CLANG
[Many dismiss the importance of the quenching phase... When it comes to making steel,]
CLANG
[After all, the shape is set.]
"HYA!"
CLANG
[But heat alone doesn't make strength. It makes potential.]
CLANG
[The quench is where the blade learns what it is. The shock of cold locks the fire inside—traps it in the grain.]
CLANG
[Skip it, and the steel stays soft. Confused. It remembers being hot, but never learned to hold.]
CLANG
"VORN!" A shout echoed through the forge. But the dwarf kept striking with his mighty hammer, sweat glistening against the orange glow of the coals beside him.
"VORN!! YE GONE STONE-DEAF, YA OAF?!"
CLANGS HARDER
"WHY I OUGHTA—"
"Hahahaha!" The blacksmith's laugh rumbled from his chest like shifting gravel.
"Too easy, brother. Heard ye the first time." Vorn's face beamed brighter than the forge itself, deep lines creasing around his eyes.
"Ye'll never find a wife bein' that impatient," Vorn chuckled, clasping the hot metal with his tongs and plunging it into the quenching bucket.
Tsssssss...
"Yer one to talk, ye deaf bastard. Wives need listenin'. This is why yer still unwed despite bein' an elder."
"I have a wife," Vorn argued, smile still wide. "Live inside her every day, I do."
"The forge can't cook ye meals." The other dwarf replied.
"Aye, but we cook together. Fresh as newlyweds, her and me." Vorn set down his tongs. "Now what's brought ye stompin' through me hall?"
The other dwarf approached, reaching for a handshake—then pulled Vorn into a tight, rough embrace, armor and leather worn by the other dwarf creaking against Vorn's bare body and dark leather apron, dark with years of use.
"Those human rascals are back."
"Ah." Vorn exhaled through his nose, thick fingers scratching through his bountiful blonde beard.
"Aye... gave me word I'd oversee their business with the scarred one. Tell her I'll be along shortly, will ye?" He said as he walked to a corner of the forge, removing his leather apron and hanging it.
"What business now?"
Vorn's eyes darkened, the warmth draining from his face like heat from cooled iron as he splashed himself with water from the nearby basin.
"An execution."
---------------
A bright and sunny day. Blue skies, minimal clouds, a gentle breeze.
A place far, far away from the kingdom of Aurelia — yet known just as well. Possibly more.
In a clearing deep within the forest, along a sun-kissed dirt road, a group of humans stood in a loose semi-circle. Before them loomed a great stone gateway, its surface carved with countless runes. Above the arch, etched in the dwarven tongue:
[Abyssal Dungeon]
Rank: EX+
[Turn back if ye value yer life.]
"This is not what we agreed upon. Vanna."
A mustached man in Varolon Royal Guard armor spoke, standing at the center of the semi-circle. Beside him knelt what remained of a man — fingers, tongue, and legs taken from him. Sullied. Broken.
No life left in his eyes. He blinked, nothing more.
The guard was addressing a scarred woman.
"No, Hicks." Vanna stood tall, voice sharp. "This is not what you think we agreed upon."
"You tortured a child," Hicks said. No hesitation. His glare did not waver.
"I became an adult at his age. When my village burned at the kingdom's hand." Vanna dismissed him with a wave.
"Ah," Hicks snapped, "then by all means, torture every child you come across. Perhaps they'll grow from the experience."
"I'M NOT IN THE MOOD, HICKS." Vanna's voice cut through the clearing. "He is an enemy to the human race. One of the sources of the rot you so despise. Not a mere child."
She let the silence hang for a moment.
"My decision is final. You don't like it? Shut up and leave." Her eyes narrowed. "Or join him as he dies."
Hicks looked around. Every figure in the semi-circle had moved — hands resting on hilts, spellbooks drawn, wands raised, bows half-nocked.
He took a long, slow breath.
"Very well."
His voice was quiet. Measured.
"I seem to have misplaced my trust."
Without another word, Hicks stepped forward and stood beside the broken man on the ground.
"I shall join him, then."
Vanna raised an eyebrow. A few seconds passed.
"... Do as you like." Her tone flattened. "I shan't rescind my call. Nor will I ever change my methods."
The creak of a heavy door broke the tension — not from the dungeon, but from the squat stone forge-house nestled against the cliffside nearby.
Vorn emerged, bare-chested, a handful of dwarves filing out behind him. He squinted against the sun, thick fingers already scratching at his beard.
"Ye scrapheaps come t' gawk, did ye?" Vorn grunted, casting a look over his shoulder.
"Always a show wit' these runts." One of the dwarves gruffed, "Wouldn't miss it even if The Metal God himself struck me down where I stand, stone-dead an' smokin'."
"VORN!!" Vanna's voice cut across the clearing. "YOU'RE THE GUARDIAN OF THE ABYSS! ARE YOU SEEING THIS?"
The dwarves behind him snickered. "Guardian of the Abyss," one mocked.
"So theatrical."
"Shoulda brought me ale fer this."
Vorn sighed, waving a dismissive hand.
"Aye, aye, I'm seein' it. Get on with yer charade, scarred woman."
The armed circle bristled. One of the men stepped forward, hand moving to his hilt. "These dwarves need to learn some manners—"
His companion caught his arm. "Don't."
"What? He's just some—"
"That's Vorn." The name landed heavy. "He's not just some dwarf."
The first man hesitated, glancing back at the bare-chested blacksmith.
"... Who is he, then?"
"The Abyss Dungeon's smith." His companion kept his voice low.
"Makes weapons for anyone mad enough to enter. Free of charge."
"Free? Why would—"
"He's lost his mind. No one really knows why," A dry laugh.
"They say his craft rivals anything in the kingdom. Maybe surpasses it. But he won't sell to anyone who won't walk through those doors."
The first man stared. "So everything he makes..."
"Hoarded in his forge. Or lost in the dungeon forever." A shrug.
"Dwarven village nearby lets him be. Place brings nothing but death anyway."
"Then why's he here?"
His companion looked down at the broken man on the ground. Skin and bones, filthy royal garb hanging off his ruined frame.
"What d'you think?" A thin smile.
"Someone's gotta hand the princeling his sword."
"Wonder how he'll swing it without hands—"
"SILENCE!"
Vanna's voice cracked like a whip as she stepped onto a boulder, and every head turned.
"The House of The Risen Sun! HEAR ME!"
Vanna's voice rang across the clearing, silencing the murmurs.
"For too long, the Kingdom of Aurelia has festered. Rot in the throne. Rot in the courts. Rot in the very blood that claims divine right to rule."
She swept her arm toward the broken figure on the ground.
"This... creature before you is no innocent. He is Magus de Aurelia, son of Aldric the Fourteenth, heir to a dynasty built on the bones of the common folk. A prince who bathed in luxury while villages burned. While children starved. While we — we — were told to kneel and call it justice."
Her scarred face twisted with cold fury.
"We are not knights. We do not bow to codes written by the very tyrants who chain us. Yes — we fight dirty. Yes — we do what the 'honorable' will not." She spat. "Because honor is a leash they put on the powerless to keep them docile."
"Oi, oi," one of Vorn's clan-brother muttered, leaning in.
"Humans know how to put on a show, eh? All this theatre for one poor sod."
"Aye," another dwarf snorted. "Surprised they haven't got banners."
Vorn said nothing. His eyes swept over the scene, his gaze delaying several beats on the broken prince, then turned away swiftly
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Let's just get this over with," he muttered, voice low and heavy. "Sooner it's done, sooner I'm back where I belong."
His gaze drifted toward the heavens as he folded his arms.
And just then, in that very moment...
CLANG
Vorn's head snapped toward the dungeon.
To him, and him alone, it sounded like the clash of hammer against steel on the verge of breaking. That particular ring. That warning note right before the metal gives.
"What's the matter, brother?" The dwarf who'd greeted him earlier stepped closer, following his gaze. "Ye look like ye've seen a wraith."
"Ya hear that?" Vorn asked, voice low.
"Hear what?" The dwarf snorted. "The forge finally rattled somethin' loose in that thick skull o' yers?"
"AND HERE!" Vanna called loudly as she turned, gesturing toward Hicks standing beside the broken prince.
"… a Royal Guard of Varolon. A man who served the crown his whole life. Noble to a fault." A mocking smile. "He has chosen to die beside the very rot he once protested WITH US. Loyalty, he calls it. Principle."
Hicks remained silent, yawning.
She shrugged.
"I call it sentiment. But I shall grant him this… he does not beg. He does not waver. There is something admirable in a man who walks to his death with open eyes."
She turned back to the crowd, raising her fist.
"Let it be known — on this day, The House of The Risen Sun passes judgment! Not by the laws of kings. Not by the mercy of gods. By the will of those who survived."
Her voice dropped.
"Magus de Aurelia. For crimes against the free people of this land. For the blood of the innocent. For the rot you were born into and the rot you chose to become..."
She drew her blade.
"You are sentenced the exact same punishment you and your father gave to so many people… You shall die within the Abyss... alongside your knight. Have you any final words?!"
Magus wheezed.
"Innocents, to you…" his voice hoarse, broken and weak, "Are only those… who… agree…with you… you… bi…bitc—"
The bunt of a sword from one of the members struck his head.
"Shut the fuck up, prince of rot."
"Damn, I never got used to the smell. Let's just kill him already…" More members spoke.
Hicks glared at them.
'How… Barbaric..!!'
"You got a problem, old shit?" The two members glared back, hands on their hilts.
"Enough." Vanna sighed, "they're going to die anyway. Let them be."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Vanna sheathed her sword and stepped back, gesturing toward the stone gateway.
Vorn remained silent, distracted. His eyes narrowed at the stone gateway to the Abyss Dungeon where he heard the sound, runes cold and still in the afternoon sun.
"Brother." A hand clapped his shoulder. "That door's not openin' on its own. Only swings inward. And only if someone on the outside pushes it. Ye know that well as any."
Silence.
"... Yer not listenin'," Vorn muttered under his breath.
"There's nothin' to listen to, brother!"
"Haaah. Just forget it." Vorn spat, turning away.
But his hand had drifted to his hammer without him noticing as his eyes drifted back to the scene.
"Vorn. If you would."
The dwarf grunted. He turned to the clan-brother at his side, voice low.
"Oi. Fetch me the two blades. The matched pair."
The dwarf raised an eyebrow. "The ones ye just finished?"
"Did I stutter? Go."
A moment later, the dwarf returned carrying two swords wrapped in oiled cloth. Vorn took them without ceremony and trudged forward, the House of the Risen Sun parting around him like water around a boulder.
He stopped before Hicks.
The knight had already knelt, gently hoisting the broken prince onto his back. Magus's head lolled against his shoulder — limbless, silent, barely breathing. Hicks adjusted his grip with care, as though carrying something precious rather than something ruined.
Vorn watched. Said nothing for a moment.
Then he thrust both swords forward, one in each hand.
"Here."
Hicks looked at the blades. Then down at Magus — at the stumps where hands used to be.
"... Thank you," Hicks said.
Vanna narrowed her gaze.
'... How'd he know to prepare 2? Did he give Hicks one of his spares…? But that dwarf clearly mentioned Vorn prepared 2 in advance.'
Vanna then looked at Hicks.
'That bastard. Did he go to Vorn behind my back when he heard about the execution?'
'He intended to die for a while now?'
Hicks took them both, weighing them in his grip. His eyes widened just slightly.
"These are..." He turned one in the light. "These are the finest blades I've ever held. Might I say, finer than the mithril I carry."
Vorn's face soured instantly.
"Pah. Don't ye dare compare me work to some royal pansy's toothpick." He jabbed a thick finger at Hicks.
"Mithril. Mithril, he says. Fancy elven pig-iron polished till it sparkles. Any amateur with a steady hand can make mithril look pretty."
He thumped his chest.
"This is Vorn-steel, boy. Forged proper. Quenched proper. It'll bite deeper, hold longer, and won't chip when ye smack it against some demon's skull." A snort. "Better than mithril. Ye insult me with the comparison."
Hicks smiled warmly.
"My apologies, master Vorn. I spoke out of ignorance."
Vorn stared at him.
Then he clicked his tongue in annoyance, turning away with a wave of his hand.
"Tch. Wastin' me best work on a dead man walkin'..."
The dwarves chuckled,
"Ye always waste yer best works on dead men walkin', ya stone oaf!" His brother called, the dwarves laughing at him.
He trudged back toward the other dwarves, muttering under his breath. But his steps were slower than they needed to be.
The House of the Risen Sun closed in, forming a corridor of blades and drawn bows leading to the gate.
"Move." Vanna's voice was flat. "The Abyss awaits."
'It doesn't matter. Fool,' Vanna thought, glaring at Hicks, 'Asking for a spare behind my back won't save you from your fate. Being all noble and dignified…' She clenched her teeth, 'is why you'll die today while using a fancy sword.'
Hicks adjusted Magus on his back one final time. The prince's ruined body hung limp, but Hicks stood straight — two swords in hand, one for himself, one for a man who could no longer hold it.
He walked.
The crowd parted just enough to let him pass, jeers and murmurs following in his wake.
"Look at him. Loyal to the end."
"Idiot."
"Dead man walking."
Hicks didn't respond. Didn't look back.
He reached the stone gateway and paused, gazing up at the runes carved into the arch.
[Turn back if ye value yer life.]
His smile didn't waver.
With one hand, he pushed the gate open. Ancient stone groaned, swinging inward into darkness.
"WALK." Vanna's command echoed behind him.
Hicks stepped through.
The darkness swallowed them both.
The gate groaned shut.
Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by the distant creak of the forge-house door as Vorn disappeared inside without another word.
The other dwarves lingered a moment longer, watching the humans of the House begin to disperse.
"...Shame," one muttered.
"Aye," another agreed. "Seemed a decent sort, that knight."
"Decent mustache too."
With that, they turned and went past the forge, toward their village.
"Ma'am," one of the House members said as they walked, "what are your orders now?"
"Return to camp," Vanna answered without missing a beat.
"Gather your strength. Our next target is his twin sister. Amoria… Once we find out where she's located. Then, finally, the rotten king." She said with a slight scowl.
The House members exchanged glances.
"Will we sentence her the same?"
Vanna was silent for a moment.
"...That depends," she said at last. "If the rumors are true; that his twin sister is kinder, more benevolent… She may be more open-minded toward our cause. If not, she'll still serve as a valuable hostage. Unlike her brother, she hasn't done any harm for her amusement. At least, none that's been recorded… If she had, we will uncover it all, and punish her according to her crimes."
One of them hesitated. "She won't take kindly to learning we executed her shit brother. After torturing him."
"Then we simply won't tell her," Vanna replied coolly. "Will that be difficult?"
"...N-no, ma'am," he said quickly. "All for the glory of the true Aurelia. To the death of the rot."
"Good," Vanna said. "Let us go back to camp."
"My darling is waiting for me." She turned forward with a slight smile on her scarred face.
------- INSIDE --------
"Worry not, Your Highness." Hicks's voice was gentle, steady. "Somehow... I will save us both."
He swallowed hard as his eyes adjusted to the darkness ahead.
Two figures stood waiting. Metal. Massive. Appeared like live armors more than monsters.
Then, a flicker. A cold blue glow ignited behind their visors.
They began to move.
Hicks knelt slowly, easing Magus off his back and onto the cold stone floor of the First Circle. The prince's head lolled, eyes unfocused, breath shallow.
"Wait here."
Hicks rose. Drew both swords.
"Leave this to me."