Aelric didn't say anything. He stared at his hands. They were still his, but something lingered beneath the skin, resonance from the Tribunal's essence, fragments of their role now nestled in his soul.
The voice was quiet. Too quiet. It should have spoken, as he had already absorbed their essence. As he was thinking it spoke.
[You have absorbed more than memory. That trial left a mark. Be wary, Aelric. Justice, when worn as armor, easily becomes a cage.]
He nodded, the city holds many secrets, and then it shows. But one thing was clear. The judgment was over, and he was still standing.
Soon, they left the place, and they continued to descend. Dar below the ruined city, the stone shifted in texture, from the carved marble to something rougher, volcanic, marked with veins of glowing crimson.
Each step Aelric took left behind a faint imprint, which was a very interesting mechanism; that faint imprint gives light to the surrounding.
The tunnels narrowed and twisted, forming a winding path that seemed almost a winding path that seemed almost organic in design, like they were moving the arteries of a long-dead god.
Veyra led the way, her stride confident yet cautious, her eyes betraying familiarity that she refused to explain. Her silence has grown heavier since the Tribunal's fall, as though something about this destination stirred memories better left buried.
Eventually, the tunnel opened into a vast chamber, and Aelric's breath caught. Before then stood the Abyssal Forge.
A monolith of obsidian and bone, suspended between jagged pylons of archaic machinery, the forge pulsed with a heartbeat all its own.
Streams of molten essence course through iron veins, and above the central dais hovered a crucible, black as void, but swirling with faint light.
The Voice of the Abyss spoke. [This is no mere artifact. It is an echo of the old world. The forge predates the city itself.]
Veyra stepped forward, brushing her fingers against one of the pylons. The structure responded with a groan, runes igniting in dull red light along its base.
Aelric narrowed his eyes. "You have been here before."
She didn't turn to face him. "I once watched the rulers forge weapons meant to control the Abyss. Chains that could bind thought. Blades that can cut time. But it didn't end well."
"And you didn't think to tell me this before?"
Now she slowly turned back, her grin shrank and hollowed. "Would you have come, knowing the Forge may consume more than just materials?"
He didn't answer. The tension between them hung thick. But beneath it was something else, an opportunity for him.
He stepped towards the crucible and unhooked the chains bad claimed from the Chainkeeper, now worn with use but still humming with latent power.
Memories of that battle, the labyrinth, the cursed blade, the howls, flashed behind his eyes. But there was immense potential in those chains. But it needs refining to bring it out.
The Voice spoke again, alerting him.[You must offer not only material, but also an intent. The Forge reshaped what you are as much as what you hold.]
Aelric took a deep breath, then cast the chains into the crucible.
The crucible flared white hot. The chamber darkened. Energy surged into the pylons, and a guttural thrum echoed through the walls.
Hear pressed down like a smothering hand. Symbols danced in the molten stream below the forge, some ancient, others unnervingly familiar.
Veyra moved to a side console, her fingers dancing across controls too precise for guesswork.
"You are helping me," Aelric muttered. "But why?"
"I want you to survive," she replied, her tone unreadable. "And I want to see what the forge will make for you."
The crucible shattered. From its remains, chain shimmering obsidian and soulsteel floated in the air, humming with energy.
The links were etched with unfamiliar runes, and where each end met, spectral wisps curled like hungry tendrils.
Aelric reached out and grasped it. Soulbound Shackles acquired.
The moment contact was made, a surge of pain lanced through his nerves. His vision split, one half seeing the chamber, the other drawing in memories that weren't his.
Past wielders and victims of the chains. These chains were used for dominion. With effort, he closed his grip, forcing the weapon to accept him.
Then the pulse came. A shockwave exploded from the forge, invisible but palpable, like a scream without sound.
The walls shook, and dust rained from the ceiling. And something answered.
From the far edges of the chamber, sealed alcoves cracked open, their obsidian locks shattering like glass.
From within emerged massive constructs, guardians of the Forge. Titans of bone, sinew, and metal, their forms barely humanoid, their eyes glowing with Abyssal flame.
[Sentinels.] The Voice said. [Bound to protect the Forge and its items. You have awakened then by trying to take the Shackles.]
The first guardian stepped forward. Its footsteps cracked the stone beneath it, and its blade arm extended with a screech of tortured metal.
Aelric snapped his new chains forward. The soulbound Shackles responded with fluid violence, extending midair and lashing around the construct's limb.
Energy siphoned immediately, he could feel its ancient reserves draining and transferred into his core like stolen breath.
The guardian roared and swung, throwing Aelric back. Veyra unleashed an illusion that scattered the next construct's focus, a rain of false Aelric's filled the chamber.
Each of them taunting, weaving between attacks. Meanwhile, the real Aelric rolled to his feet, blood seeping from his lip.
"I need time!" He shouted. "Then buy it yourself," Veyra said, conjuring tendrils of light that coiled around a second guardian's legs.
Aelric charged towards the titan, this time letting the Forge's residual energy flow through him. He lashed the chains forward, catching the construct's neck. The runes on the chains flared, and he pulled.
The guardian convulsed. Its eyes dimmed. The Abyss within it was ripped free in a flood of shadow and agony. As it collapsed, Aelric gasped, sweat pouring down his face. Two more remained.