The fire snapped softly, casting long shadows that danced against the chamber walls — walls carved by hands long vanished, smoothed by time and tremor. Smoke curled upward into cracks in the ceiling, disappearing like breath into a sleeping throat.
Rei finished the last of the root stew and set the bowl down.
Durik was still crouched near the embers, picking at a sliver of roasted root. His eyes, though half-lidded, missed nothing.
Kaia spoke first. "These halls… they weren't built like cities. They feel older. Wilder."
Durik grunted in agreement. "Not built — carved. Bled from the mountain. Back when the Forge was young and the runes still listened."
He picked up a dull stone from a nearby pile, turning it over in his palm. On one side, a faded glyph shimmered faintly in the firelight — a symbol of flame inside a circle of teeth.
"This here? It's part of the First Forge Ring. Oldest known channel veins. The dwarves of that time didn't need hammers to wake stone — they whispered, etched, and the mountain obeyed. Rune-fire, they called it. Burned without fuel. Sang when you struck steel."
Rei leaned forward. "Why did it stop?"
Durik let the stone drop with a muted thud.
"The veins went to sleep."
He said it like a man speaking of kin who had simply stopped answering the door.
"The runes dulled. The fire slowed. We thought it was corruption. Blight. Sabotage. But no." He shook his head. "It's deeper than that. Something in the bones of the world… just stopped listening."
Kaia's brow furrowed. "You think it can wake again?"
"I know it can." Durik tapped his chest with a thick finger. "That's why I'm here. The council sits on their stone thrones and debates dust. But the Forge doesn't need talk. It needs answers." He gestured to the etched tablets piled around them. "The sigils in these halls were made before we named ourselves dwarves. If I can piece them back, rebind them with breath and iron... maybe we light the fire again."
Rei stared at the glowing rune beneath their feet — faint, blue, pulsing like a heartbeat half remembered.
"And if you do?" he asked. "What happens then?"
Durik grinned. "Then we remember who we are. And the Forge sings again."
The words hung there, heavy with weight. Not just hope — but defiance. A dwarf's belief not in destiny, but work. In hands stained black with soot and still reaching.
Kaia broke the silence. "This place… it's quiet. But not dead."
Durik nodded slowly. "Aye. That's what troubles me."
He stood, brushing ash from his trousers. "I've been here moons now. Tracing sigils. Listening for breath. And just this past day, the runes started… shifting."
Rei's gaze snapped to him. "Shifting?"
"Not visibly," Durik said. "But I can feel it. Like a hum through stone. Faint, but growing. As if the veins are stirring. Or… remembering something."
He grabbed a cracked tablet and laid it before them. Upon its surface was a spiral — layered with dwarven runes and something else beneath, ancient and jagged, half-buried like a second voice.
"This wasn't here before," he said. "I etched this myself three nights ago — clean. But when I woke yesterday, this… underlayer had surfaced."
Kaia stared at it, her fingers ghosting over the spiral. "That's not dwarven."
"No," Durik said grimly. "And it burns colder than any rune I've felt."
Rei felt a familiar chill rise in his ribs. The mark beneath his skin pulsed — faint, but sharp.
Kaia looked at him.
"You feel it too?"
He nodded. "Whatever's moving down here… it's not just dwarven memory."
Durik didn't ask. He simply crouched beside the fire again, eyes distant.
"I came to wake the Forge. But sometimes I wonder if the Forge is dreaming of something else. Something… older. Something hungry."
The fire popped, sending sparks upward.
Durik didn't look away. "There's a place deeper still — The Anvilward. A chamber where the old smith-lords bound flame to stone. I haven't dared go further. Not alone."
Rei met his eyes. "We'll go with you."
Kaia didn't protest. She simply rose, folding her arms.
Durik's grin returned, broad and iron-hearted. "Ha! I thought you might say that."
He reached for a smaller pack and slung it over his shoulder, then retrieved a long-handled torch etched with three sigils.
"But not tonight. Tonight you rest. Tomorrow, we descend — into the Anvilward. And if we're lucky…"
He tapped the stone with the end of the torch.
"We find fire waiting."