The Dustspine Mountains were not made of earth.
They were made of bone.
Not human. Not animal. Godbone—the remains of titans too old for names. Spines of jagged gray rock rose into the clouds like the fingers of a corpse clawing for the sun. Wind screamed through the crags, and the sky above was a pale, starless void. The sun hadn't shown since we crossed into this cursed range.
Alectra moved ahead of me, silent and sharp, eyes scanning every peak.
"Keep your sword drawn," she said, barely a whisper. "The forge is buried beneath the ribs of the first god-killer."
"The what now?" I asked, stepping over a frozen stream that reeked of rust.
"Long before the pantheons, before the first myth, there were creatures that fed on gods. One of them died here. And they built the Forge of Echoes in its skeleton."
"How poetic," I muttered.
Then the mountain shifted.
The path we walked cracked beneath our boots. A tremor rolled through the bones. Snow lifted. Ice split.
I reached for my blade—
And something rose from the mountainside.
Not something.
Someone.
A giant.
Ten feet tall. Skin like tarnished bronze. Eyes glowing orange. Its joints hissed with steam, and gears spun across its shoulders like tattoos. Its face was blank metal, and across its chest glowed a symbol—∞—the mark of the Eternal Makers.
"An automaton," Alectra growled. "Old as the forge itself."
The giant looked down at us. Then its chest opened with a hiss of air. A deep, grinding voice echoed from within:
"Blood of the Forgotten. Purpose: confirmed. Trial: initiated."
Its arms slammed together.
Blades snapped out from both wrists—five feet long, glowing with fire.
It charged.
Fast.
Too fast.
I leapt back as it cleaved the stone I was standing on clean in two.
I hit the ground rolling, sparks flying from my boots.
Alectra vanished and reappeared behind it, slashing down with both voidblades—only for the automaton to rotate its torso 180 degrees and block with its armored forearm.
Sparks exploded as metal met magic.
I charged, sword humming.
The automaton pivoted—then opened its mouth.
A sonic blast fired from its core. Pure sound. I felt my bones rattle. My vision blurred. I stumbled, dropped to one knee.
Before I could recover, it was above me.
Blade raised.
I raised mine—
CLANG!
The impact launched me into a wall of bone.
I coughed, blood in my mouth.
"Your strength is not enough," Alectra called out, still dancing between its strikes. "The forge demands more."
I gritted my teeth, grabbing my blade.
"Then give me more."
The runes on the hilt flared.
Something cracked inside my chest—like a seal being broken.
Energy rushed up my arm. Not just fire, not just heat.
Divinity.
My pupils burned gold.
I stood.
The automaton turned—too late.
I slashed upward in a rising arc.
The wave of energy split the snow, the mountain, the sky.
It caught the automaton in the chest—and blew it apart.
Pieces of molten steel scattered across the slope.
But the victory was short.
From the canyon below, more machines rose.
Ten.
Twenty.
Fifty.
Each one marked with the same ∞ sigil.
Each one armed, glowing, and angry.
"They're not stopping," I said, breathing hard.
Alectra didn't answer.
Instead, she stepped forward, removed a pendant from her neck, and threw it into the snow.
The ground shook.
Then it opened.
A stone gate beneath our feet split apart, revealing a spiral stairway glowing with red light.
"This way!" she yelled, grabbing my arm.
We ran.
Down into the forge.
The air was thick with heat. Runes pulsed along the walls. Lava flowed beneath glass floors. The ceiling above was carved with faces—crying, screaming, chanting. All of them ancient. All of them gods.
At the center of the chamber stood a throne made of black steel.
And on that throne…
A crown.
It hovered in place, untouched, spinning slowly. Made of silver fire and obsidian blades. A band of shifting symbols moved across its surface—each letter an ancient divine tongue.
I felt it before I even stepped close.
Power.
Pure, raw, endless power.
But it came with something else.
A whisper.
"Who dares wear the mantle?"
The forge itself was alive.
Alectra looked at me. "This is your choice. The crown was forged by your mother and father, using the bones of the dead pantheon. It will test you. If you fail—your body will burn from the inside out."
"And if I succeed?"
"You will awaken what sleeps in your blood."
I stepped forward.
The crown hovered down, slowly, until it was level with my face.
I reached out.
Touching it felt like touching a star.
Pain. Light. Memory.
My mind exploded.
I was no longer in the forge.
I was floating in a void.
Surrounded by gods.
Thousands of them.
Some with wings of galaxies. Others with mouths too wide, bodies made of storm and stone. Each one stared at me.
A throne stood empty in front of me.
And on that throne was my reflection.
Older. Broken. Crowned.
It looked up and smiled.
"You finally arrived."
Then the world snapped.
I gasped, back in the forge.
The crown now rested on my head.
My sword glowed like a sun.
Behind us—the automaton army broke through the stairway.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
I didn't hesitate.
I raised my sword.
And everything stopped.
The world held its breath.
Then I swung.
A wave of divine light erupted from the blade.
It didn't slice.
It erased.
Machines disintegrated mid-step.
The forge trembled.
A voice boomed through the chamber.
"Crown recognized. Wielder: Ascended."
I collapsed to one knee, breathing like I'd just climbed the sky.
Alectra stared at me, wide-eyed.
"You shouldn't have survived that."
I grinned weakly. "Guess I'm just lucky."
"No," she said softly. "You're a god in waiting."