The crucible roared to life.
Rings of ancient glyphs spun along the inner walls, casting a shifting brilliance of red and gold across the chamber. The twelve colossal forge-golems—Echo Sentinels, as Gorran later identified them—rose in synchronized grace, their movements sharp, deliberate, and disturbingly fluid for beings made of obsidian and metal.
Duncan stood still, one hand still touching the obelisk's surface, the other gripping his sword. His brand no longer glowed but burned beneath his skin like a seared tattoo. The obelisk had accepted him, linked with him. Every movement of the Sentinels, he could feel—not control directly, but influence.
"They're bound to your intent," Gorran said as he observed the runic sequences on their chestplates. "You're not commanding them like a puppet master—you're issuing purpose. Think like a tactician, not a controller."
Duncan nodded. "Then we anchor this place."
Suddenly, from the corridor behind them, a deep tremor surged—followed by a blast of air and the unmistakable stench of scorched stone. Ashryn sprinted to the entry arch and looked back up the tunnel.
"Contact!" she barked. "Multiple. Two squads. Path enforcers with blaze-fangs!"
"Too fast," Alra growled. "They must've known exactly where to breach."
"Which means," Gorran muttered grimly, "they were following us the whole time. Probably marked our path the moment we entered the first sanctum."
Duncan looked at the Sentinels. "Time to test their purpose."
He reached into the crucible's intent, pushing a single thought outward: Defend the chamber. Hold the inner perimeter. Do not leave.
The twelve Sentinels responded instantly. Their eyes lit with searing gold, and they fanned outward into a perfect phalanx, positioning themselves at the six entrances that branched from the central forge. As they moved, sigils activated on the floor, forming glowing wards of defense.
Ashryn joined Duncan's side. "We've got maybe four minutes before the Path breaches. And they'll come heavy."
Alra was already loading her crossbow and checking the flint charge. "Then we make those minutes hurt."
A deafening crash echoed above.
The upper shaft shattered.
Stones rained down as a circular drop-tunnel collapsed in on itself—and from it descended black-cloaked figures in spirals of gliding descent. The Path had brought down an entire corridor just to reach them faster.
Ashryn didn't wait. With a sharp whistle, she hurled a pulse-spear directly into the center of their descent. It exploded mid-air, throwing two Path zealots against the walls like rag dolls.
"Welcome committee," she muttered.
But more followed.
Down the shaft came the blaze-fangs—feral, dog-like beasts with cracked obsidian skin and glowing vents of internal flame. They howled with a demonic pitch as they landed and immediately fanned out. Some scrambled across the walls. One charged straight for Duncan.
He met it mid-lunge with his sword drawn low, sidestepped the leap, and brought his blade up in a rising arc. The weapon's edge struck through the blaze-fang's neck with a hiss of steam and a burst of molten gore. The beast collapsed in a heap.
All around, chaos erupted.
Gorran shouted as a Path magister hurled a disk of compressed wind into his direction—he ducked just in time, rolling and firing his wrist-flare in return, blinding the zealot for a second before Alra buried a bolt into his skull.
Three of the Sentinels roared and moved into action. Each wielded arm-mounted weapons—massive glaives that burned with forging fire. When a group of Path enforcers tried to rush one entrance, the golem guarding it stepped forward and slammed its glaive into the ground. A fissure of searing heat erupted forward, engulfing the squad in a fiery arc.
Another tried to breach from the rear tunnel. The Sentinel stationed there activated a perimeter rune. The tunnel itself collapsed in a controlled implosion, sealing the path.
Duncan moved like a man possessed.
He ducked beneath the strike of a Path duelist, countered with a brutal elbow to the gut, and ran his blade through the man's chest. Blood spilled in an arc, and Duncan pivoted, parried another strike, then kicked his assailant into the path of a charging blaze-fang.
He wasn't just fighting—he was flowing. The crucible responded to his state of mind. Every surge of clarity enhanced the movements of the Sentinels. Every doubt dulled them.
Focus became a weapon.
More Path forces surged into the chamber. This time, they brought something worse—two Spirebringers. Towering figures draped in robes of woven chain and crowned with crystalline helmets, they moved with jerky, inhuman grace. Their arms ended in staves shaped like inverted pyramids, and from them, they unleashed concussive blasts of raw mana.
One blast struck the side of the forge wall, obliterating stone and knocking one Sentinel to its knees.
Ashryn grunted as she ducked another barrage. "Those two are destabilizers! They're trying to collapse the chamber!"
"Break the Spirebringers!" Duncan yelled.
Alra and Gorran didn't wait. While Duncan and Ashryn kept the bulk of the zealots occupied, Alra vaulted onto a broken column and took aim at one of the Spirebringers. She timed the shot, holding her breath.
The bolt flew.
It struck the crystal helm just as the figure turned. The head snapped back—but did not shatter.
The Spirebringer turned toward her and raised its staff—
Then Gorran, from behind, surged forward with a hooked chain, wrapping it around the staff and yanking with all his might. The weapon flew out of the creature's grasp—and in that opening, one of the Sentinels came crashing down with a hammer blow.
The Spirebringer was crushed beneath it.
The other tried to flee—but Duncan reached into the crucible's intent again.
Intercept.
A Sentinel turned instantly and hurled its glaive like a javelin. The blade impaled the fleeing Spirebringer against the wall, pinning it there as it thrashed and screamed before finally going still.
Silence.
The battle was over.
Bodies littered the floor, both human and beast. Several of the Sentinels bore heavy dents, scorched limbs, and gouged plating—but all stood upright. None had fallen.
Ashryn limped forward, blood streaming down her thigh. "That was their third assault. They'll come again."
"They will," Duncan said quietly. "But now we know this place is more than just a relic."
He turned back to the obelisk. Its runes had changed—new glyphs had appeared at the top, shimmering with arcane purpose.
"What is it doing?" Gorran asked.
"It's… preparing something," Duncan replied. "A final seal."
The obelisk flared with golden light.
A voice echoed once more through the crucible:
"Final Protocol active. Vault Threshold Initiation in progress. Echo Rhys—approach the Heart."
Ashryn frowned. "The Heart?"
From the center of the obelisk, a small, square panel detached and floated forward—hovering at chest height.
Duncan approached.
The moment he touched it, a flood of memories surged through him—not his own. Ancient recollections of blood-forged skies, of roaring dominion fleets, of an empire collapsing under betrayal.
The last memory was of a man—shrouded in armor shaped like flames, eyes like suns—burying something deep beneath the crucible.
Then Duncan spoke a single word:
"I accept."
The light vanished.
The vault opened.
And deep beneath the dominion of war, a secret long buried began to awaken.