The chamber pulsed with quiet power, each heartbeat of flame echoing against the stone. It was vast not cavernous in a wild, natural sense, but crafted. Walls sloped in precise angles. Pillars bore ancient carvings. And at the center, the forge glowed a cool blue, eternal and undisturbed.
Eira approached the anvil beside it. Runes shimmered faintly across its surface, too faded to read. The shard in her chest vibrated, and for a moment she felt like a thread being pulled taut, drawn toward something hidden in the fire.
"Don't touch anything too shiny," Torin called from behind. "Knowing our luck, it's either a trap or the start of some unspeakable curse."
Lena gave him a look. "You're not helping."
"I'm helping by being the only one with enough sense not to walk toward the obviously magic fire."
Kaela muttered, "Noted."
Eira ignored them, drawn forward. The flames weren't hot, not like they should be. They were steady, humming, almost protective. She leaned in close enough that the warmth tingled across her skin and whispered, "What are you?"
The forge flared in response.
A gust of wind shot through the room, and the flames shifted, twisting until they formed a shape. A figure. Not fully human, not fully flame. A face without detail. Eyes like coals. It hovered just above the hearth, weightless.
The voice that came wasn't spoken aloud. It echoed in all their minds.
"Heir of Fire. Blood of the first flame. You have come."
Eira stood frozen, mouth dry. "What is this place?"
"The Emberforge. One of three. Built when the world was new. When the Veil rose, we lit it to remember, to prepare. You are not the first. But you may be the last."
The others circled closer, tense.
Thorne rested a hand on his blade.
Torin, still near the wall, cleared his throat. "So, I take it this is the part where we either gain a powerful gift or accidentally set the place on fire?"
The figure didn't acknowledge him. Or maybe it had no sense of humor.
Eira took a breath. "What am I meant to do?"
"Mend what was broken. Rekindle what was lost. The Veil feeds on silence. You must become the flame they cannot bury."
The forge flared again and a small compartment slid open in the stone beneath it.
Inside lay a blade. Not of steel, but forged from obsidian laced with glowing veins of emberlight. A dagger, perfectly balanced, humming with quiet magic.
Eira reached down and lifted it carefully.
The second her fingers wrapped around the hilt, the shard in her chest pulsed and the blade flared to life.
Not with flame, but memory.
She saw flashes; her mother's hands shaping a similar blade, firelight dancing in her eyes. A battle in a burning city. A child being carried through smoke.
When it passed, her knees buckled. Thorne caught her again.
Torin moved closer, peering at the dagger. "So… should we be worried about the fact it's literally humming? Or is that just Mageborn normal now?"
Eira smiled faintly, breathless. "It's a Keyblade. Meant to open something."
Lena tilted her head. "Open what?"
But Eira's gaze had shifted toward the far side of the room, where the wall bore a spiral pattern matching the one on the blade.
Kaela stepped up beside her. "Another gate?"
Eira nodded.
"Then let's see where it leads."
—
Aboveground, Maelis stood at the edge of a burned clearing. Smoke curled from the trees her soldiers had felled to block the old forest roads. They'd narrowed the escape routes, cut off the deer trails, collapsed one of the lower tunnels.
The only path left led upward.
"They're not animals," the tracker muttered. "They won't run toward the mountain."
"No," Maelis said calmly. "But they'll have no choice."
She held up a shard, one of the minor slivers Harrower had gifted her. When she pressed it against her palm, the magic surged. Not a direct connection but enough to feel the heat of the Emberforge flickering far below.
"They've found it," she whispered.
Then, louder: "Ready the intercept teams. If the forge gives them a weapon, we strike before they can use it."
A soldier hesitated. "And if it gives them more than a weapon?"
Maelis looked east, toward the black shape of the ridge.
"Then we bury them before they realize what they are."
—
Back in the forge, Eira pressed the blade to the spiral door.
The stone melted inward without resistance, revealing a staircase lit by flickering wall runes. Air stirred from the depths, cold and dry, carrying the scent of long-dead fire.
No one spoke.
Eira turned, meeting each of their eyes; Thorne's steady, Kaela's sharp, Torin's reluctant but loyal, Lena's uncertain but resolute.
The villagers waited behind them. One of the elders, a stooped man with silver hair, stepped forward.
"You carry our hope now, child. But let us help bear it."
Eira nodded.
And then they descended.