Waiting for the Circle
Lady Pyrrhagon soared effortlessly through the skies of the Fyr Domain.
Each beat of her enormous wings displaced the clouds themselves, scattering ribbons of ash that glowed like embers beneath the crimson heavens. Warm currents rolled across her crimson scales as streams of fire escaped lazily from the corners of her mouth, dissipating harmlessly into the open sky.
Perched comfortably against the base of her neck, Ryu leaned back with his hands behind his head.
The wind whipped wildly through his bandana and tangled his dark hair as a sigh of relief escaped him for what felt like the first time in days.
Below them, the mountains of the Fyr Domain stretched endlessly.
Volcanoes breathed columns of molten light into the heavens.
Rivers of lava carved glowing paths through black valleys.
Entire forests of obsidian swayed gently despite having no leaves, their molten sap dripping slowly onto stone that never seemed to cool.
Beautiful.
Violent.
Alive.
Earlier...
Just after Seravynn had finished explaining who Eralyx was...
Ryu had practically bolted for the palace doors.
"Then let's go!"
Luto had already begun following before Seravynn's calm voice stopped them both.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible."
The brothers turned simultaneously.
Seravynn folded her hands behind her back.
"The teleportation circle Lord Ignovar left behind has remained dormant for quite awhile."
"It cannot simply be activated."
Luto frowned.
"...How long?"
"Our military mages estimate approximately one day."
Ryu blinked.
"...A whole day?"
"The circle was never designed for routine travel."
"It reaches somewhere intentionally hidden."
She glanced toward the distant southern wing of the palace.
"Even for me..."
"...activating one of Lord Ignovar's circles would be difficult."
She paused.
"And frankly..."
"...I cannot leave the palace unguarded long enough to attempt it."
Ryu tilted his head.
"...Why?"
"The Fyr Domain has enemies and especially with you here."
Her answer came immediately.
"If something happened while I am weakened like a divine attack..."
"...I would have failed my duty."
That explanation seemed more than enough for Ryu.
"...Oh."
He simply nodded.
"Makes sense."
Before another thought could form—
Something warm wrapped around his waist.
"...Huh?"
Lady Pyrrhagon had gently lifted him off the ground using her tail.
The massive dragon let out an eager rumble before beginning to walk toward the palace gates.
"Whoa!"
Ryu laughed.
"Where are we going?"
Lady Pyrrhagon answered only with another pleased growl.
Luto took one step forward.
"Wait a—"
He stopped himself.
His eyes shifted toward Seravynn.
There were still questions.
Questions Ryu probably wouldn't sit through.
He sighed.
"...Go."
Ryu grinned from atop Lady Pyrrhagon's shoulder.
"Don't miss me too much."
"I know you already do."
"...Shut up."
Present.
Lady Pyrrhagon banked sharply around the side of a dormant volcano.
Ryu let out an excited shout as the wind nearly threw him sideways.
"You definitely planned that."
The dragon answered with a playful rumble.
"I knew it!"
Ryu laughed.
"You're just as bad as Luto."
She snorted another small burst of flame.
Ryu stared across the endless mountains.
"...Wonder what he's asking..."
He scratched his cheek.
"...Eh."
"Nah."
"He'll tell me later."
His thoughts drifted away almost as quickly as they had appeared.
Instead...
He simply watched.
For the first time since Vanthelos...
There wasn't a battle.
There wasn't a countdown hanging over his head every second.
Just wind.
Heat.
And an enormous dragon happily carrying him across a living sea of fire.
Back at the Palace of Scorching Vow...
Silence filled the vast audience chamber.
Luto sat against one of the colossal basalt pillars, one knee raised while absentmindedly spinning Nulvyr between his fingers.
Across from him, Seravynn remained exactly as composed as ever.
Luto finally spoke.
"...Why Eralyx?"
She looked toward him.
"...What about him?"
"You said he's hidden."
"He isn't a Sovereign."
"He isn't Divine."
"So why go through all this effort?"
Seravynn was quiet for a moment.
Then she answered.
"Eralyx has served beside Lord Ignovar longer than I have drawn breath."
"And..."
"...I suspect longer than most civilizations have existed."
That caught Luto's attention immediately.
"He is one of the greatest minds the mortal realms have ever produced."
"Scholar."
"Engineer."
"Healer."
"Historian."
"There are very few disciplines he has not mastered."
She looked toward one of the palace windows.
"...Knowledge has always been his greatest weapon."
Luto nodded slowly.
"...Which also makes him dangerous."
Seravynn's eyes met his.
"Precisely."
"The less the multiverse knows of him..."
"...the longer he survives."
She continued.
"That is why Lord Ignovar's teleportation circle demands such an enormous amount of cosmic energy."
Luto frowned.
"...Transportation?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"...Concealment."
"Almost ninety-five percent of the energy consumed by that circle never goes into transportation."
"It goes into ensuring no one realizes the transportation happened at all."
Luto's eyes narrowed.
"...Wait."
"So teleportation circles and portals..."
"...aren't actually the same thing."
Seravynn released something close to an exhausted sigh.
"...You ask many questions."
Without looking up, Luto answered flatly,
"I've been told that my entire life."
For the first time—
The corner of Seravynn's mouth twitched upward.
"...You truly are the complete opposite of your brother."
Luto merely shrugged.
"I've accepted that."
She folded her arms.
"A portal..."
"...is a tear."
"You force reality apart."
"You cross."
"Then you seal it."
"A teleportation circle..."
"...is an anchored passage."
"The destination already exists."
"The path has already been prepared."
"The energy simply activates what has already been woven."
Luto listened without interrupting.
She continued.
"Every time reality tears..."
"...the multiverse notices."
"It creates a disturbance."
"A wave."
"The Divine monitor those disturbances."
"They call them cosmic wave signatures."
Luto slowly lowered Nulvyr.
"...Radar."
"In simple terms."
She nodded once.
"Creating unauthorized portals across dimensions is illegal under Divine Law."
Luto blinked.
"...Illegal?"
Seravynn looked genuinely surprised.
"I'm honestly amazed you and your brother weren't discovered sooner."
Luto leaned back against the pillar.
"My master warned me."
"He told me never to attempt long-distance portals."
"I always assumed it was because they were unstable."
His eyes drifted downward.
"...Turns out..."
"...he was protecting us."
The realization lingered for several quiet moments.
Finally—
Luto looked back toward Seravynn.
"...Then how do you hide a teleportation circle?"
She answered immediately.
"An anchor."
"The destination already exists."
"The tear only remains open for the smallest measurable instant."
"If enough energy is supplied..."
"...the disturbance appears no different than natural spatial distortion."
She paused.
"And right now..."
"...with the Divine searching everywhere..."
"...that difference matters."
She walked toward one of the glowing windows overlooking the volcanic landscape.
Her voice became noticeably quieter.
"Never mind you."
"Never mind your brother."
She watched the endless crimson horizon.
"If Eralyx is discovered..."
Her expression remained unreadable.
"...your journey ends before it ever truly begins."
Fifteen Pulses
15 PULSES UNTIL EXECUTION
The crimson hologram burned above a pair of reinforced metal doors.
Then—
HSSSSSS.
The doors slid apart.
A yawn came from the other side.
"...Still fifteen."
Boots clanged lazily against steel.
Commander Ravex Dorian stepped through, rubbing one eye while the massive Divine flagship traveled silently through the stars.
Beyond the reinforced observation windows stretched nothing but blackness.
Stars drifted past.
Distant galaxies shimmered like dust.
Far ahead, several other Divine vessels moved in formation.
One carried High Marshal Tharos Ingrim.
Another—
Commander Aster Veyn.
Ravex stared through the glass.
Tharos.
Reliable.
Terrifying.
Had all the warmth and personality of a fortress wall.
Which Ravex respected immensely.
Then there was Aster.
Ravex frowned.
He respected her too.
Unfortunately.
Mostly because anyone capable of tolerating him for more than a single briefing without requesting his execution deserved some degree of admiration.
"...Maybe half a degree."
He continued walking.
The ships had separated after departure.
Security protocol.
Different commanders.
Different vessels.
Different routes.
All converging on the same destination.
All for one prisoner.
That still bothered him.
Ravex reached another set of doors.
They opened.
Voices immediately spilled out.
The vessel's central hull had been converted into an informal command lounge for the officers traveling aboard. Several commanders sat around a large projection table while attendants moved quietly between them.
The execution was already dominating conversation.
Naturally.
One officer leaned backward in his chair.
"Public execution is too merciful."
Ravex paused just outside their line of sight.
Another commander glanced over.
"Merciful?"
"Absolutely."
The first took a drink.
"After everything that creature has done?"
He scoffed.
"They should tear him apart."
"Send pieces to the temples."
"Hang them beneath the Seven's shrines."
A commander across from him laughed.
"That's it?"
"What would you suggest?"
"Keep him alive while they do it."
Several officers chuckled.
Another didn't.
A younger commander sitting near the edge of the table frowned.
"...I thought Divine Executioners were weapons."
The laughter quieted slightly.
He looked around.
"That's what we're taught."
"Created to execute the Seven's judgment."
"If that's true..."
"...why bother punishing one?"
Ravex finally entered.
"Because he was a child once."
Several heads turned.
Someone groaned.
"...Dorian."
Ravex pulled out a chair.
"Lovely seeing you too."
One of the older commanders stared at him.
"How long have you been enlisted?"
Ravex thought.
"Four cycles."
A few officers laughed.
The older commander nodded.
"That explains it."
Ravex raised an eyebrow.
"Explains what?"
"Why you still call that thing a child."
The humor disappeared from his voice.
"Ten cycles ago..."
"...I deployed with him."
The table went quiet.
Even Ravex leaned forward.
"Where?"
"Doesn't matter anymore."
The commander stared into his cup.
"We weren't there to fight."
"We were containment."
"Secure the perimeter."
"Prevent escapes."
"Then they sent him in."
A pause.
"The Voidwrath."
Even now—
The name changed the atmosphere.
The commander continued.
"When he arrived..."
"...I could feel him before I saw him."
"Hatred."
His expression tightened.
"Pure."
"Unadulterated."
"Hatred."
"Nothing I've ever felt from another being came close."
Ravex frowned.
That didn't fit what he'd read.
The commander stared across the table.
"There was an entire Daredevil faction inside."
"Thousands."
"Veterans."
"Some of them had survived campaigns against Lesser Gods."
He shook his head.
"It didn't matter."
"The kid went through them."
"One after another."
"They broke his bones."
"He kept moving."
"They cut him open."
"He kept moving."
"They buried him under half a fortress."
"He climbed back out."
The younger commander stared.
"By himself?"
"By himself."
A pause.
"He didn't fall until the last Daredevil did."
Silence.
The commander tapped one finger against the table.
"But that wasn't the strange part."
Ravex's eyes narrowed.
"What was?"
"The moment the order was completed..."
He stopped tapping.
"...the hatred disappeared."
Ravex didn't speak.
"Instantly."
"It was like someone extinguished him."
"No anger."
"No satisfaction."
"Nothing."
The commander's voice dropped.
"And then the energy around him started behaving strangely."
"Everything felt like it was being pulled toward him."
"Heat."
"Cosmic residue."
"Even the atmosphere."
The younger officer swallowed.
"...Like his own gravitational pull?"
The commander nodded.
"That's exactly what it felt like."
Ravex leaned against the table.
"What happened afterward?"
"Two Executioners arrived."
That caught everyone's attention.
"They didn't speak to him."
"They didn't congratulate him."
"They picked him up."
The commander made a slight lifting gesture.
"One under each arm."
"Carried him away."
"Like a broken toy."
Ravex's expression slowly flattened.
"...And that was it?"
"I thought so."
The commander laughed humorlessly.
"Then we got another order."
"Remain."
"Guard the weapon."
Ravex looked interested again.
"His weapon?"
The commander nodded.
"It was still buried in the battlefield."
"A spear back then."
"Or something close to one."
"One of the Executioners tried moving it."
"Couldn't."
Another officer laughed.
"An Executioner couldn't lift it?"
"Not even slightly."
"So eventually..."
The commander shrugged.
"I got curious."
Ravex already knew where this was going.
"You tried."
"I tried."
"And?"
The commander stared at him.
"I nearly tore both shoulders."
Laughter broke around the table.
Even Ravex smiled.
"Outstanding judgment."
"I was younger."
"You were stupid."
"Also that."
The commander continued.
"But that's what bothered me."
"That kid carried it like nothing."
"Swung it with one hand."
"Meanwhile nobody else could even pull it out of the ground."
He leaned forward.
"And when I saw it again recently..."
"...it wasn't the same."
Ravex's amusement faded.
"What do you mean?"
"Larger."
"Much larger."
"As if it grew with him."
"I heard it could take different forms."
"I only caught a glimpse before we begun transporting it to the execution site..."
"...but it changed."
One officer shrugged.
"Could be Astral Forging."
Another nodded.
"Wouldn't be unheard of."
Then someone near the back laughed.
"Astral Forging requires a soul."
A grin spread across his face.
"And that boy doesn't have one."
The table erupted.
Laughter.
Someone nearly spilled their drink.
Another commander slapped the projection table.
Ravex laughed too.
Quietly.
Because that was easier than explaining why the joke had made something in his head click.
Astral Forging.
A weapon tied to its wielder.
A weapon nobody else could lift.
A weapon that had apparently continued evolving alongside its owner.
Ravex leaned back.
The conversation continued around him.
But he stopped hearing most of it.
Almost ten cycles.
That was how long the Divine had deployed the Voidwrath.
Perhaps longer.
Entire Daredevil factions knew his name.
Some surrendered at rumors of his arrival.
Others abandoned worlds completely.
He wasn't merely an Executioner.
He was a deterrent.
One of Heaven's most infamous weapons.
So why kill him?
Ravex's fingers stopped tapping against the armrest.
Why now?
If he malfunctioned—
Destroy him quietly.
If he disobeyed—
Replace him.
If he became unstable—
Seal him somewhere no one would ever know.
Instead...
A public execution.
The first in nearly a century.
Broadcast across countless domains.
Massive military deployment.
Several command divisions.
And the Seven themselves demanding certainty.
Then there was the weapon.
Why transport it?
Why bring something capable of changing shape with him to the place where he was supposed to die?
Unless—
Ravex's eyes narrowed.
The conversation around him became distant.
Three variables.
One bound.
Two hidden.
"...Huh."
He stood.
Someone looked over.
"Leaving already?"
Ravex pushed his chair beneath the table.
"Unfortunately I've started thinking."
A commander laughed.
"Sounds dangerous."
"It usually is."
Ravex walked toward the doors.
The holographic countdown remained above them.
15 PULSES UNTIL EXECUTION
He stopped beneath it.
Stared.
Then glanced toward the stars beyond the observation glass.
Something was wrong.
Not with the execution.
With the reason for it.
Ravex slipped his hands into his coat.
"...I need to talk to Tharos and Aster."
The doors closed behind him.
The Palace
Luto was supposed to be relaxing.
That had been Seravynn's exact instruction.
"You have until tomorrow."
"Rest."
Simple.
Reasonable.
Completely incompatible with Luto.
So instead—
He wandered through the Palace of Scorching Vow.
The section beyond the central chambers opened into vast corridors where entire sides of the palace had been left exposed to the Fyr sky.
Basalt arches stretched overhead.
Molten waterfalls disappeared hundreds of feet below the walkways.
Warm wind flowed freely between enormous columns carved with names Luto couldn't read.
He walked with his hands in his pockets.
Nulvyr floated lazily beside him.
Technically—
This still counted as relaxing.
Probably.
Before leaving Seravynn, he'd asked one final question.
"Does the palace have a smith?"
She'd stared at him for several seconds.
"Of course."
"Celestial?"
That earned him a slightly different look.
"...Yes."
Then she'd given him directions.
"Western hall."
"Past the archives."
"Down two levels."
"Follow the sound of the forge."
She had paused.
"Ask for Orin."
"Orin?"
"Keeper of the Seventh Forge."
Then, as if anticipating what Luto was about to ask—
"Go."
"I'll retrieve you and your brother later."
"We'll arrange accommodations for tonight."
"Tomorrow..."
"The circle should be ready."
So Luto had gone.
Unfortunately—
The Palace of Scorching Vow was enormous.
And Seravynn's definition of western hall apparently included several dozen western halls.
His first wrong turn brought him into an archive.
Not a small one either.
Entire walls disappeared beneath rows of hovering tablets, scrolls sealed inside flames, stone inscriptions and rotating spheres containing preserved memories.
Several Fyr scholars noticed him.
Which became a problem.
Because Luto noticed them too.
He stayed for twelve minutes.
Possibly fifteen.
Only leaving after realizing one scholar had somehow convinced him to sit through an explanation of pre-Collapse volcanic cartography.
His second wrong turn led him through another archive.
Then a third.
His fourth brought him into a chamber occupied by nearly thirty military mages.
That one interested him significantly more.
Several stood around enormous engraved circles built directly into the floor, channeling measured streams of energy through constantly changing geometric arrays.
Likely the same military division preparing Ignovar's circle.
Luto slowed.
One mage looked over.
Luto looked back.
"...Wrong room."
He continued walking.
Five minutes later—
He returned.
"Quick question."
Twenty minutes after that—
He left again.
Eventually.
Somehow.
He found the correct corridor.
"...Finally."
The sound reached him first.
CLANG.
A pause.
CLANG.
Another pause.
CLANG.
Not chaotic.
Not frantic.
Measured.
Each strike exactly where it needed to be.
Luto followed it.
The architecture changed as he went.
The elegant basalt corridors became heavier.
Industrial.
Massive pipes disappeared through stone walls.
Channels carrying molten metal ran beneath reinforced grates.
The air smelled different here.
Iron.
Ash.
Something metallic Luto couldn't identify.
He spun Nulvyr slowly in one hand.
Seravynn's words returned to him.
Celestial Smith.
That term meant two things across the multiverse.
A profession.
And—
Much more rarely—
A people.
The Ferrakai.
Luto had read about them.
Barely.
Most records contradicted one another.
Some described them as descendants of the first mortal smiths.
Others claimed they existed before conventional metalworking had even been invented.
One particularly ridiculous source claimed their ancestors learned forging by striking pieces of dying stars together until one of them stopped exploding.
Luto hadn't entirely dismissed that one.
Ferrakai were supposedly born on a single world.
A colossal forge-planet hidden somewhere beyond ordinary transit routes.
Almost none ever left.
Those who did rarely spoke of where it was.
Maps didn't show it.
Divine records Luto had encountered didn't identify it.
Even scholars seemed to disagree on whether outsiders had ever actually visited.
Yet Fyr had one.
Not merely visiting either.
A Keeper.
That raised several questions.
Naturally.
Luto continued down the corridor.
He'd also always wondered whether the descriptions were exaggerated.
Ferrakai skin supposedly wasn't simply bronze-colored.
It was metallic.
Actually metallic.
Dark bronze flesh that reflected subtly beneath direct light, with tiny glowing fractures running beneath the surface like heat trapped inside cooling iron.
Their hair was supposedly even stranger.
Metal fibers.
Not hair resembling metal.
Actual woven strands with properties closer to flexible alloy than keratin.
Depending on bloodline, heat or tiny sparks occasionally danced along the ends.
And then there were the eyes.
One ordinary.
The other—
A Forge Eye.
At least that was what one text called it.
Supposedly its glow changed depending on inspiration.
Or emotional intensity.
Or proximity to metal.
Luto had found three completely different explanations.
Which meant at least two scholars had probably made something up.
He intended to find out.
The forge grew louder.
CLANG.
Luto's pace subtly quickened.
He'd never admit it—
But he was excited.
"...Wonder if the metallic skin thing is actually true."
CLANG.
"And the eye."
Another turn.
"The eye definitely sounds exaggerated."
He reached an enormous door.
Unlike the ornate entrances throughout the rest of the palace, this one was simple.
Black iron.
Covered in scratches.
Burn marks.
Hammer dents.
No guards.
No ceremonial inscriptions.
Only a symbol embedded at its center.
Seven overlapping hammers surrounding a single flame.
Luto pushed.
The door opened.
Heat rushed over him.
Not Fyr's natural volcanic heat.
Forge heat.
Focused.
Dense.
Purposeful.
The chamber beyond was enormous.
Several furnaces burned along the walls, each producing a different flame.
White.
Gold.
Blue.
One burned completely black.
Weapons hung everywhere.
Swords.
Spears.
Axes.
Armor.
Objects Luto couldn't even identify.
Some looked unfinished.
Others looked ancient enough to belong in museums.
At the center of it all stood a man.
Luto stopped.
Oh.
So the records hadn't exaggerated much.
The Ferrakai stood around six-foot-nine.
Perhaps taller.
His dark bronze skin caught the furnace light with an unmistakably metallic sheen.
Tiny glowing fractures existed along his shoulders and arms, almost invisible until the light shifted.
His frame was enormous.
Broad shoulders.
A back like carved stone.
Forearms thick from centuries—or perhaps longer—spent working a hammer.
Burn scars crossed both arms.
Not wounds that weakened him.
History written into metal flesh.
Long silver dreadlocks fell behind his shoulders, each strand carrying the faint texture of woven metal.
They were tied together behind his back by a simple black iron ring.
His beard was equally thick, braided into three separate sections.
Then there were his eyes.
One was brown.
Calm.
Ordinary.
The other—
Molten amber.
Not simply glowing.
Alive with slow-moving light beneath the iris.
Luto stared perhaps a second longer than socially appropriate.
The Ferrakai never looked at him.
He stood over a massive anvil, examining a thin piece of glowing metal held between two fingers.
Orin.
Keeper of the Seventh Forge.
There was nothing monstrous about him.
Nothing grotesque.
He wasn't handsome in the polished way statues tried to make warriors handsome.
He looked...
Ancient.
Grounded.
Beautiful in the way old oak trees were beautiful.
Something that had survived enough years that the damage had simply become part of the shape.
Luto stepped inside.
Nulvyr rested in his hand.
He idly spun the kaskara around one finger.
Orin's hammer stopped.
Luto waited.
Nothing.
The Ferrakai still hadn't looked at him.
Luto spun Nulvyr again.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
"You're forcing it."
Luto stopped.
"...What?"
Orin finally set the metal onto the anvil.
His molten amber eye shifted.
Not toward Luto.
Toward Nulvyr.
"That."
He pointed with the hammer.
"You're forcing it."
Orin pointed with the hammer.
"That."
"You're forcing it."
Luto stopped spinning Nulvyr.
For a moment, he simply stared.
"...You can tell that just by looking at me?"
Orin returned his attention to the metal resting across his anvil.
"No."
CLANG.
The hammer came down.
"I can tell by listening to it."
Luto looked at Nulvyr.
"...Listening?"
"Not with my ears."
Another strike.
CLANG.
Orin tilted the glowing metal slightly.
"The wavelength running through your weapon is under strain."
Luto's expression changed.
That immediately had his attention.
Orin continued.
"Not the blade."
"You."
Luto slowly lowered Nulvyr.
"...My brain."
The hammer stopped.
Orin's calm brown eye shifted toward him.
Luto sighed.
"I haven't figured out how to completely control it yet."
He tapped the side of his head.
"The electromagnetic energy my brain produces keeps increasing."
"The stronger it gets, the harder it becomes to contain."
"Too much stays up here..."
He tapped his temple again.
"...and everything starts becoming uncomfortable."
Orin waited.
Luto looked toward Nulvyr.
"So I channel some of it through this."
"It takes pressure off."
"Not much."
"But enough."
Orin studied the kaskara for several seconds.
Then—
"Hm."
Luto frowned.
"What?"
"You've found a temporary answer."
Orin turned back toward his forge.
"But you don't understand the problem."
That irritated Luto far more than it should have.
"I understand cosmic energy."
"No."
The answer was immediate.
Luto blinked.
Orin picked up the glowing piece of metal.
"You understand what cosmic energy does."
He inspected it against the forge light.
"You know how to move it."
"How to weaponize it."
"How to shape it."
"How to survive more of it than most mortals your age could endure."
He placed it back onto the anvil.
"Your understanding of what it actually is..."
CLANG.
"...is still that of a beginner."
Luto's eye twitched.
"Beginner?"
"Yes."
"...Right."
Orin almost smiled.
Luto folded his arms.
"And who exactly are you to decide that?"
The Ferrakai finally looked toward him properly.
Luto gestured vaguely at him.
"I mean, Seravynn called you a Celestial Smith, but..."
His eyes moved across the metallic skin.
The silver dreadlocks.
The molten eye.
"...you're actually Ferrakai, aren't you?"
There was a moment of silence.
Then Orin chuckled.
Low.
Warm.
"Perhaps you know slightly more than I gave you credit for."
He rested his hammer against one shoulder.
"Yes."
"I am Ferrakai."
Luto's eyes lit up despite himself.
Orin noticed.
"Though most mortals seem determined to call us Celestial Smiths."
"I thought that was a profession."
"It is."
"And apparently a race now."
Luto almost laughed.
Orin placed the hammer down.
"I heard there were visitors within the palace."
He moved toward another workbench.
"I paid little attention."
"Visitors come."
"Visitors leave."
"Usually they want weapons."
"Occasionally armor."
"Often something they believe will compensate for insufficient training."
His molten eye narrowed slightly.
"Then Lady Seravynn informed me that one of those visitors specifically asked for the palace smith."
Luto shrugged.
"I was curious."
"So I gathered."
Orin looked toward Nulvyr.
"Now that you've explained the condition of your energy, I assumed perhaps you wanted a limiter."
"A regulator."
"Something capable of reducing the strain."
He glanced at Luto.
"Or perhaps you simply wanted that weapon improved."
Luto looked down at Nulvyr.
"No."
Orin waited.
Luto became quiet.
Then asked—
"How do you forge something..."
His eyes moved across the impossible collection of weapons surrounding them.
"...that has never existed before?"
Orin stopped.
Completely.
The black furnace behind him crackled.
For the first time since Luto entered—
The molten amber eye brightened.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Luto noticed.
Orin turned slowly.
"What did you ask me?"
Luto frowned.
"How do you make something that doesn't already exist?"
He gestured around the forge.
"Not reshape metal."
"Not copy a weapon."
"Not improve something somebody already invented."
His voice grew more focused.
"How does a weapon become a weapon?"
"What decides its structure before there's a structure?"
"How do you take something that only exists as an idea..."
"...and make reality agree that it exists?"
Silence.
The forge suddenly felt different.
Orin studied him.
Not his lightning.
Not the amount of cosmic energy in his body.
Him.
Then the Ferrakai smiled.
A genuine one.
"...Ah."
He pulled a massive stool away from one of the workbenches.
"So that's why you came."
Luto blinked.
Orin sat.
"You don't want me to fix your sword."
"No."
"You don't want me to suppress your energy."
"No."
"You want to understand creation."
Luto thought for a second.
"...Basically."
Orin laughed.
The sound echoed warmly throughout the forge.
"Your name."
"Luto."
"Orin."
"I knew that."
"I know."
Luto stared at him.
"...You're annoying."
"I've been told."
And somehow—
Luto liked him immediately.
Orin leaned forward.
"To answer your question..."
He pointed toward Nulvyr.
"...a weapon begins long before the forge."
"Material is the final argument."
"Not the first."
Luto's brows furrowed.
Orin continued.
"Purpose."
"Structure."
"Balance."
"Memory."
"Energy."
"Intent."
"Environment."
"The hand that will wield it."
"The thing it is meant to kill."
"The thing it must never kill."
"Every weapon is the answer to hundreds of questions."
He picked up a small unfinished blade.
"The forge simply forces those answers to coexist."
Luto didn't say anything.
For once—
He simply listened.
And then he began asking questions.
Lots of them.
Minutes became an hour.
Perhaps more.
Neither noticed.
They spoke about alloys.
Energy conductivity.
Weapon resonance.
The difference between enchanting a material and permanently altering its energetic identity.
Why some cosmic weapons rejected wielders.
Why others changed with them.
Why certain metals remembered stress.
Why others remembered intent.
Eventually, the conversation shifted.
Luto sat across from Orin now.
Nulvyr rested horizontally across his lap.
"It started during training."
Orin listened quietly.
"My brain always worked fast."
"Too fast, according to everyone else."
"But once my cosmic energy awakened..."
Luto tapped his fingers against Nulvyr's sheath.
"...it got worse."
"Or better."
"I haven't decided."
Orin remained silent.
"It's like my brain constantly wants more."
"More information."
"More patterns."
"More problems."
"If there's something I don't understand, I can't just leave it alone."
"I need to know why."
He looked around the forge.
"How."
"What happens if you change one piece."
"What happens if you remove another."
His fingers stopped.
"The electromagnetic waves became stronger with it."
"So I started putting the excess into Nulvyr."
"That keeps things manageable."
"But recently..."
His expression became more uncertain.
"...something else started happening."
Orin leaned forward slightly.
"When I touch things..."
"Weapons mostly."
"Sometimes machines."
"Sometimes materials."
"I see..."
Luto searched for the right word.
"...equations."
Orin's Forge Eye brightened again.
"Explain."
"Not actual writing."
"At least I don't think so."
"It's like..."
Luto stared at his hand.
"...my brain takes the object apart without taking it apart."
"Dimensions."
"Weight."
"Density."
"Energy pathways."
"Structural weaknesses."
"Things I don't even know the names for."
"I started writing down whatever I could remember."
"But most of it made no sense."
"Then my master taught me Astral Forging."
His gaze fell upon Nulvyr.
"And when I created this..."
He paused.
"...everything made sense."
"Just for that moment."
"I wasn't guessing anymore."
"I knew."
"Exactly how long it needed to be."
"Exactly where the weight needed to sit."
"Exactly how the energy should circulate."
"Like the weapon already existed..."
"...and I was just finding it."
Orin stared at him for a long time.
Then leaned backward.
"So."
He murmured.
"...Genesis Weaving."
Luto looked up.
"Genesis what?"
Orin folded his massive arms.
"Before that..."
He pointed toward his own chest.
"...you need to understand something about my people."
Luto immediately straightened.
Orin noticed.
"You've been waiting to ask."
"Yes."
The Ferrakai chuckled.
"We process cosmic energy differently from most races."
He placed one hand over the center of his chest.
"Ferrakai are born with what we call a Heartforge."
Luto's eyes narrowed.
"An organ?"
"More complicated."
"A biological furnace."
"A cosmic regulator."
"A second heart."
"All of those descriptions are incomplete."
Orin tapped his chest.
"Our energy enters here."
"Heat."
"Pressure."
"Cosmic force."
"The Heartforge refines them together."
"That is why Ferrakai can manipulate metals others cannot."
"We don't merely heat metal."
"We communicate pressure to it."
"Encourage molecular boundaries to loosen."
"Break alloys apart."
"Bind incompatible materials."
"Convince metal to become something else."
Luto stared.
"...You manipulate the structure directly."
"Precisely."
"So that's why—"
"No."
Orin interrupted gently.
"What you described is not a Heartforge."
Luto stopped.
"In fact..."
Orin's expression became thoughtful.
"...what you're describing is something most Ferrakai cannot do."
He looked toward Nulvyr.
"Genesis Weaving."
The name hung between them.
"It is rare."
"Extremely."
"Creating without relying entirely upon an existing design."
"Seeing the complete structure before matter is convinced to follow it."
Luto leaned forward.
"You've seen someone do it?"
"No."
That surprised him.
"But our histories speak of it."
Orin's voice became quieter.
"Some of the earliest Ferrakai possessed the gift."
"They could look at materials and perceive possibilities no smith had taught them."
"Structures that had never been forged."
"Mechanisms that had never existed."
"Weapons without ancestors."
Luto frowned.
"That sounds like something your people would celebrate."
Orin's molten eye dimmed slightly.
"...You would think."
He looked toward the black furnace.
"They were cast out."
Luto blinked.
"For creating things?"
"For creating incorrectly."
"According to those who judged them."
Orin's expression remained calm.
"Ferrakai tradition is older than many civilizations."
"Tradition can preserve wisdom."
His brown eye shifted toward Luto.
"...and sometimes preserve fear."
Luto caught that immediately.
"You don't agree with what happened."
"No."
Orin answered without hesitation.
"But neither do I know the entire truth."
"History becomes particularly convenient when written by those who remained home."
Luto stared at him.
There was something underneath that answer.
Something Orin wasn't saying.
But the Ferrakai continued before he could press.
"Genesis Weaving isn't imagination."
"That mistake has ruined many scholars."
"You cannot merely imagine a sword and demand reality produce it."
He picked up a small metal pin from the table.
"To truly create this..."
He held it between two fingers.
"...you would need to understand it."
"The dimensions."
"The material."
"The density."
"The stresses it must endure."
"Thermal behavior."
"Energy conductivity."
"Molecular arrangement."
"Every weakness."
"Every strength."
"Every interaction with every component attached to it."
He dropped the pin onto the table.
"And that is a pin."
Luto stared at it.
Orin smiled.
"Now imagine a living cosmic weapon."
Luto's expression didn't change.
Orin's smile widened slightly.
"I've met geniuses."
"Scholars who could calculate stellar collapse without instruments."
"Engineers capable of constructing cities inside unstable dimensions."
"Smiths who spent three centuries mastering a single alloy."
"They tried."
"They failed."
Luto shrugged.
"Okay."
Orin blinked.
"...Okay?"
"That doesn't mean I will."
Silence.
Then Orin laughed.
Loudly.
"Good."
Luto glanced around while Orin's laughter settled.
His attention wandered toward one furnace in particular.
The black one.
Unlike the others, its flame produced almost no visible light.
It curled around the material inside as though swallowing illumination rather than creating it.
Luto stared.
Orin noticed.
"What?"
Luto pointed.
"That furnace."
"What about it?"
"You're not heating the metal."
Orin became still.
Luto stood and walked closer.
"The flame isn't transferring enough thermal energy."
"At least not compared to the other furnaces."
His eyes narrowed.
"It's compressing the enchantment."
Orin said nothing.
Luto moved closer.
"...No."
"Not compressing."
He watched the black flame twist around the glowing metal.
"It's preventing the energy from escaping while the material changes around it."
"So instead of placing the enchantment onto the finished weapon..."
"...you're making it part of the weapon's structure."
Silence.
Luto looked toward Orin.
"Like sealing ink inside glass before the glass cools."
The Ferrakai stared at him.
His molten amber eye suddenly burned brighter.
"...Who taught you that?"
Luto frowned.
"Nobody."
"Then how do you know?"
Luto looked back toward the black furnace.
"I don't know."
He studied it for another moment.
"...I can just tell."
The forge became quiet.
Orin looked at Luto.
Then the furnace.
Then Nulvyr.
Something almost boyish appeared beneath the ancient Ferrakai's expression.
Excitement.
His elbows rested upon his knees.
The Keeper of the Seventh Forge smiled.
"All right, Luto."
He gestured toward the thousands of tools, metals, furnaces, weapons and half-finished creations surrounding them.
"Ask."
Luto blinked.
"Anything?"
"Anything."
A dangerous amount of excitement appeared in Luto's eyes.
Orin immediately realized his mistake.
"...Within reason."
Luto was already moving toward the nearest workbench.
"What's that alloy?"
Orin laughed.
And for the next several hours—
The Seventh Forge stopped being a workshop.
It became a classroom.
A laboratory.
A debate hall.
Two minds separated by age, species and experience found themselves arguing over the architecture of creation itself.
And somewhere between molten metal, impossible equations and questions neither had expected to ask that day—
Luto began understanding something he had never truly understood before.
Nulvyr wasn't the end of what he could create.
It had only been the first thing that taught him how to begin.
Far beyond the Palace of Scorching Vow—
Lady Pyrrhagon descended.
Ryu immediately noticed.
"...Oh?"
The enormous dragon folded her wings and dropped toward one of Fyr's larger volcanic ranges.
The mountain beneath them was enormous.
Its crater stretched for as far as the eye could see.
Molten rivers crawled down its sides while enormous plumes of smoke rolled lazily into the crimson sky.
Ryu looked downward.
Then at Pyrrhagon.
Then downward again.
"...We're going there?"
Apparently—
Yes.
Pyrrhagon dove.
"WAIT—"
Ryu grabbed one of the ridges along her neck.
"YOU COULD'VE WARNED ME!"
The dragon released what sounded suspiciously like an amused growl.
Several moments later—
BOOM.
Pyrrhagon landed on a massive slab of volcanic stone overlooking the crater.
Heat exploded outward.
Ryu coughed.
"Okay."
He slid down from her neck.
"Great flight."
"Beautiful view."
"Almost died twice."
"Very educational."
Pyrrhagon stared at him.
Ryu looked around.
Lava.
Stone.
More lava.
A volcano large enough to swallow a city.
He scratched his cheek.
"...Why are we here?"
No response.
Obviously.
Pyrrhagon walked several steps away.
Ryu followed.
"Seriously."
"What are we doing?"
The dragon turned.
Her tail extended.
Tap.
It tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
Ryu looked behind himself.
Nothing.
He turned back.
"...What?"
Tap.
Again.
"What's wrong?"
Pyrrhagon stared.
Then—
PUFF.
Two small bursts of fire escaped her nostrils.
Ryu blinked.
"...Okay?"
PUFF.
PUFF.
She pointed her snout toward him.
Then opened her mouth.
Fire flickered between her teeth.
Ryu's eyebrows slowly rose.
"...Wait."
Pyrrhagon rumbled.
Ryu pointed toward himself.
"You want me to..."
He mimed breathing fire.
"...do fire?"
Pyrrhagon's wings suddenly spread.
Her head bobbed violently.
Her tail slammed against the ground.
BOOM.
Ryu jumped.
"Okay!"
"YES!"
"I GOT IT!"
He grinned.
"You wanna see my fire?"
Pyrrhagon practically vibrated with approval.
Ryu cracked his neck.
"Could've just said that."
The dragon stared.
"...Right."
Ryu stepped forward.
He lifted one hand.
Then looked back toward Pyrrhagon with exaggerated seriousness.
"You might wanna step back."
Silence.
Pyrrhagon didn't move.
Ryu narrowed his eyes.
"...I'm serious."
Nothing.
"You know what?"
"Your funeral."
Flames exploded around his arm.
Heat rippled through the air.
Ryu planted his feet.
Then—
WHOOOOOOOM!
A massive torrent of flame erupted from his palm.
The blast crossed the volcanic plateau and slammed into a distant ridge.
BOOOOM!
Stone exploded.
Ryu lowered his arm.
Smoke curled from his fingers.
He turned proudly.
"...See?"
WHACK.
Pyrrhagon's tail struck the back of his head.
Ryu stumbled forward.
"OW!"
He spun around.
"What was that for?!"
Pyrrhagon stared at him.
"You ASKED ME TO DO THAT!"
The dragon snorted.
Ryu threw both hands upward.
"What did you want?!"
"What?!"
"Smaller?"
"Hotter?"
"Different color?...I actually don't know how to do that by the way"
"Do you want me to spell something?!"
Pyrrhagon raised her head.
Then gently exhaled.
A tiny flame left her mouth.
Ryu frowned.
The flame didn't disappear.
It hovered.
Slowly—
It folded.
Bent.
Curled.
Until—
A flower formed.
Ryu stopped talking.
A small blossom made entirely from fire floated above him.
Its petals opened one after another.
"...Whoa."
Another appeared.
Then another.
Then five.
Then twenty.
Before long—
Dozens of burning flowers drifted around the plateau.
Each moved gently through the air as though carried by a breeze that didn't exist.
Ryu slowly turned beneath them.
"...Whoa."
For once—
That was all he had.
Pyrrhagon watched him.
Ryu reached toward one.
The flower danced away from his fingers.
His eyes widened.
"How did you do that?!"
Pyrrhagon huffed proudly.
"No, seriously!"
Ryu rushed toward her.
"Do it again!"
The dragon opened her mouth.
Another flame emerged.
This time—
It stretched.
Four tiny legs appeared.
A tail.
Wings unfolded.
And within seconds—
A miniature dragon made entirely from fire flew around Pyrrhagon's horns.
Ryu's mouth dropped open.
"...You can make stuff?!"
The tiny dragon flew directly past his face.
Ryu spun around trying to follow it.
"How?!"
Pyrrhagon tapped his chest with the end of her tail.
Then his hand.
Then pointed toward the tiny dragon.
Ryu stared.
"...Me?"
She nodded.
He looked at his hand.
Then the dragon.
Then his hand again.
"...You're teaching me."
Pyrrhagon lowered her head.
A slow nod.
Ryu became very still.
Then—
A grin spread across his face.
"Oh."
Flame immediately ignited above his palm.
"Okay."
He focused.
The fire flickered.
Wobbled.
Ryu narrowed his eyes.
"...Heart."
The flame stretched sideways.
Collapsed.
Expanded again.
One side became larger than the other.
The bottom twisted awkwardly.
Eventually—
Something vaguely resembling a heart appeared.
If someone was extremely generous.
Ryu stared at it.
"...That's terrible."
Pyrrhagon made a low noise.
Ryu looked up.
"Don't laugh."
The dragon's shoulders moved.
"You ARE laughing!"
The flame collapsed.
Ryu immediately tried again.
This time—
Smaller.
He concentrated.
A heart appeared.
Crooked.
"...Better."
WHAP.
A light tail tap.
"Okay!"
Again.
Again.
Again.
The sun moved slowly across Fyr's crimson sky.
At first, Ryu approached the problem the way he approached most things.
More energy.
More force.
More fire.
It didn't work.
The larger the flame became—
The harder it was to control.
Eventually, frustrated, he dropped onto the volcanic stone.
"...Why is this so hard?"
Pyrrhagon sat opposite him.
She created another flower.
Slowly this time.
Ryu watched carefully.
The fire didn't simply move.
It was being held.
Every petal maintained itself.
Every curve remained deliberate.
Ryu frowned.
"...You're not throwing the fire."
Pyrrhagon stared.
"You're nurturing it."
Her eyes narrowed approvingly.
Ryu rose.
Another flame ignited.
This time he didn't try forcing it outward.
He held it.
Let it burn.
Felt where it wanted to spread.
Then—
Slowly—
He pulled the edges inward.
The flame trembled.
But remained.
"...Okay."
Ryu's eyes widened.
"I get it."
He changed the shape again.
A circle.
Ugly.
A square.
Worse.
Something that was supposed to be a bird.
Pyrrhagon looked at it.
Ryu frowned.
"...It has wings."
The dragon turned her head sideways.
"Whatever."
Hours passed.
And somewhere during those hours—
Ryu realized something.
Maintaining fire wasn't simply about controlling the flame.
He had to understand what he wanted the flame to become.
When he tried making something vaguely—
It collapsed.
When he pictured something clearly—
The fire listened.
Shape mattered.
Structure mattered.
Understanding mattered.
Which created one obvious problem.
Ryu wasn't particularly interested in flowers.
But dragons—
Ryu looked toward Pyrrhagon.
The legendary beast was resting near the crater's edge.
Massive wings folded against her body.
Horns sweeping backward.
Power contained inside every line of her silhouette.
Ryu's grin returned.
"...That would be incredibly cool."
One eye opened.
Ryu pointed.
"I'm making you."
Pyrrhagon raised her head.
"Well."
"A smaller you."
Flame erupted between Ryu's hands.
He focused.
Head first.
He knew her head.
He'd spent half the day staring at it.
Long snout.
Horns.
Jawline.
Eyes.
The fire warped.
Collapsed.
Ryu cursed.
Again.
The flame returned.
This time—
The outline remained.
A snout.
One horn.
Then another.
The jaw formed.
Ryu's arms shook.
"Come on..."
The flames trembled violently.
Then stabilized.
Hovering above his palms—
A dragon's head.
Rough.
Incomplete.
Missing several details.
But unmistakable.
Ryu's eyes widened.
"...I DID IT!"
Pyrrhagon approached.
She inspected the flame.
Ryu waited.
The dragon stared.
Then—
One small nod.
Ryu gasped.
"PRAISE?!"
Pyrrhagon immediately looked away.
"No!"
"I SAW THAT!"
He laughed.
"I'M GETTING GOOD!"
The dragon smacked him lightly with her tail.
"Ow."
But the grin never left his face.
They continued.
For hours.
Shapes.
Animals.
Weapons.
Flowers.
Ryu failed more often than he succeeded.
But slowly—
The fire began lasting longer.
Holding tighter.
Listening better.
Then, inexplicably—
Pyrrhagon changed the lesson.
She spread her wings.
Ryu looked up.
"...What now?"
The dragon launched into the air.
Ryu shielded his eyes from the displaced ash.
"Where are you going?!"
Pyrrhagon circled the volcano.
Once.
Then again.
Ryu watched.
Confused.
She banked sharply.
Folded one wing.
Rolled through the air.
Then opened her jaws.
A blast of fire erupted downward.
But instead of traveling in a simple straight line—
Pyrrhagon twisted her body.
The flame curved with her.
Following the rotation.
She climbed.
Dove.
Accelerated.
Another blast.
Shorter.
Sharper.
Then another while turning.
Ryu frowned.
"...Why am I watching you fly?"
Pyrrhagon circled again.
Her wings adjusted.
Tail correcting her balance.
Body twisting before each attack.
Fire moving with the motion rather than separately from it.
Ryu crossed his arms.
"I thought we were doing shapes!"
Another flame attack ripped through the sky.
Ryu sighed.
"...Dragons are weird."
Still—
He watched.
Because Lady Pyrrhagon clearly wanted him to.
Ryu didn't understand what any of it had to do with what she was trying to team him.
Not yet.
But he watched anyway.
And as Fyr's crimson sun descended toward the volcanic horizon—
One brother sat inside the Seventh Forge learning that creation required understanding every piece of what something was.
While the other stood beneath a dragon—
Learning exactly the same lesson.
Without realizing it.
Where the Circle Leads
Morning came differently within Fyr.
There was no sunrise.
Not really.
Instead—
The volcanic clouds slowly brightened from deep crimson to burning orange as light crawled across the peaks surrounding the Palace of Scorching Vow.
And deep within the palace...
Dozens of military mages stood around a massive teleportation circle.
The same room Luto had accidentally wandered into the previous day.
He stood at the edge of it now.
"...Oh."
Several of the mages looked toward him.
Luto stared at the enormous symbols carved across the floor.
Layers upon layers of geometric inscriptions rotated slowly over one another, each glowing with concentrated cosmic energy.
He recognized several of the mages.
Unfortunately—
They recognized him too.
One raised an eyebrow.
Luto cleared his throat.
"...So this was the circle."
The mage stared.
"...Yes."
"I thought you were practicing."
"We were."
"On the circle."
"Yes."
"...Right."
Luto quietly looked away.
That explained quite a bit.
Across the chamber—
Ryu was having a significantly more emotional morning.
Lady Pyrrhagon had him.
Not metaphorically.
She physically had him.
Her enormous head rested against his chest while one wing curled around him like a wall.
Ryu was practically buried beneath crimson scales.
"...Pyrrhagon."
A low rumble answered.
"We've been over this."
Another rumble.
Ryu sighed.
He wrapped both arms around the enormous dragon's snout.
For once—
There was no joke.
He pressed his forehead gently against her scales.
"We'll see each other again."
Pyrrhagon's amber eyes remained fixed on him.
"I mean it."
He smiled.
"We still gotta finish whatever weird dragon lesson you started yesterday."
Her nostrils flared.
"And..."
Ryu's smile softened.
"...next time I come back..."
"I'll have another brother with me."
Pyrrhagon became still.
Ryu rubbed one hand along her nose.
"His name's Onyx."
The name felt different now.
Not painful.
Hopeful.
Ryu grinned.
"So be nice when you meet him."
He pointed sternly at her.
"He's been through a lot."
Pyrrhagon released a quiet breath against him.
Ryu's bandana nearly flew off.
"...I'll take that as a yes."
Finally—
Reluctantly—
The dragon withdrew her wing.
Ryu stepped backward.
Then started toward the circle.
Luto was already standing beside Seravynn near its center.
Several military mages moved around them, placing enormous crystalline anchors into slots surrounding the structure.
Each one ignited.
WHUM.
WHUM.
WHUM.
The air grew heavier with every activation.
Ryu reached the first inscription—
Then stopped.
"...Oh!"
He turned around.
Lady Pyrrhagon hadn't moved.
Ryu lifted one hand.
"Almost forgot."
Something flickered between his fingers.
Pyrrhagon's eyes narrowed.
Ryu concentrated.
A thin strand of flame curled around his palm.
Instead of bursting outward—
It held.
The fire twisted carefully around itself.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Until a small ring formed between his fingers.
Not perfectly circular.
Not quite.
But much smoother than the shapes he'd struggled with yesterday.
Ryu held it up proudly.
"...Look."
Lady Pyrrhagon raised her head.
"It's supposed to be a bracelet."
He inspected it.
"...Well."
"Eventually."
One edge wobbled slightly.
Ryu quickly corrected it.
"I stayed up practicing."
The bracelet became smoother.
The flame remained stable.
No sparks escaped.
No uncontrolled heat.
Just a small ring of living fire resting within his hand.
Ryu grinned.
"I figured..."
He scratched his cheek with his free hand.
"...maybe you'd like it."
Pyrrhagon stared at the flame.
Then at Ryu.
Her enormous eyes softened.
Ryu tossed it gently.
The burning bracelet floated toward her.
It expanded slightly before settling around one of the smaller ridges near the base of her horn.
The fire didn't burn her.
It simply remained.
Pyrrhagon lowered her head enough to inspect it.
Ryu smiled.
"Yeah."
"That looks cool."
A low rumble filled the chamber.
Ryu began walking backward toward the circle.
"Don't break it!"
The dragon's eye narrowed.
"...Actually, you could probably break it by sneezing."
He laughed.
"Still!"
"Try not to!"
Ryu finally stepped onto the circle.
Beside him—
Luto was holding something strange.
Ryu looked down.
"...What's that?"
Luto glanced at the object in his hand.
A broken piece of dark metal.
Thick.
Heavy.
One side curved slightly while the other ended in a jagged fracture.
It looked like—
"...A broken hammer?"
Luto sighed.
"That's what I said."
Earlier that morning...
The Seventh Forge had been unusually quiet.
Orin stood across from Luto.
Neither seemed particularly interested in admitting they'd spent nearly the entire previous day talking.
Or that somewhere during those hours—
They had become friends.
Orin held something in one enormous hand.
"Here."
He tossed it.
Luto caught it.
His arm immediately dipped from the unexpected weight.
"...What the hell?"
Orin chuckled.
Luto examined the object.
It appeared to be the shattered head of an ancient hammer.
No handle.
No visible inscriptions.
No obvious mechanism.
Just a thick chunk of strange dark metal broken almost completely through its center.
Luto frowned.
"...You gave me a broken hammer."
Orin laughed.
Loudly.
Luto looked up.
"I'm serious."
"I know."
"So why are you laughing?"
"Because you think it's a broken hammer."
Luto stared at him.
"...It is."
"Perhaps."
"That's not an answer."
"It wasn't meant to be."
Luto turned the object around.
His mind immediately began searching.
Weight.
Material.
Density.
Structure.
Something felt...
Wrong.
Not damaged.
Wrong.
As though the object wasn't showing him everything.
Orin folded his massive arms.
"When you figure out what that is..."
"...and how to fix it..."
His Forge Eye glowed faintly.
"...you'll have learned the technique."
Luto looked up.
"Genesis Weaving?"
Orin only smiled.
"Safe travels, Luto."
"...You're seriously not telling me?"
"No."
"One hint."
"No."
"Material composition?"
"No."
"Original function?"
"No."
"How old is it?"
Orin began walking away.
"Orin."
The Ferrakai raised one hand without turning.
"Come back alive."
Luto stared after him.
Then looked at the supposed hammer.
A small smile crossed his face.
"...Fine."
Present.
Ryu leaned toward him.
"So..."
"...broken hammer?"
Luto tucked the object away.
"It's not a broken hammer."
Ryu blinked.
"...It looks like a broken hammer."
"I know."
"Then—"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Ryu grinned.
"You don't know what it is."
"I will."
"You don't."
"I hate you."
Before Ryu could respond—
THUUUM.
The entire chamber shook.
Both brothers immediately looked downward.
The teleportation circle had begun activating.
One ring ignited.
Then another.
Then another.
Hundreds of inscriptions awakened across the floor.
The military mages surrounding them raised their hands simultaneously.
Cosmic energy poured outward.
Not explosively.
Precisely.
Each stream entered a different section of the circle.
Luto watched carefully.
He could finally see what Seravynn meant.
Most of the energy wasn't flowing toward the center.
It was wrapping around it.
Layering.
Compressing.
Hiding.
The enormous amount of cosmic power being gathered was being folded inward so tightly that almost nothing escaped the chamber.
Seravynn stepped closer.
Her usual composure remained.
But her voice carried more weight than before.
"Before you leave..."
"...there is something both of you need to understand."
Ryu and Luto looked toward her.
"What awaits you beyond this circle is dangerous."
Ryu shrugged.
"We've noticed that's kind of becoming normal."
Seravynn ignored him.
"But raw power isn't what should concern you."
Her eyes sharpened.
"The enemies pursuing you are patient."
"They are intelligent."
"And they are far older than either of you."
Luto's expression became serious.
Seravynn continued.
"Never assume the trap is where you can see it."
"Never assume an enemy has revealed every reason for their actions."
"And above all..."
Her gaze moved between them.
"...never mistake silence for ignorance."
Neither brother joked this time.
"The Divine know you're moving."
"Perhaps not where."
"Perhaps not how."
"But they know."
The circle grew brighter.
Ryu glanced toward Luto.
Luto nodded slightly.
Seravynn stepped backward.
"Once you arrive..."
"...find Eralyx."
"Listen."
"Learn everything you can."
"And whatever you discover..."
Her expression softened just slightly.
"...bring your brother home."
Ryu smiled.
"That's the plan."
Electricity flickered faintly around Luto's fingers.
"We will."
The circle roared.
Light climbed around them.
The edges of their bodies began distorting.
Ryu looked toward Pyrrhagon one final time.
She stood at the far end of the chamber.
The tiny bracelet of flame still burned beside her horn.
Ryu raised his hand.
Pyrrhagon lowered her head.
Seravynn watched the two brothers disappear within the growing light.
"Safe travels."
The inscriptions accelerated.
"And when the time comes..."
Her eyes hardened.
"...good luck in battle."
Ryu's grin widened.
Luto tightened his grip around Nulvyr.
The circle reached its peak.
Then Seravynn gave them the name of the place waiting beyond it.
"...Astradim."
WHUM—
Reality folded.
Ryu disappeared.
Luto disappeared.
The energy collapsed inward.
And—
Silence.
The teleportation circle slowly began deactivating.
One inscription faded.
Then another.
The military mages lowered their exhausted hands.
Several nearly collapsed where they stood.
Seravynn remained motionless.
Her eyes stayed upon the place where the brothers had vanished.
Beside her—
Lady Pyrrhagon did the same.
The small bracelet around her horn continued burning.
Perfectly stable.
Seravynn glanced toward it.
Then toward the dragon.
"...The Sovereign didn't ask you teach him anything."
Pyrrhagon remained focused on the empty circle.
A long silence followed.
Then—
"I'm aware."
Seravynn's eyebrow lifted.
Pyrrhagon said nothing else.
The last symbol faded.
And the Fyr Domain—
For the first time since the brothers arrived—
Fell quiet.
Then—
A different sky.
No crimson clouds.
No volcanic glow.
No Palace of Scorching Vow.
Space bent.
A single distortion appeared.
Two figures emerged from nothing.
Ryu.
Luto.
Their feet touched unfamiliar ground.
Neither spoke.
Not yet.
Because somewhere in the distance—
A silhouette stood alone.
Waiting.
Watching their arrival.
Astradim had received them.