The heat began as a throb in his veins, a slow burn that crept from the cut on his arm up to his shoulder, then coiled around his ribs like a living thing.
Kaden's breath hitched, his fingers digging into the rocky soil beneath them.
Serena's head lifted from his shoulder, her gray eyes widening at the tremor in his body.
She pressed a hand to his cheek—cool, steady, a lifeline against the inferno rising within.
"Kaden?" she mouthed, her voice a silent plea.
He couldn't answer.
The burn had spread, now searing through his chest, his throat, until it pooled behind his eyes like molten iron.
The world blurred at the edges.
Serena's face, the gorge's jagged cliffs, the faint glow of his skin—all dissolved into a wash of red.
Then he fell.
Not into darkness, but light.
The air hummed with the roar of a forge.
Kaden staggered, his boots hitting stone that radiated heat.
Before him loomed a colossus of a furnace, its flames licking the ceiling of a cavernous hall.
The fire wasn't orange—it was silver, streaked with veins of gold, and within it flickered hundreds of shadows: swords, hammers, daggers, each one pulsing with a faint, familiar light.
Soul weapons, he realized.
The ones he'd forged for the dead of Grey Mane.
A chime echoed, sharp and metallic.
"Detection of Forge God blood resonance." The system's voice, but deeper, older, as if filtered through layers of ash.
"Initiating [Blood Awakening] protocol."
Kaden's palms tingled.
He raised a hand—his skin had gone translucent, the veins beneath glowing with the same silver-gold as the flames.
His eyes stung.
When he blinked, the world sharpened, the forge's runes etched into the stone suddenly legible, the whispers of the soul weapons no longer muffled.
"You are not the first to walk this path."
The voice rolled through the cavern, a rumble like collapsing ore veins.
Kaden spun, but there was no one there—only the furnace, the weapons, and the system's glow now pooling at his feet like liquid starlight.
"But you are the last."
"Last to hold the key." The flames flared, and one of the soul weapons—a curved dagger with a hilt shaped like a coiled serpent—burst free of the fire, hovering before him.
"The Dark Iron seeks to break what the Forge God bound. You… will reforge it."
Before he could ask more, the heat spiked.
His vision whited out, and he gasped, falling backward into cold air.
Pain.
A sharp, icy pain in his temple.
Kaden's eyes flew open.
He was on the ridge again, Serena's hand still on his forehead, her fingers trembling.
Her cheeks were flushed, her breath shallow, as if she'd been straining against something.
When their eyes met, she pulled her hand back, pressing it to her chest as if to steady herself.
"You… did that?" he croaked.
She nodded once, then reached for the small hammer at her belt—the one she used to tap out messages on metal.
The sound echoed: tap-tap-tap, pause, tap-tap.
Kaden's system flickered to life, translating the rhythm into words: "The weapons—they called. Tried to pull you under."
He sat up, his head spinning.
The cut on his arm had healed, leaving only a faint scar.
His skin no longer glowed, but beneath it, he could still feel the forge's pulse, steady and insistent.
"Called?" he repeated.
"Like… summons?"
Serena nodded, more urgently now.
She tapped the hammer again: "Not curses. Summons. To their masters."
She pointed to her own chest, then to his heart, her gaze burning.
Kaden's throat tightened.
The soul weapons he'd forged—for the grieving widows, the haunted veterans—they hadn't been traps.
They'd been invitations.
Waiting for someone like him.
A chime sounded in his mind.
The system interface flickered, a new tab materializing: [Blood Resonance].
"Ability unlocked: Link with specific soul weapons to share partial abilities. Duration: 1 hour per weapon. Cooldown: 24 hours."
He thought of the sword he'd left unfinished for Finn, the blacksmith who'd vanished weeks ago.
The blade had never taken shape—until now.
Maybe it wasn't broken, he realized.
It was waiting.
A distant bell tolled.
Serena stiffened, her head turning toward the east, where the horizon glimmered with the first hints of civilization.
"Capital City," she mouthed, her fingers spelling the word in the air.
Then she scrawled in the dirt with a stick: "They search for you… but they wait."
"Who?" Kaden asked, though he already knew.
The Dark Iron Council.
The ones who'd hunted his master.
The ones who needed a Godsmith to forge the Hammer of the Gods.
Serena's stick hovered, then wrote: "They fear you. Fear what you'll become."
The bell tolled again, louder now.
Kaden stood, brushing dirt from his cloak.
His hand went to the hammer at his belt—his father's hammer, his master's legacy.
The forge's pulse quickened.
"Then it's time I stopped running," he said.
Serena looked up at him, her eyes softening.
She nodded, then reached into her pack, pulling out a pair of travel-stained cloaks—common, unremarkable, perfect for blending in.
The sun dipped lower, painting the gorge in hues of amber.
Somewhere, beyond the hills, the spires of the capital rose, their shadows stretching like waiting hands.
Tonight, Kaden thought, as he adjusted his cloak, they'd be more than fugitives.
They'd be hunters.
And the Dark Iron Council?
They were about to meet their blacksmith.