The forge was suffocating. Due to the heat, the claustrophobic clutter of the space, and in the strong spiritual pressure emanating from Serena's father and Exalted Grandmaster Halreth.
Kain could feel the heat pulsing off the nearest furnaces, the glow of spiritfire painting every surface in molten gold. The walls were lined with strange metals and half-finished weapons. But none of it held a candle to the man currently holding a jagged shard of ore between his fingers like it was sacred scripture.
Serena's father stood to the side, arms crossed, impassive.
The old blacksmith—massive, bearded, and wearing a robe so singed it was probably older than Kain—was hunched over the worktable. His eyes flicked behind a lens attached to his face, scanning the shard's surface with maddening precision.
"This one," he muttered, rotating it. "Doesn't conduct spiritual energy in the normal way… it reverberates it."
