The forest floor shuddered.
Not subtly.
Not a distant quake.
This tremor hit like a hammer striking the earth itself.
Aeron nearly stumbled as the ground rippled beneath his boots. The Ashrend beasts bristled, forming a protective semicircle around him, their molten cracks blazing brighter in agitation.
Serik froze mid-step.
General Varkos' hunters tightened their formation.
Even the fog seemed to shiver.
A slow, deep groan rolled through the forest—like mountains grinding their teeth.
Aeron sighed irritably.
"Great. Because this day wasn't chaotic enough."
Another tremor. Stronger. The trees shuddered, shedding ash and leaves.
An Ashrend beast howled—a long, echoing cry filled with fear, anger… and recognition.
Serik whispered, "It's awakening."
"What's awakening?" Aeron demanded.
The answer came from beneath the ground.
A violent crack tore open the soil, splitting roots and sending a plume of hot steam into the air. The fog curled around it like claws. The quake intensified until the earth burst upward in a shower of stone and burning dirt.
The hunters staggered.
Beasts roared.
Aeron swore.
Through the exploding debris, something immense began to rise.
Not a creature.
A structure.
A slab of black stone—etched with glowing lines—pushed through the forest floor like a breaching leviathan. Then another. And another.
Ancient pillars heaved up from the deep earth, dripping molten soil. Rusted chains the size of tree trunks dangled from them, clanking with the tremors.
Aeron's eyes widened despite himself.
"Is that a—"
"Yes," Serik whispered. "A ruin. But not a temple. Not a resting place."
More pillars erupted, forming a jagged circle around a sunken platform.
A low metallic hum filled the air.
It vibrated Aeron's bones.
It made the beasts drop to their knees.
It made the Red Talons hesitate for the first time.
Serik finished his sentence:
"—it's a forge."
Aeron blinked.
"Like… a place where gods cook up their divine nonsense?"
"A place where they created weapons," Serik corrected.
"And curses."
The molten cracks across the beasts' bodies glowed in rhythm with the ruin's rising heartbeat-like thrum. A deep resonance pulsed out, sending waves through the fog, pushing it back from the ruins.
General Varkos stepped forward, jaw clenched.
His armor rattled with each quake.
"So the stories were true," he growled.
"The First Forge lies buried beneath the Ashenwood."
Aeron scratched the back of his neck.
"Well, that's just fantastic. Really ties the forest together."
The tremors stopped.
For a moment, there was silence—
—then the platform at the heart of the ruin lit up with golden fire.
Not flame.
Not magic.
Memory.
The light projected vague silhouettes—towering figures with hammer-shaped halos around their heads.
Godly smiths.
Their murmurs were like thunder underwater.
Aeron felt heat ripple under his skin. His curse sigil burned.
Serik stepped back, suddenly wary.
"The forge is responding to you."
Aeron threw his hands up.
"Of course it is. Everything else here is already obsessed with making my life harder."
The golden silhouettes shifted.
One raised a hammer.
Another held an object—long, sharp, gleaming with celestial metal.
A sword.
A blade meant for an immortal.
The ruin vibrated violently, as if calling him.
Aeron felt the pull and hated it.
"Oh no," he said flatly.
"I'm not touching anything glowing in a haunted god pit."
Serik grabbed his wrist tightly.
"You don't understand—this forge is alive. And it recognizes you as its rightful heir."
Aeron scowled.
"I'm not heir to anything except really bad luck."
The beasts suddenly roared in unison—an echoing, desperate sound.
More tremors surged through the ground. Pillars buckled. Stone cracked.
The forge was awakening faster than the forest could contain it.
And then—
From deep within the ruin…
Something answered the forge's call.
A cold, metallic howl.
Like a blade screaming.
Aeron swallowed.
"Oh good. Something else is waking up."
Serik's face went pale.
"Not something."
He pointed toward the darkness splitting open behind the platform.
"Someone."
A silhouette stepped forward—tall, armored in ancient obsidian plating, its face hidden behind a smith's mask carved with runes.
A silent sentinel of the gods.
A Forge Warden.
Its head tilted toward Aeron.
"—oh," Aeron muttered weakly.
"Fantastic."
The Warden stepped fully into the light.
The ruins roared.
The beasts howled.
The forest trembled.
And Aeron realized the forge wasn't waking to greet him.
It was waking to test him.