The tunnel opened into a cavern wide enough to contain the echoes of a hundred hammers. Blue veins of light stretched across the walls like a network of living energy, pulsing in rhythm with the Forge in Kael's hand. He stepped cautiously, dagger glowing faintly, Rilith at his side, and Seryth behind them, her staff tapping a deliberate rhythm.
"You feel that?" Rilith whispered, eyes scanning the cavern. "Someone's here. Not a Collector… something else."
Before Kael could respond, a figure stepped from the shadows. A man, tall and imposing, clad in blackened armor etched with glowing red sigils. His eyes burned with ambition, reflecting the blue light of the Forge, yet twisted with desire.
"Ah," the man said smoothly, voice like metal sliding over stone. "So the Forge has finally chosen its champion."
Kael tightened his grip on the dagger. "Who are you?"
"I am Kael," the man replied, his tone almost mocking, "the one who will claim the Forge for the world it deserves. Unlike you, I understand its true power."
Seryth stepped forward. "You are not the Forge's master. It chooses, not the ambitious. Its power is not for those who take, but for those who serve its purpose."
The man smirked. "Serve? No. The Forge exists to create, yes—but creation is meaningless without control. And control is mine to claim."
Kael's pulse quickened. The Forge hummed in his hand, as though aware of the danger. The man drew a curved sword, its edge glowing with red fire. Sparks danced across the cavern floor.
Rilith moved beside Kael. "We face him together," she said, positioning her mechanical devices. "He's strong, but we can use the Forge's pulse against him."
The man lunged. Kael dodged, feeling the hum of the Forge guide his movements. He struck at the man's arm, the dagger leaving a streak of blue light across the red sigils. The man staggered but recovered instantly, eyes narrowing with fury.
"You rely too much on instinct, boy," the man hissed. "I have studied the Forge. I know its rhythms. You are predictable."
Kael's heart pounded. The whispers of the Forge returned, urgent and rhythmic:
—Adapt. Learn. Anticipate. Strike with purpose.—
He adjusted, watching the man's patterns. Every swing, every lunge, every movement had a rhythm — but it wasn't rigid. There were tiny deviations, flaws, openings. Kael signaled to Rilith. She activated her devices, creating a mirrored pulse of light that distracted the man just long enough for Kael to strike at his chest.
The man roared, but instead of collapsing, he smirked through the pain. "Impressive," he said. "But the Forge has more lessons for you, boy. More strikes, more choices, more… consequences."
Before Kael could respond, the man vanished into the shadows, leaving a faint trail of red sparks and a warning etched in the air: —The Forge will be mine.—
Kael lowered the dagger, breath ragged. "He's… coming back," he said.
Seryth placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Yes. And when he does, you must not only fight, but outthink him. The Forge is as much a battle of mind as it is of strength. Remember this. He is ambitious, but ambition alone cannot wield the Forge without purpose."
Kael looked down at the glowing dagger, now calm in his hand. "Then we prepare," he said. "I won't let him take it. Not while I live."
The whispers returned, softer now, like a steady heartbeat:
—Forge with purpose. Strike with intent. Protect the path you have chosen.—