and his voice turned venomous. “Ah, fuck off, yuh bastard!” he barked, waving a hand to shoo him away. “Yuh always bring trouble, and I don’t want none of it in my shop!”
Ringo shrugged, his tone as casual as ever. “C’mon now, Kaelen. Ain’t no need fer that. Don’t yuh wanna help an old friend?”
Kaelen narrowed his eyes. “I’ll give yuh ten seconds to piss off before I throw yuh out myself. We’re not friends, Ringo. We never were.”
Ringo sighed, glancing at Arjun. “Just give us a minute. Hear ‘em out.”
Arjun stepped forward, ignoring Kaelen’s glare, and gently set the broken gama on the counter. “Can you fix this?”
Kaelen’s eyes widened as they fell on the shattered blade. He reached out instinctively, lifting the weapon with surprising reverence. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, turning it over in his hands. “This… this is one of muh earliest works—back when I first started makin’ tyran. Such a simple design, but it’s held up for so long.” His voice softened, filled with nostalgia. “I didn’t think I’d ever see this again. How’d it break?”
Arjun shifted uncomfortably, his eyes downcast. “It broke in a fight. A woman named Valeria snapped it in half when I went for a killing blow.”
Kaelen’s head shot up, his sharp gaze locking onto Arjun. “Valeria? That lass is still alive?” His voice was heavy with disbelief, and a flicker of something darker passed over his face—fear, perhaps. “Tyran rarely breaks. Whatever she’s wieldin’ must be somethin’ fierce.”
Ringo chuckled softly, leaning against the counter with an air of practiced ease. “That blow wouldn’t have finished her anyway. Not with the arsenal she was carryin’.”
Kaelen’s brow furrowed, his fingers tracing the fractured edge of the blade. “She’s strong, aye. But strong enough tuh break this?” His voice dropped, as if the idea itself was blasphemous. “What was she usin’?”
Ringo crossed his arms. “Whole plethora of artifacts. But she had the Clockwork Heart to keep herself kickin’. Ripped it outta ‘er chest muhself.”
Kaelen froze, the broken blade still in his hands. His eyes widened, and his voice turned somber. “The Clockwork Heart,” he repeated, as if the words carried a weight all their own. “With that—and a cocktail of other artifacts—it all makes sense. Only somethin’ like that could push a weapon this far.” He carefully set the broken gama down, his expression pensive. “Tyran doesn’t just break—when it does, it takes a hefty price tuh fix. Yuh sure yuh want it repaired?”
Arjun straightened his shoulders, meeting Kaelen’s gaze with quiet determination. “I need it fixed. It’s not just a weapon—it’s a part of me.”
Kaelen studied him for a long moment, his sharp eyes scanning the boy as if weighing his soul. Finally, he glanced at Ringo. “He’s got the fire fer it. I’ll give him that. But this job… it’ll cost yuh more than senecs, Ringo.”
Ringo smirked. “We didn’t come all this way fer bargains, Kaelen. Say what yuh need.”
Kaelen turned abruptly, stepping deeper into the shop. When he returned, he held a massive claymore, its blade igniting with a brilliant flame the moment he gripped the hilt. The fire roared, casting dancing shadows across the walls.
He pointed the burning weapon at Arjun, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “First things first—you don’t get tuh wield my creations without proving yer worth. If yuh want me tuh even consider fixin’ that gama, yuh’ll fight me. Right here. Right now.”
Arjun’s jaw tightened, and his hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his remaining gama. “You want me to fight you?”
“Aye,” Kaelen said, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And if yuh prove yerself, we’ll talk about what comes next.”
Ringo sighed, scratching the back of his head. “Never makes things easy, does he?”
Kaelen barked a laugh. “Easy’s fer the weak. And if this lad’s gonna wield tyran, he can’t afford tuh be weak.”
Arjun’s grip tightened on his remaining gama as he stepped forward, his heart pounding in time with Kaelen’s heavy footsteps. The shop seemed to shrink as the master blacksmith’s fiery claymore illuminated the darkened space, the flames dancing menacingly along its length.
“Let’s do this,” Arjun said, his voice steady despite the tension in his shoulders.
Kaelen led him out into the open cavern, his footsteps echoing ominously against the stone walls. “We’ll keep this clean,” Kaelen said, his tone a mix of gruffness and respect. “But if yuh can’t handle my strikes, best yuh surrender now. This ain’t fer show, lad.”
“I don’t plan on surrendering,” Arjun shot back, planting his feet firmly.
Kaelen smirked, his face lit by the flickering glow of his blade. “Good.”
Without warning, Kaelen let out a thunderous war cry, charging forward with terrifying speed for a man his size. The flames of the claymore roared brighter as he raised the weapon high, bringing it down in a devastating arc aimed straight for Arjun’s head.
Arjun reacted on instinct, ducking low just in time as the blazing blade sliced through the air above him, close enough to singe his hair. He rolled to the side, the ground trembling under Kaelen’s swing as it collided with the stone floor, sending sparks flying.
Kaelen pivoted on his heel, his claymore already arcing back toward Arjun, but Arjun was faster. Springing to his feet, he darted behind Kaelen, slashing at the man’s side.
The strike never landed. Kaelen twisted his massive blade around, catching Arjun’s gama mid-swing with a deafening clang. The force sent a shiver down Arjun’s arm as Kaelen’s strength became evident. The blacksmith used the momentum to twist his claymore over his head and behind his back, dragging Arjun’s blade along with it.
The move was unexpected, and Arjun stumbled forward, struggling to keep his grip on his weapon. Kaelen whipped around and swung horizontally, the flaming claymore aimed for Arjun’s midsection.
Arjun leaped back, barely escaping the searing heat of the blade. The flames licked at his shirt, the sheer force of the strike pushing him off balance.
“Not bad, boy!” Kaelen roared, his voice echoing through the cavern. “But yuh’ll need more than speed tuh best me!”
Arjun narrowed his eyes, adjusting his stance. Kaelen’s size and strength were overwhelming, but his movements, while powerful, had openings—brief moments where he left himself vulnerable.
Kaelen came at him again, this time with a series of precise, crushing strikes. The cavern seemed to come alive with the sound of metal on metal as Arjun deflected what he could and dodged the rest. Each strike felt like a battering ram, pushing him closer to the cavern wall.
Arjun gritted his teeth. He couldn’t keep this up forever.
Watching Kaelen’s rhythm, he noticed a slight hesitation as the claymore completed its wide arc—a moment of recovery that slowed the massive weapon. Timing his next move, Arjun feigned a retreat, drawing Kaelen into another heavy swing.
This time, Arjun stepped into the attack. Instead of dodging, he ducked low, narrowly avoiding the flaming blade, and lunged forward. His gama struck true, slashing a shallow cut across Kaelen’s arm.
Kaelen grunted, stepping back and glancing at the wound. Blood trickled down his forearm, and he let out a low, approving chuckle. “Yuh’ve got guts, I’ll give yuh that.” He adjusted his grip on the claymore. “But yuh’re still green.”
Before Arjun could recover, Kaelen surged forward with renewed ferocity, his claymore igniting in a blinding flare. The cavern erupted in a swirl of heat and light as Kaelen unleashed a relentless assault, forcing Arjun to retreat once more.
Ringo watched from the sidelines, arms crossed. “C’mon, kid,” he muttered under his breath. “Don’t just survive—think.”
As Kaelen bore down on him, Arjun’s mind raced. He couldn’t match Kaelen’s brute strength, but he didn’t need to. He needed to outthink him, outmaneuver him.
Spotting a cluster of loose stones near the edge of the cavern, Arjun formulated a plan. As Kaelen brought the claymore down again, Arjun rolled to the side, grabbing a handful of the stones as he went.
Kaelen turned, expecting another counterattack, but instead, Arjun hurled the stones at his face. Kaelen flinched, instinctively raising his left hand to shield his eyes.
It was all the opening Arjun needed. He surged forward, his gama slashing upward in a calculated strike aimed at Kaelen’s shoulder. The blade connected, biting deep enough to draw a gasp from the blacksmith and forcing him to stagger back.
Kaelen grinned through the pain, his fiery claymore dimming slightly as he lowered it. “Not bad, lad,” he said, his breathing heavy. “Yuh’ve got the fire—and the brains.”
Arjun held his ground, his chest heaving, but his grip on the gama steady. “Does that mean I passed?”
Kaelen studied him for a long moment, then chuckled. “Aye, yuh passed. But don’t think that means this job’s gonna be easy.”
He gestured toward the shop. “Come on. Let’s talk about what it’ll take tuh fix that blade of yours.”
They re-entered the shop as Kaelen began explaining, his tone firm and focused. “The only forge that can fix this is the Ember Forge. Now, before yuh get too excited, know this—it’s gonna take something from yuh. But it’ll give yuh a few options once we get there.”
He moved toward the back storage room, speaking over his shoulder. “First thing we’ll need is the Fireheart to start it. When I buried the Ember Forge, I took the Fireheart with me, just to keep it safe—”
Kaelen’s voice cut off abruptly as he stepped into the storage room. There was a moment of silence before the sound of frantic rummaging echoed through the shop. “Son of a bitch! Mother-fuckin’ thieves! I swear tuh the fuckin’ gods!”
The noise grew louder as Kaelen began hurling crates and tools across the room, his curses punctuated by the crashes of metal and wood.
Ringo and Arjun remained in the storefront, exchanging a glance as the chaos unfolded. Arjun opened his mouth to speak, but Ringo raised a hand, signaling him to stay quiet.
Kaelen finally emerged from the back, his face flushed with fury. “Someone stole the fuckin’ Fireheart!”
“What d’yuh mean someone stole it?” Ringo asked, his tone sharp. “When?”
Kaelen’s breaths came heavy and ragged as he paced. “It was here three days ago when I checked last,” he spat. “And I know exactly who took it.” He grabbed a satchel and began shoving supplies into it with jerky, furious movements. “Aenean lass. Said her name was Lyria. Kept comin’ round fer the past month, claimin’ she needed a weapon forged but never placin’ an order. Every time, she’d ask questions—too many questions. Last time I saw her was three days ago. She should’ve come back by now. But no—she was scoping out my shop the whole time, plannin’ to steal the damn Fireheart!”
His hand shot out to grab an iron ingot, which he hurled across the room. It collided with a rack of spears, sending them clattering to the ground.
Arjun picked up his broken gama from the counter, slipping it into his jacket as Kaelen fumed. Ringo leaned casually against the wall, waiting for the storm to pass before speaking.
Kaelen finally stopped pacing, rubbing his bald head with his hand. His voice dropped to a mutter. “She has tuh be after the Ember Forge. The Fireheart’s useless without it.”
“Yuh think?” Ringo said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “She’s been watchin’ yer shop fer a month. She’s no amateur. That lass’s a pro—and if she’s got the Fireheart, she ain’t workin’ alone.”
Kaelen slammed a fist against the counter. “Shit! If she’s got someone who knows what they’re doin’, they could activate the forge. And if they manage that…” His voice trailed off, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.
“They could create weapons of mass destruction,” Arjun finished grimly.
Ringo straightened, holding up a hand to cut off any further outbursts from Kaelen. “Enough,” he said, his tone calm but commanding. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. Arjun and I will find yer thief and get back the Fireheart. You go to the Ember Forge and make sure no one’s tryin’ tuh get it up and runnin’ while we’re gone. Keep it locked down tight. When we’ve got yer missin’ piece, we’ll meet yuh there.”
Kaelen stared at him for a moment, his jaw working as if he wanted to argue, but then he exhaled sharply and gave a curt nod. “Fine. But I’ll be damned if yuh don’t bring it back intact.”
Ringo smirked faintly. “We’ll handle it. Now, how do we get to the forge?”
Kaelen grabbed a scrap of parchment and sketched a map with quick, precise strokes, his movements steadier now. “Here,” he said, handing it to Ringo. “The Ember Forge is buried in the deepest part of the caverns. Yuh’ll need this tuh avoid the traps I set. The entrance to the tunnel is just behind my forge.”
Ringo scanned the map briefly before folding it and tucking it into his coat. “Got it. Yuh ready, kid?”
Arjun nodded, his hand brushing the broken gama tucked inside his jacket.
Kaelen’s gaze lingered on them, his expression grim. “Find that thief—and do it fast. If she gets there before yuh…”
“She won’t,” Arjun said firmly, his voice steady with resolve.
Ringo smirked faintly, clapping a hand on Kaelen’s shoulder. “Don’t burn that forge down while we’re gone.”
Kaelen grunted, already heading back toward his own forge without another word.
They stepped back into the dimly lit streets of Sufar, the air heavy with the scent of soot and molten metal. Ringo glanced at Arjun. “Well, kid, looks like we’re on a treasure hunt. Still feelin’ confident?”
Arjun’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed forward. “I’ll get it back. No matter what.”
They moved silently through the cavern, retracing their steps toward the train station. Their plan was straightforward: assume Lyria came from the surface and follow the trail back.
As they passed through the industrial district, Ringo’s gaze caught on a worn sign swinging above a dingy building: Quenched Steel. It was the kind of place that reeked of desperation and loose tongues.
“Let’s try our luck here,” Ringo said, veering toward the tavern. “If she stopped fer a drink on her way tuh the shop, someone might’ve noticed.”
The moment they stepped inside, the stench of sweat, smoke, and sour grog hit them like a wall. The tavern was a grimy hole, filled with soot-covered miners and smiths hunched over mugs. Their hands and faces were blackened from endless hours of work, the grime seeming to have seeped into their very souls. Conversations died as the patrons turned to stare at the newcomers—outsiders, clearly not from around here.
Ringo strode up to the bar with an air of casual confidence, Arjun close behind.
He slapped a twenty-senec bill on the bar. “Whiskey, neat. And tell me what yuh know about an Aenean woman named Lyria.”
The bartender glanced at the bill, unimpressed, and pushed it back. “Ain’t got whiskey. Grog or beer’s all we got. As for your lady, she sounds familiar, but you'll need to sweeten the pot.”
Ringo sighed, pulling out four more twenties and sliding them across the counter. “That jog yer memory?”
The bartender’s eyes lit up as he pocketed the money. “She came in two days ago. Looked spooked—shaking like a leaf. Ordered a drink but barely touched it. Said she had somethin’ important to do down the road but didn’t say what.”
Before Ringo could press further, a drunken voice slurred from the corner. “You talkin’ ‘bout that bitch from the other day?”
Ringo turned to see an Aenean man stumble toward him, a groggy grin plastered on his soot-streaked face. “Saw her walkin’ past me when I was headin’ to the train,” the man continued, his words tumbling over each other. “Don’t get many women down here, so I thought I’d say hi. Only seen her ‘round here like twenty times, right? So I get on the train and sit next tuh her. Things’re goin’ great—then she assaults me!” He pointed a grubby finger at his own chest, outraged. “Me! A Mycolist in my sacred lands!”
Ringo gave Arjun a side glance and muttered, “What a fuckin’ creep.”
Then, with a patient smile, he turned back to the drunkard. “Yuh remember where yuh got off the train when she did that?”
The man swayed on his feet, counting off stops on his fingers. “Six stops from here,” he finally said. “Saw her headin’ toward some inn with a yellow and red sign. Don’t remember the name, though.”
Ringo clapped the man on the back, watching him slump over the bar. “Thanks, partner. Appreciate the tip.” He turned to the bartender. “Get this man some water. Looks like it’s been a long day.”
Ringo pushed his chair back, heading for the door. Arjun followed, glancing around the grimy room one last time.
As they stepped out into the cavern streets, Ringo muttered under his breath, “Maybe that inn’ll have a damn whiskey.”
Arjun managed a faint smile. “If not, at least we’ve got a lead.”
Ringo’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the dimly lit street ahead. “Yellow and red sign. Let’s move. If she’s plannin’ somethin’ bigger, we can’t let her get the jump on us.”
They wove through the labyrinthine tunnels, their footsteps quick and deliberate to get to the train. Six stops later, the train screeched to a halt, revealing a bustling cavern lined with shops and flickering neon signs. Among the chaos stood the red-and-yellow sign the drunkard had described: a weathered inn wedged between a bakery and a tinker’s shop.
But it wasn’t the inn that caught their attention. Across the street stood another forge, its sign reading Ollaman’s. The business was dark, its shutters closed, yet a muffled commotion echoed from inside. The crowds in the narrow street barely noticed, their focus on the rhythm of their daily routines. Most glanced at the noise and moved on, too busy or too indifferent to care.
Ringo and Arjun exchanged a look. “That’s not normal,” Ringo muttered, already making his way toward the forge.
As they approached, Ringo felt a soul enter his stash as the door burst open, slamming against the wall. A woman staggered out, her face and clothes spattered with blood. Her dark hair and sharp features matched Lyria’s description perfectly. Her wild, panicked eyes darted left, then right—until they locked onto Ringo’s piercing gaze.
For a split second, she froze. Then, like a bolt of lightning, she spun on her heel and sprinted toward the surface.
“Wait!” Ringo shouted, already breaking into a run.
Arjun followed, weaving through the thick crowds with an agility Ringo couldn’t match. His smaller frame allowed him to slip through gaps, closing the distance as Lyria barreled through the bustling street. Shouts of irritation and curses erupted as the chase carved a path of disruption, but neither Arjun nor Lyria paid them any mind.
Lyria glanced over her shoulder, her face twisted in panic as she realized Arjun was gaining. In a desperate move, she veered toward the train platform just as a departing train began to pull away. Without hesitation, she leapt, catching the side of a car and scrambling onto the roof.
Arjun skidded to a halt, watching the train pick up speed. He didn’t hesitate. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled his gama, the chain unfurling in a metallic whip. The blade lodged into the train’s roof with a satisfying clang.
Gripping the chain tightly, Arjun braced himself and reeled it in. The motion launched him into the air, slamming his body against the train’s side with a dull thud. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up and climbed onto the roof.
The cavern ceiling loomed low over the speeding train, forcing Arjun into a crouch as he navigated the narrow rooftop. The deafening roar of the train filled his ears, and the rush of wind threatened to throw him off balance.
Lyria had crawled several cars ahead, her breathing ragged as she glanced back. Her eyes widened in disbelief when she saw Arjun closing in. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered, shaking her head.
But Arjun wasn’t letting up. With every movement, his determination burned brighter. He wasn’t just chasing her—he was proving to himself that he could handle this. Arjun narrowed his eyes, steadying himself as the train surged through the dark cavern. Sparks flew from the rails below, the air thick with the scent of oil and damp stone.
Lyria turned, her face etched with defiance and fear. She pulled a dagger from her belt. The blade glinted faintly in the dim light.
Arjun inched closer, his gama still in hand. “You’re not getting away.”
Lyria smirked, though there was a flicker of unease in her eyes. “You’re out of your depth, kid.”
Without warning, Lyria lunged, the dagger flashing toward Arjun’s chest. He twisted sharply, the blade grazing his coat and slicing through the fabric. Using the momentum of her attack, he lashed out with his gama chain, the metal links snapping around her wrist like a steel trap.
The force yanked her off balance, and she cried out, scrambling to grip the roof of the train with her free hand. Below them, the screech of wheels on steel rails echoed through the cavern, a constant reminder of the deadly drop just centimeters away.
Arjun tightened the chain, his voice cutting through the noise. “Drop the dagger.”
Lyria’s teeth clenched, her arm trembling under the strain. “You’ve got no idea who you’re messing with,” she spat, though the waver in her voice betrayed her bravado.
“Then why don’t you enlighten me?” Arjun growled, yanking the chain harder.
She gasped in pain, and the dagger tumbled from her grasp, skittering across the train roof before vanishing into the darkness below. Arjun reeled her closer in one swift motion, using her momentum against her. Before she could recover, he drove his shoulder into her, slamming her to the roof.
He pinned her there with his knee pressed into her back. “Where’s the Fireheart?” he demanded, his tone cold and unyielding.
Lyria writhed beneath him, trying to twist free. “I already gave it to you!” she snapped. “I don’t care about the money, alright? Just let me and my sister go!”
Arjun hesitated, the grip on his chain slackening slightly as he released the pressure on her back. “What are you talking about?”
She seized the moment, twisting her body and kicking out with her legs. The sudden move sent Arjun sliding down the sloped roof. His hand shot out, plunging the hooked end of his gama into the train’s metal roof to stop his fall. Sparks flew as the weapon scraped against the steel, holding fast just in time.
By the time Arjun looked up, Lyria was already on her feet, sprinting toward the next car. Her pale face, streaked with determination and desperation, flashed briefly as she glanced over her shoulder. Ahead, the faint light spilled into the tunnel, casting an eerie glow as the train’s brakes screeched in protest.
“Wait!” Arjun shouted, hauling himself upright. “I can help you! I’m not who you think I am!”
Lyria didn’t stop. With a final look back, she leapt to the next car, her silhouette disappearing into the light as the train began to slow.
Arjun chased after her, reaching the edge of the car just as the train screeched to a halt at the station. He watched helplessly as she dropped from the roof into the crowded platform below. The chaos of passengers boarding and departing swallowed her almost instantly.
He cursed under his breath as he climbed down. From the corner of his eye, he spotted peacekeepers making their way toward the train, drawn by the commotion. He ducked into the crowd, scanning for any sign of Lyria, but she was gone. After a few fruitless minutes, he sighed and headed back toward the lower levels of Sufar.
The forge was in shambles. The front doors hung ajar, and the acrid stench of blood and smoke filled the air. Inside, weapons and tools lay scattered across the floor. Near the center of the room, Ringo crouched over a lifeless body sprawled in a pool of blood.
Ringo glanced over his shoulder as Arjun entered. “Yuh lose ‘er?”
Arjun nodded, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah. She got away. But she doesn’t have the Fireheart anymore. I think she gave it to someone here before she ran.”
Ringo stood slowly, scanning the room. “Reckon this was a deal gone south. Looks like she fought her way out.”
“She thought we were with these guys,” Arjun said, stepping closer. “She said she already gave them the Fireheart. And… she mentioned her sister. Sounds like they’re using her as leverage.”
“Maybe,” Ringo muttered, nudging the body with his boot. “But that means whoever has it now knows exactly what they’re doin’. And they’ll be headin’ straight for the Ember Forge.”
“We need to move,” Arjun said, urgency rising in his voice.
After backtracking through the tunnels, Arjun and Ringo returned to Steelbound Forge. As they entered, it was clear someone had already been there. The entire workspace was in disarray. Broken tools, shattered ingots, and fragments of destroyed machinery littered the floor. Worst of all, the forge itself had been smashed open, revealing the entrance to the hidden tunnel below.
“Shit,” Ringo muttered, his hand instinctively going to his holster. “Reckon they found the way tuh the Ember Forge. Good thing Kaelen’s already down there. Let’s hope he’s enough tuh keep ‘em at bay.” He handed Arjun the map Kaelen had drawn. “Time tuh shine, kid. Watch fer traps.”
Before they could descend, a voice called out. “Wait!”
They spun around to see Lyria standing in the doorway, breathless and wide-eyed. Blood streaked her torn clothing, and her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, raising her hands. “I thought you were with them.”
Ringo tilted his head, his fingers still resting on his revolver. “Who’re them? And why’d yuh steal the Fireheart?”
Lyria stepped forward cautiously, her hands trembling. “I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t even know what it was.” She swallowed hard, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “I’m from Riothamalia. Some Entellans offered me five hundred thousand senecs to steal that gem from a man in Sufar. They told me it’d be easy and no one would get hurt. But when I handed it over, they told me they had my sister. Said they needed a sacrifice to activate the Forge. If I didn’t cooperate, they’d use her instead.”
She paused, anger flickering across her face. “I tried to fight back, but they overpowered me. Tied me up, told me I was gonna be the one sacrificed. When I saw an opening, I ran.”
Ringo’s eyes narrowed, his tone flat. “And now?”
“I want to help you stop them,” she said firmly. “I just want to save my sister.”
Ringo turned to Arjun. “Well?”
Arjun stepped closer, his eyes locked on Lyria. “Fine,” he said at last, his tone sharp. “But if you try anything—anything—I won’t go easy on you.” He raised his gama threateningly.
Lyria rolled her eyes and brushed past him. “Get over it, kid. That was self-defense.” She gestured toward the tunnel. “Now, are we doing this or not?”
The hidden tunnel spiraled downward, the air growing hotter with each step. The group moved quickly, the sound of their boots echoing off the stone walls. The slope grew steeper until they were forced to slide down the final stretch, landing in a cavernous chamber far below.
Arjun unfolded the map, studying it carefully. The path ahead split into multiple tunnels, a maze of choices. “Far-right tunnel,” he said confidently, leading the way.
Ringo unholstered one of his revolvers as the group moved cautiously, but their progress halted at a T-junction. Arjun scanned the map, his brow furrowing. “Both paths lead to the Forge… but they’re trapped. Left is pressure plates—fire, muskets, pitfalls, hot oil. Right…” He hesitated. “Right’s guarded by the undead.”
Ringo’s jaw tightened as he took in the options. He unholstered his second revolver, the metallic click of the cylinder echoing in the still air. “Damn it, Kaelen,” he muttered. “Reckon the undead’re less messy than fire and oil. Let’s hope yer posse’s already dealt with ‘em.”
Lyria crossed her arms, a shadow of uncertainty passing over her face. “Undead?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “You’re seriously telling me we’re about to fight an army of corpses?”
Ringo shot her a sharp look. “Yup. Hope yuh brought somethin’ sharp.” He gestured to Arjun. “Kid, yuh ready?”
Arjun nodded, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his nerves. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
The group steeled themselves, weapons drawn, and stepped into the right-hand tunnel. The air immediately grew heavier, laden with a metallic tang that clung to their tongues. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling barely penetrated the darkness, casting long, flickering shadows on the jagged walls. The faint hum grew louder with each step, resolving into a low, rhythmic chanting that seemed to crawl into their ears and burrow into their minds.
Ringo shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Shudder at the Clockwork Heart, but yer usin’ the Necronomicon fer protection.”
Lyria glanced at him. “What’s the Necronomicon?”
Ringo didn’t look back, his gaze fixed ahead. “Ancient artifact. Makes the dead dance. Bad mojo.”
Arjun tightened his grip on his gama, the chains rattling softly. “And someone thought it’d be a good idea to use that to guard a tunnel?”
“Kaelen’s idea,” Ringo said, his tone flat.
The tunnel widened into a larger chamber, the ground littered with old bones and rusted weapons. The group froze as the faint glow of the lanterns embedded in the walls illuminated the far end of the room. There, shadowy figures began to stir, their movements jerky and unnatural. Hollow eyes glowed with a dull grey light as skeletal hands reached for rusted swords and axes.
Lyria whispered, her voice trembling, “Tell me they’re slow.”
The first undead lunged forward with surprising speed, its skeletal frame emitting a hideous clatter as it moved. Arjun barely had time to react, swinging his gama in a wide arc. The chains coiled around the creature’s ribcage, and with a sharp pull, he yanked it apart, the bones scattering across the floor.
“Slow enough,” Arjun muttered, sweat beading on his brow.
Ringo raised his revolvers, his face grim. “Don’t let ‘em swarm. Keep movin’.”
Gunshots echoed through the chamber as Ringo fired, the explosions of light briefly illuminating the chaos. Lyria joined the fray, daggers flashing as she took down a skeleton that had crept too close. The clatter of bones hitting the ground was near-constant, but for every undead they felled, more seemed to rise, their glowing eyes piercing the darkness.
“Arjun!” Ringo shouted, backing toward the younger man as he reloaded. “What’s the map say ‘bout shortcuts?”
Arjun glanced down at the parchment, fumbling to keep it steady as he swung his gama to fend off another attacker. “There’s a side path up ahead,” he said, his voice strained. “It bypasses the rest of the chamber, but—”
“No buts! Lead the way!” Ringo barked.
The group began to retreat, moving toward the indicated path as they fought off the relentless swarm. The chanting grew louder, as if mocking their progress, the sinister sound clawing at their minds. When they reached the narrow side passage, Ringo covered their rear, firing off two more shots before ducking inside.
“Keep movin’!” he urged, his voice echoing through the cramped tunnel.
As the group pressed deeper into the mountain, the sounds of the undead faded behind them, replaced by the unsettling silence of the labyrinth ahead. Arjun clutched the map tightly, his pulse racing. If the undead were just the beginning, he didn’t want to imagine what lay ahead in the Ember Forge itself.
Ringo holstered one of his pistols, wiping a streak of grime from his cheek. “Well, kid,” he said, his tone wry, “looks like yuh earned yer keep. But don’t get cocky—we ain’t even close tuh done.”
Arjun nodded, gripping his gama tighter, its chains clinking softly. He glanced at the map again, tracing the paths with his finger. They were close—just one more chamber before they reached the Ember Forge. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. The labyrinth narrowed into a single tunnel ahead, leading to a wide, open space that the map labeled as the Grand Hall.
The three of them stepped into the chamber, and Arjun’s breath hitched. The hall was massive, its vaulted ceiling vanishing into shadow. Stone columns lined the walls, carved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with energy, bathing the space in a faint orange glow. At the far end, a grand staircase climbed toward an enormous set of stone gates, each one etched with intricate carvings depicting various weapons created by the Ember Forge. The gates were ajar, and at their base, blood pooled on the stone steps, streaked in trails where bodies had fallen and slid partway down.
Arjun’s gaze drifted to the corpses. Their faces frozen in terror, their bodies clad in armor dented and torn as if by a great force. Normal tyran swords lay scattered near them, dull and lifeless—except one. At the foot of the stairs, a blade stood upright, impaled into the ground. Unlike the others, this one glowed faintly with an otherworldly red hue—veins pulsating as though alive.
Ringo threw an arm out, halting Arjun and Lyria just as they approached the weapon. “Don’t touch that sword,” he warned, his voice low but firm. “That bastard’ll possess yuh faster’n yuh can blink. Puts yuh in a blind rage—turns yuh into its puppet ‘til yuh drop dead or kill everythin’ in sight.” He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Bastard collected some fine artifacts.”
Arjun swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on the cursed blade before stepping around it. Lyria’s expression was unreadable, but her lips pressed into a thin line as she followed.
As they ascended the blood-streaked stairs, the faint sound of voices filtered through the cracked gates ahead. Ringo slowed, motioning for silence, and the group pressed themselves against the wall beside the entrance. Peering through the gap, they took in the scene unfolding beyond.
The Ember Forge’s chamber was immense, its walls blackened with soot and streaked with veins of molten tyran glowing a brilliant crimson. In the center of the room stood the forge itself—a massive structure of jagged obsidian, its core a swirling vortex of fire and raw energy. The heat radiating from it was palpable even from the entrance.
Nine figures stood near the forge, their weapons drawn. Lyria’s employers, though now reduced and battered. Their armor was dented, their faces smeared with sweat and blood, and their postures betrayed exhaustion. They had come with greater numbers, but Kaelen’s defenses had claimed many already. Now they faced a lone figure at the far end of the chamber: Kaelen Tyrus.
Even from across the room, Kaelen’s presence was undeniable. He stood tall, his tyran claymore resting on his shoulder. Its blade burned with a reddish-yellow flame, the light casting flickering shadows across the soot-streaked walls of the chamber. His armor, though scratched from centuries of use, was a masterpiece—pristine in its craftsmanship, glinting faintly with the shimmer of an ancient protection. He was unmoving, his stance relaxed yet full of authority, his eyes locked on the intruders with a calm intensity that radiated control. It wasn’t rage or defiance in his gaze; it was patience, a predator waiting for its prey to make the first mistake.
The attackers, by contrast, bristled with tension, gripping their tyran-forged weapons tightly. All of the weapons were Kaelen’s own creations, forged in the days before he had turned his back on tyran entirely. Now, those same weapons were pointed at their maker, while he stood armed with the last artifact he had made before sealing away the Ember Forge. It was a stark reminder of both his skill and his legacy.
“Yuh gotta admire the irony,” Ringo murmured, breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, but his words were weighted with grim appreciation. “Man spends centuries makin’ weapons fer war, an’ here they are bein’ used against him. Poetic, ain’t it?”
Lyria’s voice cut through, tight and anxious. “What are they waiting for?”
Kaelen shifted, lowering the claymore slightly. The yellow flames brightened, casting a dim light across the chamber. His voice, deep and steady, resonated through the room like the strike of a hammer on an anvil. “Yuh’ve made it this far,” he said, addressing the group before him. “But the Forge isn’t yours, lads. Turn back now, and I’ll let you leave with your lives.”
The leader of the attackers, a wiry, Tarkhanian man with a jagged scar running from his temple to his jaw, stepped forward. He raised the Fireheart, its crimson glow pulsing with a heartbeat-like rhythm. The artifact radiated a dangerous heat, distorting the air around it. His voice was sharp, full of both resolve and greed. “We didn’t come this far to turn back, Tryus,” he spat. “We know what this is worth. You can’t scare us off.”
Kaelen’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. The flames along his claymore flared brighter, casting his silhouette in stark relief. “Then you’ve already lost,” he said simply.
Without another word, the intruders charged. Kaelen met them head-on, his claymore a blur of fire and steel. The clash of tyran weapons rang out like thunder, each strike sending shockwaves through the chamber. The attackers fought with desperation, but Kaelen was a force of nature—his movements precise, his strikes devastating.
Kaelen fought like a man possessed, his movements a combination of precision and devastating force. His claymore cleaved through the air, the yellow flames trailing behind it in sweeping arcs. The attackers fought back with desperation, their strikes wild yet fierce, but Kaelen fought with superior form. He anticipated their moves, sidestepped their lunges, and countered with crushing blows that sent them staggering.
Ringo, Arjun, and Lyria watched from the shadows, their breaths held. The clash of steel, the crackling of flames, and the shouts of combatants filled the chamber. Kaelen’s strikes weren’t just defense; they were judgment, each blow falling with the weight of centuries of experience.
The attackers relentlessly surged forward, yelling their battle cries. Kaelen continued to meet them, his claymore sweeping through the air like a scythe. His strikes came down hard, disarming one man before cutting him down in a spray of embers and blood. Another assailant lunged, only for Kaelen to pivot smoothly, the flames of his claymore consuming his opponent’s body like kindling. His movements were a masterclass in combat—fluid, precise, and devastating.
But the numbers were against him.
Two of the attackers flanked him, forcing Kaelen to shift into a defensive stance. Tyran weapons clashed with his claymore, their impact sending shockwaves through the chamber. Sparks flew, the air thick with the sound of tyran on tyran and the acrid tang of burning metal.
From the shadows, Ringo lined up a shot. The crack of his revolver echoed like a whip, and one of Kaelen’s assailants dropped to the ground clutching their chest.
“C’mon, kid!” Ringo barked, charging forward, guns blazing.
Arjun tightened his grip on his gama and ran after him, Lyria close at his side. She pulled a pair of daggers from her belt, her movements swift and practiced. They joined the fray, adding chaos to an already violent scene.
Ringo fired again, his bullets precise and punishing. One struck the wiry man holding the Fireheart, grazing his shoulder and making him stagger back. The artifact fell from his hand, its crimson glow pulsating ominously as it hit the ground.
Arjun seized the opening, darting toward the Fireheart. One of the attackers intercepted him, swinging a tyran axe with deadly force. Arjun ducked low, the blade missing him by centimeters, and lashed out with his gama. The chain wrapped around the man’s arm, and with a sharp pull, Arjun sent him sprawling. Before the attacker could recover, Arjun slammed the blunt end of his weapon into the man’s helmet, knocking him unconscious.
“Nice work, kid!” Ringo shouted, covering Arjun as another assailant rushed toward him. Ringo’s twin pistols barked, and the attacker crumpled mid-charge.
Kaelen, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of destruction. Two more of the attackers fell beneath his claymore, their tyran weapons proving no match for his artifact. The flames danced hungrily, consuming everything they touched. Despite his skill, Kaelen wasn’t untouched—his armor bore fresh dents, and a cut along his cheek dripped blood onto his battered cuirass.
Lyria engaged another foe, her daggers flashing like silver lightning. She moved with grace and precision, evading strikes while landing her own. A well-placed slash to the thigh sent her opponent stumbling, and a quick follow-up strike to the throat ended the fight. She spun on her heel, scanning for her next target.
The leader of the group, still clutching his wounded shoulder, snarled in fury. “You think you’ve won?” he spat, retrieving another tyran blade from the ground. “You’re nothing but relics and amateurs!”
Kaelen’s deep voice rumbled, low and steady, carrying a weight that silenced even the crackling flames of his claymore. “Then let’s see you survive this relic.”
The man roared, surging forward, his blade raised high. Kaelen didn’t flinch. He met the charge head-on, his flaming claymore slicing through the air. Their weapons clashed, a deafening burst of light and fire illuminating the chamber. The sheer force sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, halting all other movement as every eye turned to the duel.
Kaelen moved with precision, each swing of his claymore measured and devastating. The leader fought fiercely, his strikes wild but fueled by desperation. Kaelen blocked every blow with ease, his counterattacks coming down like thunderbolts. Sparks flew as tyran metal met artifact fire, the air growing thick with the metallic tang of heated metal.
“You don’t understand what you’re protecting!” the leader bellowed, his voice cracking as his strikes grew more erratic. “The Forge belongs to us now!”
Kaelen’s eyes narrowed. “The Forge belongs to no one.”
With a final, crushing swing, Kaelen’s claymore smashed through the leader’s defenses. The tyran blade cracked, shattering into shards as Kaelen’s sword cut deep into the man’s chest. The leader stumbled, dropping to his knees.
His voice was a gurgling whisper as blood bubbled at his lips. “The—Ember Forge…” He collapsed, lifeless, onto the stone ground.
The chamber fell silent except for the distant roar of the forge.
Kaelen lowered his claymore, its flames dimming as he surveyed the carnage. He glanced at Ringo, Arjun, and Lyria, his face unreadable but his stance heavy with exhaustion.
Ringo holstered his pistols. “Reckon that’s the last of ‘em. Least fer now.”
Lyria, trembling, knelt by the Fireheart. The artifact pulsed faintly, its crimson glow lighting her face. She stared at it, her fingers hesitating over its surface before she whispered, “We’ve got it.” Her voice cracked. Then she looked around, her expression shifting to panic. “Wait… where’s my sister?”
Before anyone could answer, the leader of the thieves coughed wetly, a ghastly sound. His bloodied face twisted into a final, mocking grin. “She’s dead,” he rasped. “Didn’t make it through the traps. Took care of my part… though, didn’t I?”
He let out one last shuddering laugh before his eyes went glassy, his head slumping back against the stone.
Lyria froze, the words hitting her like a dagger to the chest. Then, as if the weight of the world had crushed her all at once, she dropped the Fireheart and lunged at the leader’s corpse. She shook him violently, her voice breaking. “No! You’re lying! Wake up!” Tears streamed down her face as her hands fell limp. Her shoulders heaved as she crumpled to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
Ringo removed his hat, his face solemn. Arjun approached her, his own expression heavy with sympathy. He knelt beside her and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love because of your actions.”
But Lyria flinched, shaking his hand off violently. “Leave me alone!” she screamed, burying her face in her arms.
Arjun looked back at Ringo, who simply shook his head. “Give ‘er a moment, kid. We’ve got a job to finish.”
Kaelen stepped forward, retrieving the Fireheart from where it had fallen. He walked to the Ember Forge, its towering, fiery maw pulsating with raw, ancient power. As he placed the artifact into a recess in the forge, the flames erupted, roaring violently and shifting from crimson to brilliant white and blue. The heat was overwhelming, forcing the others to step back.
Kaelen turned to Arjun, his hand outstretched. “The blade, boy.”
Arjun hesitated, gripping the broken pieces of his gama. He stepped forward and handed them over. Kaelen inspected the fragments carefully before placing them onto the forge’s edge, just shy of the flames. He stared deep into the fire, his face unreadable, then spoke with quiet authority.
“The Forge demands a price. The cost it’s asking is the memories of a loved one. Alternatively, a few fingers could suffice.”
Arjun’s brow furrowed. “What are my other options?”
Kaelen sighed, ready to explain, when Lyria’s trembling voice interrupted. “I’ll do it.”
Kaelen’s gaze sharpened. “You?”
She wiped her tear-streaked face, her expression hardened by grief. “Erase my memories of my sister. I can’t… I can’t live with this. If I forget her, maybe I can survive.”
Kaelen frowned deeply. “You’d trade all you had of her for this blade? Is that truly the answer?”
Lyria met his eyes with unwavering determination. “It’s not about answers. It’s about moving forward.”
Arjun hesitated, glancing between her and Kaelen. Finally, he nodded, his voice low. “If she’s willing… let her.”
Kaelen’s expression darkened, but he motioned her to the forge. “Place your hand on the blade. Think of her. Every memory. Every moment. Offer it all.”
Lyria obeyed, her fingers trembling as they brushed the gama. Tears welled in her eyes as she closed them, her mind flooding with memories of her sister—her laughter, her defiance, the nights they spent huddled together in the cold streets of Riothamalia. Then, slowly, the memories began to fade, like smoke dissipating in the wind.
By the time she let go, her face was blank. She blinked, disoriented. “Where am I?”
Kaelen remained solemn as he turned back to the forge. The flames swirled violently, the broken pieces of the gama glowing red-hot as they began to fuse.
Lyria backed away, confused. Her hand darted to a dagger at her belt as she eyed Arjun warily. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Arjun raised his hands in surrender. “We’re not enemies. We were helping you.”
She shook her head, her expression hardening. “I don’t need anyone’s help.” Then, before anyone could stop her, she turned and bolted toward the chamber’s exit, disappearing into the labyrinth beyond.
Ringo sighed, watching her silhouette fade into the darkness. “Poor girl. Hope she finds ‘er way outta here.”
Arjun lowered his hands slowly, watching the doorway for a moment longer before turning back to Kaelen.
The flames of the forge quieted at last. Kaelen lifted the repaired gama with his tongs, holding it up for inspection. The weapon gleamed, its form flawless, pulsing faintly with renewed power. He placed it on a nearby anvil to cool, meeting Arjun’s gaze.
“It is done.”
Arjun stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching something sacred. He stared at the blade, its weight and significance heavy in the air. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet yet filled with conviction.
Kaelen gave a curt nod. “Use it wisely. The price has already been paid.”
After it cooled, Arjun grasped the repaired gama, its weight familiar in his hands, yet its surface now shimmered with a faint glow that hadn’t been there before. It was no longer the broken remnant he’d carried since Solinum—it was whole, complete, and alive once more. He turned it over, marveling at the intricate tyran engravings along its edge, their patterns pulsing faintly with energy.
Kaelen’s voice cut through the moment, low and weighted. “The blade is stronger than it was, but strength born of sacrifice carries its own burden. You’d best make it worth it.”
Leaning against a crumbled pillar, Ringo adjusted his hat. “Well, reckon we’ve done what we came fer. Let’s hightail it outta here ‘fore any more surprises show up.” His eyes flicked toward the forge, still glowing faintly with residual heat. “Can’t say I’ll miss it.”
Kaelen’s gaze lingered on the forge, his expression unreadable. “You should leave. The Ember Forge takes a toll on yuh the longer you stay.”
Arjun glanced at him. “What about you?”
Kaelen’s features hardened, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “I stay. The Ember Forge has been awakened, and I’ll see it buried once more. This mountain was meant to be its grave. I’ll make sure it stays that way.”
“But—” Arjun started, only for Kaelen’s sharp gaze to silence him.
“Your fight isn’t here, boy. It’s out there. Go.”
Ringo stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on Arjun’s shoulder. “Let it be, kid. Man knows what he’s about.”
Reluctantly, Arjun nodded, the weight of Kaelen’s decision pressing against him as they turned toward the exit. As they crossed the threshold of the chamber, Kaelen’s voice called out one final time.
“Remember this, Arjun: power doesn’t make you righteous. It’s what you choose to do with it that defines you.”
Arjun stopped, glancing back. Kaelen stood alone, silhouetted by the faint, flickering flames of the forge. Before Arjun could reply, the old man turned away, his massive frame vanishing into the fiery glow.
The tunnels leading out of the Forge were a labyrinth of hidden traps and fading light. The heat of the Ember Forge dwindled with every step, replaced by the cool, damp air of the mountain. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the scuff of boots and the occasional grumble from Ringo as he avoided another booby trap.
Lyria’s absence weighed heavily on Arjun. He couldn’t shake the memory of her final, bewildered expression, as if she were a stranger even to herself.
“She’ll survive,” Ringo said, his tone softer than usual. “Girl’s tough. Won’t be the same, but… reckon she’s got more fight left in her than she knows.”
Arjun’s grip tightened on his repaired gama, his knuckles pale against the hilt. “We left her behind. She lost everything for this, and we just let her walk away.”
Ringo sighed. “Sometimes… sometimes people gotta find their way alone, kid. Ain’t fair, but that’s how it is.”
Arjun didn’t respond, but he continued to look forward. He couldn’t help but wonder if they’d left her to a fate worse than death.
They pressed on, Ringo occasionally muttering directions to avoid traps or dead ends. Kaelen’s maps had proven invaluable, and despite the maze’s confusing architecture, they finally emerged through another secret entrance at the bottom of Sufar.
Once back in the city, Ringo and Arjun quickly made it to the surface. The mountain that housed Sufar stretched behind them, its jagged peaks bathed in sunlight. Their airship lay anchored where they had left it at the docks, its mist-colored balloon swaying gently in the breeze—a reassuring sight after all they had endured.
The walk to the airship was quiet, the silence heavy with unspoken thoughts. For Arjun, the weight of their mission lingered, a mix of triumph and regret. The gama, now whole, was more than a weapon—it carried the shadows of sacrifice.
As they reached the ship, Arjun paused, glancing back at the mountain. “Think Kaelen’ll be alright?”
Ringo followed his gaze, then shook his head. “Reckon he’s a man who made peace with his demons a long time ago,” he said, stepping aboard. “Ain’t our job tuh save ‘im, kid. We’ve got our own messes tuh clean up.”
Arjun nodded but didn’t move. The memory of Lyria’s sacrifice and Kaelen’s resolute expression weighed on him like a stone. Taking a deep breath, he finally turned and joined Ringo aboard the Soulchaser.
Inside, Arjun started the engines, the familiar rumble shaking him from his thoughts. As the airship lifted off, he stood at the viewport, watching the mountain shrink in the distance. The gama rested at his side, its faint glow a reminder of the cost of its restoration. Somewhere below, the mountain sealed away the secrets of the Ember Forge, its fiery heart extinguished for good. And just above the Forge, in the depths of Sufar, Lyria wandered, her fate uncertain.
The airship rose above the peaks, the horizon stretching wide and endless, painted in the hues of dusk. The wind brushed against the hull, carrying with it the promise of new challenges. Arjun remained by the viewport, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
“Yuh did good back there,” Ringo said, stepping up beside him.
Arjun glanced over, his face shadowed by a frown. “I don’t feel like I did. I’m not the same person I was. So much has happened…”
Ringo sighed, placing a steady hand on Arjun’s shoulder. “Yer not the same, and yuh never will be. But let me ask yuh this—are yuh proud of what happened?”
Arjun shook his head. “No. I barely knew Lyria or Kaelen, but they gave up everything to fix my mistake. That doesn’t feel like something to be proud of.”
Ringo chuckled, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Yuh think that blade breakin’ was yer fault? Hate tuh tell yuh, kid, but they’ll break again someday, and next time there won’t be no magic forge to fix ‘em. That’s just how the world works. And what happened back there—” he gestured toward the shrinking mountain “—it wasn’t on yuh. Things just… worked out in yer favor this time. Don’t waste yer energy carryin’ guilt for what ain’t yer burden.”
He turned away, heading to the galley to pour himself a glass of whiskey. Taking a sip, he glanced back at Arjun. “Lotta fightin’ left tuh do in this world, kid. Yuh better learn now—those blades won’t carry yuh through all of it. That’s gotta come from you.”
The airship sailed on, the jagged peaks of Sufar fading into the distance as the last rays of sunlight painted the clouds in an amber haze. Arjun remained at the viewport, the repaired gama resting at his side. For all the uncertainty ahead, he felt something stirring deep within—a resolve he hadn’t known before.
The road ahead would be long, and the battles far from over. But for the first time, Arjun felt ready—not as a boy chasing Ringo’s shadow, but as someone determined to carve his own path.
The past had been forged anew, and the future was his to carve.
