The Road of Ash and Iron wound through a forest scorched black, its trunks twisted into strange spires. Sparks of silver light drifted above the path like lazy fireflies, but they burned holes in the leaves where they landed. Kael followed Seryth closely, each step echoing faintly as though he were walking inside a giant bell.
He glanced back once. Master Orlen stood at the edge of the village, a dark silhouette against the glow of the forge. He lifted a hand but said nothing. Kael forced himself to look forward. The road thrummed underfoot, almost alive.
"Where does this path lead?" he asked.
Seryth's staff clicked against the stone. "To the Anvil of Shadows, the first gate of the Forge Eternal. There you will learn to wield the Spark."
Kael rubbed his palm. The sigil still glowed faintly. "And if I fail?"
"You will be unmade," Seryth said without looking back. "The Spark will find another host."
They walked in silence. The air thickened, turning metallic, carrying the smell of hot iron and ozone. When the trees finally parted, Kael stopped short. Before them lay a massive open cavern — a hollowed-out bowl of stone, its walls lined with chains and broken hammers. In the center, floating above a pool of dark glass, hung a black anvil streaked with blue veins. It pulsed with a heartbeat Kael could feel in his teeth.
"This is it," Seryth murmured. "The Anvil of Shadows."
Kael's mouth went dry. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Place your marked hand on the anvil," she said. "Let it read you."
He stepped forward slowly. The closer he came, the louder the whispers grew, no longer words but the sound of hammer strikes, each one resonating with his heartbeat. He reached out, palm trembling, and pressed it to the cold metal.
The cavern vanished.
Kael stood on a plain of starless black, lit only by flickers of molten blue. Shapes loomed at the edge of his vision — outlines of hammers, bellows, furnaces, none of them quite real. Then a colossal figure emerged from the dark, made entirely of flowing iron and flame, its face a blank mask of heat.
—Shape or be shaped— the figure intoned. —Prove your hand worthy—
A lump of raw metal rose from the black floor, glowing like a newborn star. A hammer materialized in Kael's grasp, heavy yet balanced. Instinct told him: forge this metal or it will consume you.
He swung. Sparks burst out, each one forming fleeting images — his village, Orlen, the constructs, Seryth's face, all dissolving like smoke. He struck again and again, sweat streaming down his brow even though his body wasn't really there.
With each strike, the metal changed shape, becoming less a lump and more a blade of light, but also more unstable. The figure circled him, speaking in whispers and thunder: —Every strike is a choice. Temper your will. Know your edge.—
Kael raised the hammer one last time. He felt the Forge's power running up his arm, hot and infinite, threatening to burn through his veins. Instead of striking, he exhaled slowly and quenched the glowing blade in a phantom trough at his feet.
A chime rang through the void — a sound like ten thousand anvils striking at once. The blade solidified into a faintly glowing shard that floated before him.
—You have taken the first shape— the voice said. —Now wield it.—
Kael blinked and found himself back in the cavern, gasping. His marked palm now held a slim, blue-lit dagger made of the same metal as the shard from the cliffside. Seryth's eyes flickered with satisfaction.
"You forged your will," she said. "Most lose themselves on the first trial."
Kael looked down at the dagger. It pulsed like a heartbeat in his grip. "This… this came from me?"
"From you," she said softly. "And from the Forge."
A sudden roar echoed through the cavern. At the entrance of the path stood three Collectors, their iron bodies scorched but unbroken. This time their eyes burned not blue but deep orange — hotter, angrier.
Seryth's grip tightened on her staff. "They've tracked you even here. The trial isn't over, Kael. It's only just begun."