They gathered at the break of second bell.
The feasting was done, though half-empty horns still lingered in hands. The smoke of roasted meats had faded from the air, leaving only the scent of coal and the tang of forge-oil. The Great Hall of Emberdeep had grown quiet. Heavy. Like the moment before steel strikes the mold.
King Rurik sat not on his throne, but on the edge of the forge dais—mantle stripped, crown absent. Only fire lit his face now, dancing across the lined angles of a ruler who no longer needed ceremony to be feared.
Around him stood six.
Durik, silent, arms crossed.
Two Runepriests in crimson robes, their palms inked in ancient glyphs.
The Master of Deepguard, with arms of stone and beard wrapped in wire.
And across from them, Rei.
He stood straight, but the weight on his shoulders was not just that of stone gazes. Kaia stood near, silent but watchful, and the gem within Rei's satchel pulsed faintly—as if aware it, too, was being judged.
The King's voice broke the silence.
"What did the elves see that made them walk this far beneath the mountain?"
No one answered.
He looked to the Runepriests. "Speak."
The elder among them bowed slightly. "The Rift, my King. They spoke of it not as myth, but as presence. Living. Lingering."
"And the boy?" Rurik's eyes rested on Rei.
"He carries it," said the other priest. "Or it carries him."
Kaia's jaw tightened, but Rei raised a hand gently. "Let them speak."
The Master of Deepguard stepped forward then, voice as deep as the caverns he ruled. "Let me take him to the Deep Vaults. Study him. Not harm. Not bind. But if he carries power, we should learn to shape it."
"Like a weapon," Kaia said flatly.
"Like a torch," the dwarf replied. "If the tunnels darken again."
Rurik said nothing for a long while.
The forge cracked behind him. Sparks rose from the molten pit—bright, flickering, like fireflies dancing on the edge of memory.
Then the King spoke.
"Our ancestors found a flame buried at the center of this world. Not fire. Not magma. Something older. Something willing to burn, if shaped properly. They called it the Breath. And from it, we forged Druvadir."
He stood.
"Today, that breath grows wild again."
He turned to Rei.
"And you… are part of that breath."
Rei didn't flinch. "I never asked for it."
"None of us ask to carry flame," Rurik said. "We only choose how long we hold it before it devours us."
The silence that followed was not hostile—but filled with gravity. Everyone in the chamber could feel the tremor beneath the King's words. He wanted something. And he was circling it like a blacksmith testing a mold before the pour.
Durik stepped forward then, voice careful.
"Father."
The word hung strangely between them.
"I've watched him. I've walked beside him. He is not what the priests fear."
"But he is not what you are," Rurik replied.
"No," Durik said. "He's something else. And maybe that's what we need."
Rei blinked, surprised. Durik rarely spoke so… cleanly. No sarcasm. No bravado.
Just belief.
Rurik stared at his son for a long moment. Then he sighed, and gestured toward the side wall.
"Bring it."
A dwarven attendant stepped from the shadows, carrying a long, cloth-wrapped shape. He moved with reverence, but no hesitation, and placed the object carefully on the stone table between them.
Rurik nodded to Durik.
"He forged it for you," the King said. "Unasked. Unbidden. The forge called to him the moment it breathed again."
Rei hesitated.
Then stepped forward.
He undid the cloth.
Inside was a blade unlike any he had ever seen.
Its length was shorter than a longsword, longer than a shortsword—balanced, brutal, and black as cooled ash. The surface shimmered slightly, as if light bent awkwardly around its edges. Its core glowed faintly with red-veined fractures—like the dying heart of a coal left too long in silence.
The hilt was wrapped in charred leather. The pommel bore a crude engraving: a loaf of bread… cleaved in two.
Rei blinked. "Is that—?"
Durik cleared his throat. "Yeah. I, uh… called it Bread Cutter."
Kaia let out a single, surprised snort.
Even Rurik raised an eyebrow.
"Bread… Cutter," Rei repeated.
"I panicked, alright?!" Durik barked, reddening. "It was hot and glowing and I had to name it something before the magic settled!"
Rei grinned, holding the sword aloft.
"It's perfect."
Kaia shook her head, exasperated. "You're both idiots."
Rurik approached then, one hand resting on the blade's flat.
"Fragments of Skarnveil were found in the Forge," he said. "They should not have survived. But they did. That sword bears their echo. It is part of our history. And now… part of yours."
Rei sheathed the sword slowly.
Something pulsed beneath his ribs.
Not fear.
Not hunger.
But purpose.
He met Rurik's gaze.
"What do you want from me?"
Rurik did not answer right away.
He turned back to the forge.
Watched the flames.
Listened to them.
Then said:
"I want to see if the fire that chose you… regrets it."