Chapter 32 – Blood of the Forge
The forest burned from beneath.
Long tongues of red fire crept through the soil like veins of a living thing, splitting the roots of ancient trees and turning the ground to glass. Every breath Kael took shimmered with heat. The forge's pulse echoed in his veins—steady, rhythmic, unrelenting.
He walked through the heart of Ironwood with the Heartstone fused to his chest, its crimson glow dim but constant, a reminder of the power now living inside him. Each step he took left faint scorch marks on the ground.
Serin followed a few paces behind, silent but tense. The man in front of her looked like Kael—moved like him—but something was wrong. The light in his eyes wasn't human anymore. It flickered like a forge flame, beautiful and terrible all at once.
"Kael," she said quietly.
He stopped, turning slightly. His face was shadowed by the smoke, his voice low and rough. "Say it, Serin."
"You're not sleeping. You're not even resting. You haven't blinked since the forge… took you."
He gave a humorless laugh. "Sleep? That luxury burned away down there. The forge doesn't rest, and neither can I."
Serin's fingers twitched near her sword. "You said it was over. That you killed the Wraith Commander."
Kael's jaw tightened. "I did." He looked toward the horizon, where a faint crimson shimmer rippled in the distance. "But death isn't the end anymore. The forge changed that."
"What do you mean?"
He looked down at his hands. The veins beneath his skin glowed faintly. "Every soul that died in Ironroot… every smith, every soldier… I can hear them now. In the metal. In the earth. They're calling."
Serin's expression hardened. "That's not them, Kael. It's the forge. It's using you."
He turned fully now, eyes burning brighter. "No. It's showing me. Ironroot doesn't die—it's reborn. I can make it strong again."
She took a step closer. "By what? Melting the dead into your veins? You're not saving Ironroot—you're becoming what we fought against."
Kael's lips parted as if to answer—but then the ground shook violently. Both turned as a distant roar split the night. From the depths of the forest, black light erupted, spearing into the sky.
"The Foundry Below," Serin whispered.
Kael's hand clenched around his sword hilt. "Someone reopened it."
Before they could move, the air thickened. Shadows pooled around them, rising like smoke, coiling into shapes—faces, armor, voices. The Wraiths. Their commander was gone, but the army lived on, tethered to the same dark forge that now pulsed inside Kael.
The first Wraith lunged from the mist, blade shrieking. Kael met it mid-strike, his own sword igniting with crimson light as he swung. The force of the impact shattered the creature into molten fragments. Another came—and another. He tore through them like a storm, every swing leaving a trail of fire.
Serin fought beside him, swift and precise, her blade flashing silver. But as the battle raged, she noticed something—each Wraith that fell didn't just vanish. Their essence was drawn toward Kael, their shadows twisting into him.
"Kael!" she shouted. "Stop! You're absorbing them!"
He didn't answer. His eyes had gone completely red. His strikes grew faster, wilder—less human. When the last Wraith fell, the forest fell silent again, save for the low hum of power emanating from Kael's chest.
Serin approached carefully. "You have to fight it. Whatever that thing's doing to you—"
"I'm fine."
"No," she snapped. "You're not."
Kael turned sharply, his glare cutting like a blade. "If I were gone, Serin, Ironroot would already be ash. I'm keeping it alive."
She stared at him. "At what cost?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he turned and began walking toward the glowing rift where the black light had pierced the sky. "The forge isn't done. Someone's down there—someone's using it again."
Serin hesitated, then followed.
The descent into the reopened Foundry was worse this time. The walls bled heat, and the metallic smell of burning blood filled the air. Where once there had been chains and relics, now there were bodies—fresh, still twitching, half-bound to the stone by molten roots of ore. Their eyes glowed faintly, and their mouths whispered words in no language Serin could bear to hear.
"This is wrong," she said, voice trembling. "Kael, we need to destroy it."
Kael stepped forward, the light from his chest casting long red shadows. "No. We need to finish it. The forge needs a master—or it'll consume everything."
From the depths of the chamber, a slow, rasping voice answered.
"Then it already has one."
They froze.
From the molten floor rose a figure—no longer the Wraith Commander, but something worse. His form was fused with the metal, his armor part of his flesh, his voice an echo of the forge itself.
"You think you ended me, Kael," it said, its tone dripping with mockery. "But I was reborn through you. Every spark you took, every shadow you claimed—they were mine."
Kael raised his blade. "Then I'll end you again."
The Wraith's molten mouth curved into a grin. "You can't kill the forge, Kael. You are the forge now."
The ground split open, spilling rivers of liquid iron. The walls trembled as the forge itself came alive, screaming with the voices of the lost. Kael staggered as pain lanced through his chest—the Heartstone pulsing violently, as if being pulled toward the molten figure.
"Kael!" Serin shouted, rushing to his side.
He dropped to one knee, clutching his chest. His voice came out strained. "It's trying to take me—"
"Then fight it!" she screamed.
He looked up at her, eyes flickering between red and gold, the man and the monster warring beneath his skin. "If I lose this fight, Serin… you end it. Do you understand me?"
Her jaw tightened, tears glinting in the firelight. "Don't make me do that."
The molten figure surged forward, striking with a blade of liquid steel. Kael met it mid-swing, the cavern erupting in shockwaves of heat and light. Sparks cascaded like rain. Each impact sent echoes through the stone, shaking the foundations of the mountain.
Kael's voice roared over the clash. "You wanted a master? Then bow!"
The Wraith laughed, his molten face twisting. "You were born to kneel."
Their blades locked, and in that instant, the forge screamed. Kael felt it tearing through his soul, burning, branding, reshaping. He let it in. Not because he wanted to—but because he had no choice.
His body became light and metal, his veins molten rivers. The forgefire exploded outward, swallowing both combatants in crimson flame.
Serin was thrown back, her body hitting the ground hard. Her ears rang, vision blurring from the searing brightness. When the light finally dimmed, Kael stood alone—his armor melted into his skin, his face half-shadow, half-flame. The Wraith was gone.
But the silence that followed wasn't peace. It was the silence before something worse.
"Kael…"
He turned to her slowly. His eyes glowed brighter than before—too bright. The Heartstone's light had consumed him completely. His voice came out deeper, layered with echoes of others.
"It's over," he said. "Ironroot is safe."
Serin rose shakily to her feet. "No. It's not. You've become what we swore to destroy."
He stepped closer, the heat rolling off him in waves. "I'm what Ironroot needs. The Wraiths were just the beginning. There's more—beyond the mountains, beyond the realm. This world will burn unless we make it stronger."
"And who decides that? You?" she demanded.
Kael's expression softened for a fleeting moment. "You think I want this? I didn't choose it, Serin. The forge chose me."
She shook her head slowly. "Then I'll do what I have to."
Her blade whispered from its sheath, silver reflecting the crimson fire.
For a long moment, they stood in silence—two warriors, once bound by loyalty, now divided by destiny.
Kael didn't move. His voice was quiet, almost human again. "If you raise that blade, make sure you finish it. Because I don't know how long I can hold this thing inside me."
Her hands trembled. The air between them shimmered with heat and grief.
Then, from deep within the forge, a new sound began—a low, rhythmic beating, like a heart made of stone. The walls trembled, cracks running up through the ceiling. Molten light poured from the fractures.
Serin's eyes widened. "The forge—it's not done!"
Kael turned toward the rising glow, eyes narrowing. "No," he said softly. "It's awakening."
Above them, the ground began to crumble. The forest shook. Rivers of light burst upward, and from the molten depths, something vast began to rise—a shape too large to comprehend, a god of iron and flame reborn.
Serin backed away, horror in her eyes. "Kael, what have you done?"
He looked at her, the last remnants of his humanity flickering in his gaze. "What had to be done."
The mountain roared, splitting open. And as the world above trembled, Kael—once man, now half-forged, half-fate—walked into the light to face the thing he had unleashed.
The last thing Serin saw before the cavern collapsed was his silhouette against the fire—alone, defiant, burning brighter than the gods themselves.