CHAPTER 3 : The Flame Beneath The Fame
C
CHAPTER 3 : The Flame Beneath The Fame
CLANG!
SPARKRNNNNNK—CHHHHK—GRRRRWWWWNNK…
The metallic platform, what Kael called the Monster Elevator, rumbled as it descended deeper and deeper into the vertical shaft.
Crystalline formations lined the shaft walls, glowing in a spectrum of brilliant colors. The raw Might Crystal shimmered like frozen lightning, casting dancing lights across the passengers.
Kael, Nibsken, and Durmuk waited in silence.
Kael rummaged through his backpack, checking his tools. Nibsken adjusted his glasses, squinting at the glowing walls.
Then Durmuk cleared his throat.
"Kael, ma boy," he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the hum of machinery. "That strange black box you gave me weeks ago the one you found in your room. I think I've finally figured it out."
"Box? Oh that box!" Kael snapped his fingers. "What's up with it, boss?"
Durmuk nodded, arms crossed. "That thing's strange. It lights up when someone with Might touches it. Looks like there's an Elemental Might Crystal embedded inside."
Kael tilted his head. "Really?"
"Yeah," Durmuk continued. "The glow matches the last element the person used. If they recently used fire, the lines turn orange. If it was water, they would turn blue."
Kael's eyes narrowed with curiosity.
"But that's not the weirdest part," Durmuk said. "The glowing lines form something that looks like writing… symbols or runes, maybe. But I can't read them. I've shown it to workers from all sorts of races, elves, dwarves, Draganoid even an elder elementals. Nobody could make sense of it."
He leaned in slightly. "But maybe you can read it, ma boy."
Kael's lips curled into a grin. "Yeah, boss! I'll give it a try!
After a few minutes of them talking the monster elevator finally began to slow.
Then finally it appeared, The Place of the True Flame.
The legendary forge that birthed the weapons for the Realm Protectors… the armor of heroes… and the sacred tools wielded by the great races.
SWOOSHHH!
A wave of heat burst upward, and a deep roar echoed through the cavernous expanse.
As the platform groaned and descended deeper, the true Forgehold finally revealed itself before the trio's eyes.
SCREEEEE!
"MORE HEAT OVER HERE!!"
"BRING IT TO THAT SPOT, VOLGAR!"
"YES, SIR!!"
"THAT METAL AIN'T GONNA FORGE ITSELF, OCULITH!"
"PRESSURE! MORE PRESSURE ON THE CRYSTALS!"
Voices roared from every direction, commands, shouts, curses. Echoes of urgency bounced across the vast forge. Every shout came from a different race, all working in chaotic harmony.
This was the heart of creation.
The place where the strongest equipment in the realm was born.
THE UNDERGROUND LEVEL OF KALLIDORRA FORGEHOLD.
A massive cavern, its height ceiling stretching as far as the eye can see, held up by twelve towering diamond pillars, each rising approximately 400 feet high. Suspended above, dozens of enormous Might Crystals cast radiant light across the entire chamber, their glow pulsing like the heartbeat of the forge itself.
At the very center stood the colossal furnace—
A roaring titan of fire, divided into multiple compartments, each calibrated for different metals and their unique melting points. Flames licked the air, spitting heat and sparks in every direction.
Along the edges that seem so far as far as the eye could see, seven wide mine shafts descended even deeper, each connected by rails and carts—overflowing with raw metals and shimmering Might Crystals of every variant. The full carts rattled along the tracks, heading toward their designated selection departments, where materials would be sorted before entering the great furnace.
Every race from across the realm worked side by side—
Elves, Cyclops, Pixie, Trool, orcs, draganoids, giants, dwarves, Elementals, beastfolk, even the insectoids.
It was heat.
It was thunder.
It was proof that unity is strong enough to bend reality.
No matter how many times Kael laid eyes on it, the Forgehold still left him speechless.
His gaze swept across the glowing crystal ceiling, the roaring furnaces, the races working shoulder-to-shoulder in chaotical harmony.
His eyes shimmered, wide with wonder.
"It's still just as amazing as ever," he whispered.
Beside him, Nibsken said nothing.
His silence wasn't emptiness
It was reverence. The kind that doesn't need words.
Durmuk, meanwhile, just smiled. A deep, slow smile born not of surprise, but of pride.
This Forgehold. This living monument of heat and Might was all his ancestors had left him. And yet, to him, it was more than enough.
Because this was proof.
Proof of hard work.
Proof of unity.
Proof that when all races forged together, they could create something even time bowed down.
In this vast underground level of the Forgehold, five distinct types of workers exist. Drawn from many races, each fulfilling a vital role in the grand machine of creation. Every worker wears a specific badge on their working shirt, symbolizing their role and distinguishing them from the others.
First, there are the Miners, also known as the hand of Forgehold (their symbol is a pair of crossed hands gripping a pickaxe). Hailing from mighty races like ogres, orcs, and a mix of crystal and metallic golems—alongside sturdy earth elementals—these are the ones who descend into the seven deep mineshaft caves. With raw power and endurance, they unearth the ores and crystals buried far beneath the earth's surface.
Second, the Lifters and Crushers, the muscle of Forgehold (marked by the image of a flexed bicep wrapped in chains). Their station lies directly connected to the ore cart rail system, where carts arrive full of raw metals and crystals. Armed with colossal hammers and mechanical crushers, this area is dominated by giants and even a few titans whose immense strength is necessary to break the minerals down. Once crushed, these materials are placed into massive sacks and hauled by the giants to the next station.
Third, the Selectors, the eye of Forgehold (their shirts bear the symbol of an eye watching over metal and crystal). Here, the races of precision and perception take over elves, goblins, gnomes, and even smaller beings like pixies and faeries. Under tent-like structures lined with sorting tables, they carefully inspect, categorize, and divide the crushed ore and crystals, determining which are ready for the next step.
Fourth the Supporters.They were the legs and wings of the Forgehold, the ones who carried, lifted, delivered, and moved with tireless precision. (They were identified by the emblem on their uniform, a winged boot of feathered wing). This role supports and connects every other section. Trolls and cyclopes transport heavy chunks of selected materials to the forge's central melting zone. Flying beastfolk, insectoids, dragonoids, birdbeasts, and even spirits carry delicate or rare metals with care. These supporters also deliver blueprints from the labs, transport completed equipment to testing areas, and, if the gear is for titans or giants, carry it in multiple parts across the facility.
Fifth, and perhaps most revered, are the Forgers, the Hearth of Forgehold (symbolized by a hammer striking above a stylized Hearth). This section is led by master artisans dwarves, elves, and elementals of fire, ice, water, and magma. They shape the molten ore, crystal, and metal into true masterpieces. This group is elite divided by skill and rank from young apprentices to ancient forgers who have honed their craft for hundreds of years. Only a handful are considered true masters, but every single one is respected.
Durmuk, as the boss of the vast Forgehold, referred to the five worker types collectively as the Penta Flame, a name that symbolized their unity, strength, and the five essential forces that kept the heart of the Forgehold burning.
This underground level is not merely a busy worksite.
It is a symbol.
A symbol that even with different skin colors, heights, genders, and ancestral backgrounds, the many races of this realm can work together, live in peace, and function like a family.
It seems logical on the surface cooperation brings results.
But still… one question lingers:
Why is it that all these different races can achieve unity
Yet us humans, who come from a single race, cannot?
The sounds of the Forgehold echoed in every direction. The bark of commands, the rattle of rails and carts, the shattering of crystals, the bending of metal, the rhythmic pounding of the forgers' hammers, and the constant chatter of the selectors and supporters. It was a living, breathing machine of noise and motion.
But amidst all that, it was clear—none of these roles seemed suited for Kael.
He wasn't as strong as the crushers, nor as agile as the supporters. He couldn't fly, and he didn't possess the raw stamina of the miners. So where did he belong?
Durmuk had the answer.
Kael didn't need to lift or fly,because what he could do, better than most, was invent and design. So Durmuk created a place just for him: a space where tools were forged from ideas, and blueprints spoke louder than muscle.
End of Chapter 3
Kael cannot have those hard labour as his work
So what and where will he work?
Only Durmuk Had the answer for him