Smoke rolled over the cliffside like a living thing. The forest below burned where Kael's blast had struck, the trees crackling with blue fire instead of orange. The constructs were gone from sight, but their metallic howls still echoed in the distance.
Kael's heart thudded so hard it hurt. He clenched his marked palm to stop the trembling, but the faint hammer-and-anvil sigil pulsed beneath his skin, alive and warm. Orlen stood beside him, face pale, as if staring at a stranger.
"Boy…" Orlen finally said. "No forge on this earth can do that."
Kael's mouth was dry. "It wasn't a forge on this earth."
Wind tugged at their cloaks, carrying sparks from the burning woods. For a long time neither of them spoke. Then a voice rose from behind them — old, cracked, and full of certainty.
"You have been chosen," the voice said.
Kael turned. A cloaked woman leaned on a staff at the edge of the path. Her hair was silver, bound in braids, her eyes milky-white but unclouded by blindness. She wore a pendant shaped like a hammer over an endless spiral — the same mark now etched into Kael's palm.
"I am Seryth Venn, Keeper of the First Anvil," she said. "And you have no time to waste."
Orlen stepped protectively in front of Kael. "Who are you to—"
"I am the one who's been waiting for this moment since before you were born," she cut in. "The Forge Eternal whispers to few. To be called is rare. To be marked…" She trailed off, gaze flicking to Kael's palm. "That is destiny hammering its nail shut."
Kael swallowed. "These constructs — what were they?"
"Collectors," Seryth said. "Scraps of the old world, built to hunt Sparks of Creation. They are drawn to your mark now. They will not stop." She looked up at the falling stars. "More are coming. The Forge is breaking. And you, Kael Draveren, are now the only one who can reach it before it collapses."
Orlen barked a laugh that sounded more like despair. "He's just a boy. He's a blacksmith's apprentice."
"Exactly," Seryth said. "The Forge does not choose kings or priests. It chooses hands that understand creation."
Kael felt a strange steadiness rising through his fear, as though the mark on his palm were an anchor. "If I go with you," he asked, "where?"
"To the Road of Ash and Iron," she said. "The first step toward the Eternal Forge. There you will learn to shape the Spark before it shapes you."
Another metallic howl drifted through the forest. Closer now. Kael tightened his fists.
"Then we should leave," he said.
Orlen caught his arm. "You don't owe them anything. Stay. We can hide you."
Kael looked back at his master — the man who had taught him every hammer swing, every way metal could fracture under strain. And yet he knew hiding was impossible. His hand glowed faintly, as though agreeing with him.
"I'm not running," Kael said softly. "I'm forging."
Seryth's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Good. The road will be hard, but so is steel before it's tempered." She tapped her staff against the rock. The ground beneath them rippled, revealing a narrow path of black stone veined with silver light leading down into the burning forest.
"The Road of Ash and Iron waits," she said. "Follow before the Collectors find us."
Kael took one last look at the forge smoke rising above the village, then stepped onto the path. The stone was warm under his boots, thrumming like a distant drum. The whispers returned, no longer chaotic but rhythmic, like hammer strikes guiding him forward.
—Step by step. Strike by strike. Shape your fate.—
And for the first time, Kael felt the hammer in his soul lift, ready to fall.