The air around Mount Kaelgar burned—not with flame, but with weight.
Even from the outskirts of the valley, the group could feel it: the pressure of ancient wrath, of heat forged in pain and purpose. The land itself had cracked and cooled into jagged obsidian ridges, sharp enough to tear boots. Rivers of half-cooled magma pulsed beneath the surface, visible through glowing veins in the blackened ground.
"This is where the Forge sleeps?" Lira asked, her breath fogging despite the heat.
"Not sleeps," Kael corrected quietly. "He waits."
The group stood at the base of the dead mountain. The sky above was dark with ash clouds, yet no rain fell. Only embers. Slow, drifting, eternal.
The One Who Burned the Sky
Aeris stared up the slope, one hand shielding her eyes.
"I heard the stories growing up," she said. "That during the Collapse, the Forge challenged the Choir alone. That he shattered moons with his hammer and turned entire regions into glassed wastelands."
"He did," Kael replied. "Then he sealed himself in the mountain. Said he'd only rise again if Balance was broken worse than before."
"Well," Sera muttered, flipping one of her blades in her palm, "good thing we're neck-deep in 'worse.'"
Into the Fire
The entrance wasn't carved—it was torn. A colossal gouge split the base of the mountain, blackened and jagged, as though something had punched its way inside eons ago and left a scar behind.
Inside, heat washed over them like a living thing. The walls pulsed with orange-red veins of liquid flame. Molten iron occasionally dripped from the ceiling and hissed into small pools of lava across the cave floor.
The deeper they went, the heavier it became. Not just the heat—gravity.
Kael had to activate his gravity field just to keep their bodies from collapsing.
"This is him," Kael murmured, sweat dripping from his brow. "He's still in there. Still burning."
Then they saw it.
A chamber the size of a coliseum. At its center, a forge that had long since gone dark—yet the coals still glowed.
And above it stood a man.
The Forge
He was massive—nearly seven feet tall, bare-chested, arms like sculpted metal, skin marked with glowing crimson runes that pulsed like a second heartbeat. His long black hair was tied back, and his left arm ended in a molten metal gauntlet fused directly to bone.
He held a hammer that looked more like a fallen star than a weapon. Even at rest, it hummed with barely-contained fury.
His eyes opened slowly.
And the mountain shuddered.
"Kael…" His voice was a low rumble, like a forge roaring back to life. "You finally returned."
Kael stepped forward, nodding. "We need you, Darius."
The Forge—Darius Ironfall—stared at him for a long moment.
"You shouldn't," he said coldly. "You promised to never ask again."
"I know," Kael said. "But this world doesn't care about our promises anymore."
Darius didn't respond. He walked to the forge and placed his hand over the dead coals. For a moment, nothing happened—then fire exploded to life, wild and golden-white, hotter than anything they'd felt before.
"Is it true?" Darius asked. "Is the Choir back?"
"Worse," Aeris said, stepping beside Kael. "They're not working alone. Something's moving in the stars again."
"Then you'll need more than words," he said.
He lifted his hammer and slammed it into the ground.
The entire mountain trembled.
"You'll need fire."
Rekindled
Darius walked toward them, eyes burning. He stopped in front of Kael.
"If I come with you… if I take up the mantle again… this time, we don't hold back."
Kael nodded slowly. "This time, we finish it."
The Forge smiled, a grim flash of teeth.
"Then let the sky burn."