The village bells clanged wildly, not with the clumsy rhythm of alarm but with the deep resonance of something ancient stirring. Kael ran toward the cliffs, his boots skidding on wet stone as villagers poured from their houses. Some stared skyward in awe. Others fled toward the forest. Above them, falling stars hissed as they tore through the clouds like silver knives.
The whispers inside Kael's head had grown clearer, threading through the chaos like a melody only he could hear.
—The path begins where iron ends—
—Follow the sparks—
Behind him, Master Orlen shouted, "Kael! Don't you dare go near that madness!" But Kael's legs moved on their own, drawn toward the glow at the cliff's edge.
He crested the ridge just as a fragment of the falling star slammed into the ground ahead of him. The impact rocked the earth, throwing him to his knees. Dust and heat rolled out in a blinding wave. When the haze cleared, a crater yawned before him, glowing with veins of molten blue. In its center lay a shard of metal unlike any he'd ever seen — half-blade, half-ember, humming like a struck bell.
Kael reached for it.
The moment his fingers brushed the shard, a surge of cold fire raced up his arm. Images erupted in his mind: a colossal anvil floating in a sea of stars, titanic hammers swinging in unison, a forge without walls and without end. He gasped, clutching his head, but the vision wouldn't stop.
—We are the Forge Eternal— the voice whispered, no longer distant but towering. —We have waited for hands unburned, for will unbent. You will carry the Spark of Creation.
Kael staggered back, but the shard rose on its own, hovering inches above his palm, glowing brighter with each heartbeat. The villagers at the edge of the cliff screamed and crossed themselves.
"By the Ancients…" Orlen's voice cracked. He had followed Kael after all. "What is that?"
Kael swallowed, his mouth dry. "I… I don't know."
The shard pulsed once more and then dissolved into a swirl of blue motes, which seeped into Kael's skin. His veins lit up for a moment like molten rivers, and then the glow faded, leaving only a faint mark on his palm shaped like a hammer striking an anvil.
Then, silence.
Until the wind shifted.
A low, metallic howl drifted from the forest below — not an animal sound, but something forged, something alive. Out of the shadows lumbered three silhouettes of iron and bone. Constructs, taller than any man, their eyes burning with the same blue light now flickering in Kael's palm.
"Run!" Orlen shouted, dragging Kael by the arm.
Kael barely managed to keep his footing as the first construct clawed up the cliffside, its fingers sinking into the rock as if it were clay. The whispers in his head became a chorus:
—Stand. Shape. Strike.—
He spun, looking for a weapon, but his hammer was back at the forge. His only defense was his hands — and the mark.
For a heartbeat, the world slowed. The glow on his palm brightened, forming a small flicker of blue flame. When the construct lunged, Kael thrust his palm forward. The flicker burst outward in a shockwave of light, hurling the creature back into the trees below.
The remaining constructs paused, as if reassessing. Their heads tilted in perfect unison, eyes locked on him.
Orlen whispered hoarsely, "What in all the worlds have you become, boy?"
Kael stared at his hand, still trembling, the faint blue glow dying away. "I don't know," he murmured. "But I think the Forge just chose me."
The wind carried the sound of hammer strikes again — distant yet unmistakable. The Eternal Forge was calling.