The forge was buried beneath three levels of back alleys and one hidden trapdoor.
Noah found it by accident—or so it seemed. He'd been following a trail of rumors: a recluse smith who once worked with the gods, someone who'd vanished after the last great war between Familias.
The heat hit him first.
Then the sound.
Metal striking metal in a rhythm too perfect to be human.
He stepped inside the dim-lit forge.
The air smelled like steel and ash.
A figure stood at the anvil—a woman with dark bronze skin, long raven-black hair tied behind her, arms bare and scarred from years of work. Sparks danced around her like fireflies.
Without turning, she said, "You're late."
Noah blinked. "I didn't even make an appointment."
"You came for answers. Or upgrades. Maybe both." She placed a glowing sword into a basin of water with a loud hiss. "So? Which is it?"
He hesitated. "You know who I am?"
She finally turned. Her amber eyes glowed faintly with a molten hue. Not divine—but close.
"I know what you are," she said. "Or rather, what lives inside you."
Noah tensed. "...The Kevin Template?"
She nodded.
"I forged weapons for Kaslana once," she said. "Before the gods rewrote the surface and the world forgot who saved it."
Noah's breath caught. "You're from that world?"
"I was dragged into this one with him," she said. "I watched him fight. Bleed. Burn. And now…" She stepped forward and placed a hand over Noah's chest.
"That same flame lives in you."
The forge flared brighter behind her.
"I can awaken the rest of your weapons. Heaven's Judgement is only half open. But it comes at a price."
"What kind of price?" he asked.
She smiled faintly. "You'll burn faster. The power will come, but it will consume you—bit by bit."
Noah didn't hesitate. "Do it."
She nodded.
"Come back in three days. And bring something to offer. Not money. Memory."
He raised an eyebrow. "Memory?"
"You'll understand when you see what's waiting for you in the deep."
---
Later that evening, Noah returned to the church to find Hestia sitting on the floor surrounded by old maps, scrolls, and one half-eaten apple.
"Where've you been?" she asked without looking up.
"Shopping for fire."
She snorted. "Of course you were."
He sat across from her, unrolling one of the scrolls. "What is all this?"
"Guild floor schematics. I had to sweet-talk five different officials for these."
"I'm sure that was difficult."
"Shut up."
She pointed to a wide circular floor pattern near the bottom of the parchment. "This is Floor 18. The Safe Zone. It's the next major goal."
"That far already?" he asked.
"The Guild wants you to lead a proper expedition this time. Not just throw you at death with a ragtag crew."
"And what do you want?"
She looked at him.
"I want to see you come back."
That silence between them was deeper than before—almost weighty.
He nodded slowly. "I'll get us there."
Hestia reached into her cloak and pulled out something small—a single silver earring.
"This was mine," she said. "I used to wear it before I came down to the surface."
He stared at it. "Why give it to me?"
"You'll need an anchor," she said softly. "Something real. Something that reminds you who you are when the fire starts taking too much."
Noah took it, turning it over between his fingers.
"I'll keep it close."
---
At the same time, deep in the slums of Orario, the black market flickered with new activity.
A masked figure stood before a table covered in maps and bloodied coins.
"He survived the Crimson Ravager."
"Yes."
"He'll be reaching Floor 18 within the month."
"Yes."
The masked one placed a finger on a spot deep beneath the city—an uncharted abyss below even the Dungeon's last recorded level.
"Then he must never reach it."
They slid a dagger across the map.
"Send the White Knives."
Another voice growled from the shadows.
"Time to kill a legend before he learns who he is."
---
That night, Noah dreamed of fire.
Not destruction.
But memory.
He saw flashes of another life—of Kevin's battles, of a battlefield of ash and monsters with no names. A girl with blue hair crying in his arms. A brother standing alone in a frozen wasteland. A promise made under a dying sun.
Noah woke with sweat dripping down his face.
The earring lay on the table beside him.
He picked it up, fastened it to his ear, and stood.
Something deeper was calling him now.
And he wasn't going to ignore it.