They made their way through the winding streets of Primara, the folded list Lyam had given Starfania clutched securely in her hand. The earlier tension still lingered, but for a moment, it felt lighter—like they were moving forward instead of standing still. Violet, walking beside her, tilted her head thoughtfully.
" I've been wondering about something…"she said, her voice soft but curious. Starfania glanced down at her. " What is it?"
Violet looked up, completely genuine. " How come no one knows you're Cesar's daughter? Is Cantina using magic or something?"
Starfania slowed to a stop. The question hit harder than expected. Because…she hadn't thought about it. Not really. Her mind began racing. Why hadn't anyone recognized her?
Because no one has ever met the princess of VulcanFire. Cantina's voice echoed quietly in her mind—calm, matter-of-fact. There was no need for magic. And just like that—reality crashed down on her. Her breath hitched. Primara didn't know her. But VulcanFire—her people—they would. Her chest tightened sharply. What if they found out? What would Lyam do? Would he still trust her? Or would he see her as a threat? And worse—what if someone used her…against her father? Against Avalon? Her breathing quickened.
She began pacing before she even realized it. Back and forth. Her thoughts spiraled faster than she could control. Aeron, Violet, Drogo, and Atlas watched—concern growing with each step.
" Starfania—hey, breathe." Aeron stepped in front of her, gently catching her shoulders to stop pacing. " Talk to me. What's going on?"
" Why don't you just wear a mask?" The words were so simple—so obvious—that everyone froze. Violet blinked at them, completely serious.
" Like a hero," she added, as if it solved everything. Aeron looked at her. Then at Starfania. " …That's actually not a bad idea."
Starfania paused. A mask. Something to hide her identity—and they were already heading to a blacksmith. A slow realization settled in. " …That might actually work."
Violet grinned, clearly proud of herself. " See? I help."
She spun around them with renewed energy, her excitement contagious. Drogo mirrored her enthusiasm, his tail swishing back and forth as he let out a low, approving rumble. Atlas moved closer, far more composed. He gently nudged Starfania's leg, drawing her attention back to the present.
She looked down at him, her breathing still uneven—then rested her hand against his head, tracing slow, familiar patterns along his scales. The steady motion grounded her. Her heartbeat was slow. Taking a steady breath, Starfania straightened. " Alright…let's keep moving."
This time, her steps were more certain. And without hesitation, the others fell beside her. As they moved deeper into the district, the air changed. Warmer. Heavier. The scent of burning embers and forged steel filled their lungs, blending with the evening breeze.
Eventually, they stopped. Before them stood a massive structure—aged, powerful, and unmistakable. Darkened bricks bore the scars of years spent housing roaring flames. Above the entrance, a heavy iron sign swayed gently, creaking with time but unbroken. Starfania tilted her head back, her voice soft but steady as she read the name aloud — " Emberforge Armory."
At the entrance, Starfania paused, turning to Atlas and Drogo.
" Wait here, alright?" she whispered. Both dragons responded without hesitation. Both dragons responded without hesitation. Atlas lowered his head in quiet understanding, while Drogo gave a small, approving rumble before settling beside him. They positioned themselves near the doorway, watchful and alert—silent guardians at the threshold.
The moment they stepped inside, the world shifted. Heat. Noise. The sharp scent of oil and heated metal filled the air, thick and grounding—like stepping into the heart of something alive. The forge carried the weight of time itself. Wooden beams, darkened by soot and years of fire, stretched overhead. Shelves overflowed with tools—some rusted, some worn smooth
Atlas lowered his head in quiet understanding, while Drogo gave a small, approving a rumble before settling beside him. They positioned themselves near the doorway, watchful and alert—silent guardians at the threshold. The moment they stepped inside, the world shifted. Heat. Noise. The sharp scent of oil and heated metal filled the air, thick and grounding—like stepping into the heart of something alive. The forge carried the weight of time itself. Wooden beams, darkened by soot and years of fire, stretched overhead.
Shelves overflowed with tools—some rusted, some worn smooth from decades of use. Axes dulled with age, hammers scarred by countless strikes, leather gloves hardened into shape. A row of armor lined the walls, each piece a blend of steel, leather, and fur—crafted not just for protection, but for survival. The place was alive. Warriors tested the balance of blades. Mercenaries inspected armor with practiced hands. Travelers bartered, argued, and negotiated. The constant rhythm of metal striking metal rang through the air, blending with voices and movement. This wasn't just a shop. It was a lifeline.
Then—a voice cut clean through the chaos. Sharp. Unyielding. Impossible to ignore. " You're seriously asking me to fix that—for twenty Mythos?"
The entire room stilled—if only for a second. Heads turned. Because whoever spoke—commanded attention. Behind the counter stood a woman who didn't just own the room—she dominated it. Strong stance. Arms crossed. Eyes sharp with zero tolerance for nonsense. Unimpressed didn't even begin to cover it. She gestured toward the damaged armor with a scoff. " Do you have any idea what this requires? Eighty Mythos—minimum."
Starfania exchanged a glance with Aeron. No doubt about it. This had to be Katherine. Katherine didn't budge an inch.
" I don't underprice my work," she said flatly. The boy across from her straightened, jaw tight with stubborn pride.
" At least you're getting paid," he shot back. Katherine exhaled sharply, tapping the armor with a gauntlet finger. " Because this isn't ordinary armor."
Her tone shifted—not softer, but clearer. " I don't even have the materials for this in stock. Which means I'd have to shut down my forge, track them down, and lose time I don't get back."
The boy waved a dismissive hand. " That's not my problem."
Katherine's eyes narrowed. And just like that—the room felt hotter.
" You don't seem to understand what you're asking for," she said, her voice steady but edged.
" It's just armor," the boy argued. " Can't you just use something else?"
Katherine shook her head once. Slow. Final. " No."
She leaned forward slightly. " If it doesn't fit right—it fails."
A beat. " And if it fails—so do you."
Her tone lowered—not kinder, but more grounded. " Armor isn't decoration. It's survival."
" I've seen cheaper," the boy insisted. Katherine let out a quiet, humorless breath. She straightened, crossing her arms again. " So ask yourself—"
Her gaze locked onto his. " Do you want something cheap?"
A pause. " Or do you want to walk away from your next fight?"