The tremors stopped, and the vast hall of the ruined cathedral turned silent once again. The anvil, which had become incandescent during the crafting of the Curse, was emanating a red glow and waves of sweltering heat. Dust particles danced in the dim light, glistening like sparks of essence.
Seven iron rings lay on the glowing anvil. Their dull grey surface had turned entirely black now, and apart from silk thread and diamond string coiled tightly around segments of each one, they had no adornments.
The black rings were not connected, either… not yet, at least.
Sunny let out a long sigh.
All three of his incarnations did, rather, exhaling at the same time — the sound of their breath was like the last whisper of forge bellows.
