Chapter 14

Chapter

Fourteen

Jagged obsidian crunched beneath Osric's boots as he trudged alongside Agnith, Aunir, Valthrun, Fyra, and Thelara, the searing heat of J?tuneld's volcanic fields a withering caress on his bare shoulders. Thick plumes of steam hissed from fissures in the earth's crust all around them, and in the distance, the molten glow of the caldera lit the night sky. It was a harsh, unforgiving landscape, but one that felt strangely like home to Osric, with its raw, primal power.

A harsh caw echoed overhead, and Osric looked up to see a trio of obsidian-winged ravens circling high above, silhouetted against the fiery glow of the caldera. He shuddered, and he couldn't help but be reminded of the omen of death and rebirth that the ravens portended.

He reached up to the amulet that hung around his neck, his fingers closing around the cool metal. A gift he'd left for Hali, along with a note to tell her he would return. He'd almost given in to the temptation to take the amulet with him, to keep it close as a talisman, but he knew it was too risky. If the Obsidian Circle got their hands on her, they would stop at nothing to use her against him. He couldn't let that happen.

"Emberhearth. Pay attention." Agnith's voice was a sharp slap, pulling Osric from his thoughts.

"My apologies, Master." Osric dipped his head in a quick bow, the long braids of his warrior's tail sweeping the ground. "I was merely scouting our surroundings."

"Then you saw the path ahead. What do you make of it?"

Osric blinked, trying to focus. They were approaching a towering cliff face of striated basalt, the sheer rock rising up before them. "It looks to be an ancient lava flow," he said slowly. "The basalt would have cooled and solidified, trapping the molten rock within. There may be tunnels and chambers within the flow that we can use to our advantage."

Agnith's stony expression didn't change, but he gave a single nod of approval. "Very good. Let's see if we can find a way through."

They continued on in silence, the only sound the crunch of their boots on the obsidian and the distant rumble of the caldera. But despite his best efforts, Osric couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and ash, and a strange, almost otherworldly chill clung to the darkness. This was more than just a feeling of unease; it was a certainty, a warning that he couldn't ignore.

When they reached the base of the cliff, it loomed over them like a sheer wall of night, the striations in the basalt almost glowing in the reflected light of the caldera. Ancient runes were carved into the rock face, their meaning lost to all but a few. "This is it," Agnith said. "The entrance to the Forge of Vulkan's ancient stronghold. But it will not open for just anyone."

He turned to the others, and they fanned out in a line before the cliff, their dark silhouettes stark against the glowing runes. "We must attune the entrance to our presence. Form the circle."

As they joined hands, Osric caught Fyra's eye, and for a brief moment, he saw the same doubt and unease reflected in her eyes. She was one of the younger elders, still in training when he was ripped from their people. He wished he could offer her some reassurance, but he wasn't even sure he could reassure himself.

The elders began to chant in a lilting, otherworldly cadence, their voices rising and falling in an intricate pattern. As the words washed over him, Osric felt a strange tingle at the back of his mind, a sense of familiarity, like a half-remembered dream. His skin prickled with the raw power of it, and his tattoos began to glow, the molten patterns pulsing in time with the chant.

The ground beneath them rumbled, and the air filled with the acrid scent of sulfur as the magic built, a living, breathing thing. The runes on the cliff face shimmered, and then, slowly, they began to move, the stone shifting and parting like a curtain of lava.

The way was open.

The air inside the cavern was thick with sulfurous fumes, and the walls pulsed with an eerie, orange glow. The heat was oppressive, a living thing, but Osric ignored the sweat running down his back, the dryness of his throat. He had to stay focused, had to be ready for whatever trials lay ahead.

"The Hammer of Earthblood is a sacred weapon, forged in the heart of the mountain in the time before memory," Agnith said. "But it demands a worthy champion to claim it. We must prove ourselves in the eyes of the Forge if we are to harness its power."

Osric nodded, but his mind was racing. The Hammer of Earthblood. It was said to be a mighty weapon, capable of sundering mountains with a single blow. In the hands of the Obsidian Circle, it would be a devastating tool of destruction, laying waste to everything in its path.

The Obsidian Circle had to be stopped, of that he was certain. Their dark magics, their ruthless pursuit of power at any cost—it was a threat to everything he held dear. But to wield a weapon like the Hammer of Earthblood . . . it felt wrong, somehow. The kind of wrong that no amount of victory could make right.

He thought of Hali, with her bright eyes and her boundless imagination. She had spoken to him of the complexities of good and evil, of the shades of gray that colored the world. He had tried to warn her, to show her the darkness that lurked in the hearts of men, but a part of him couldn't help but wonder if she was right. If the Forge's way, his way, was truly just.

Agnith led them into a vast, cathedral-like chamber, the air thick with the stench of brimstone. Lava flowed in rivers on either side of a narrow causeway, the sweltering heat of it almost unbearable. "The first trial," Agnith said. "We must cross the River of Fire."

As he spoke, the lava began to rise, the rivers surging and frothing as the molten rock rose higher, threatening to engulf the causeway. "Hurry," Agnith said. "We must reach the other side before the lava engulfs us."

With a cry, he broke into a run, his boots pounding on the stone as he raced towards the far side of the causeway. Osric hesitated for a moment, the heat washing over him, and then he, too, was running, his heart pounding in time with his footsteps.

The lava was rising faster, the heat of it scorching his skin. He was almost there, almost to the other side, but the lava was surging higher, a wall of fire threatening to engulf him. With a desperate leap, he threw himself forward, his fingers grazing the edge of the causeway, and then Valthrun's strong hand closed around his wrist and hauled him up.

"Thank you," Osric gasped, his heart still racing. But there was no time to rest. The second trial awaited.

"The River of Fire," Agnith said, "must be crossed without touching the lava flow. Use your mastery of Ignan magic to shape the molten rock into stepping stones, but be quick. The lava is constantly shifting, and it will only hold its form for a few heartbeats before it begins to cool."

Aunir and Valthrun stepped forward, their hands already wreathed in flames as they surveyed the churning lava. Osric followed their lead, drawing on the well of power that burned within him, a primal, searing force. He reached out to the lava with his mind, calling to the molten rock, and to his relief, it answered. The lava surged and shifted, obeying his command as he shaped it into a narrow pillar.

"Go," Aunir said, and Osric nodded, his focus never wavering. He leapt onto the pillar of lava, his boots sinking into the molten rock. The heat singed at his flesh, but he ignored the pain, to focus on maintaining the flow. With a grunt of effort, he propelled the pillar forward, and then leaped to the next one, and the next, the lava roiling and shifting beneath him with each bound.

He was halfway across the chamber when he heard a cry of alarm. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Fyra's pillar of lava crumbling beneath her, the molten rock cooling and hardening too quickly. She was teetering on the edge, the heat of the lava flow threatening to pull her down.

"Aunir, to me!" Osric called. "We need to sustain the flow for her."

Aunir nodded, and together, they worked to keep the lava soft and malleable as Fyra made her way across. She stumbled as she reached the final pillar, the lava threatening to give way, but Osric was there, his hand outstretched. "Quickly," he said. "Before it hardens."

Fyra's eyes widened, and she scrambled forward, leaping from the pillar to his outstretched arm, and then he hauled her up to safety. She clung to him for a moment, her face pale, and then she nodded her thanks, and they continued on.

As they reached the far side of the chamber, the lava began to recede, the rivers flowing back into their channels. The stone doors at the far end of the chamber rumbled, and then slowly, they began to swing open, revealing a passage that led deeper into the earth.

"Well done," Agnith said, his stony expression giving nothing away. "But the true test is still to come."

A chill ran down Osric's spine as he peered beyond.

The second trial was a vast, circular chamber, thick with sulfur and the heat of the lava flows that surrounded them. Ancient runes lined the walls, pulsing with an eerie orange light as Agnith led them further into the chamber. "To claim the Hammer of Earthblood, we must first prove ourselves in the eyes of the Forge," Agnith rumbled. "The runes on the walls hold the key. We must decipher the correct sequence to quell the firestorm and reveal the path forward."

As he spoke, a vortex of fire roared to life at the center of the chamber. "Hurry," Agnith said. "The storm is building. We must calm it before it engulfs us."

The others scattered, moving from rune to rune as they debated their possible meanings. But Osric's mind was racing, a distant echo of Hali's voice in his ear. Think like a smith, she had told him. Like a forger of words, of metal, of meaning.

He closed his eyes, drawing on that memory, and then he stepped forward, wrenching a stone from the wall. He held it up before the vortex, and then with a roar of power, he hurled it into the heart of the storm.

The vortex shuddered, the flames sputtering and dying for a brief moment as the stone's magic disrupted the fire's flow. And in that brief respite, Osric saw his path.

He wove a path through the runes, each one a step in his intricate dance. The flames of the vortex surged towards him, but he forced himself to hold steady, to trust in the path he had forged. With a final cry, he slammed his hand against the last rune, and the chamber was plunged into darkness.

The flames roared, the storm of fire and magic howling all around them. But then, slowly, the fire began to subside, the magic that fueled it sputtering out. The chamber was wreathed in smoke and the acrid stench of charred stone, but the worst of the storm had passed.

As the smoke cleared, the stone doors at the far end of the chamber rumbled open.

"You did it," Fyra said, her eyes wide with awe.

Agnith regarded him with a stony stare, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes. "Well done, Emberhearth."

But as Osric gazed into the darkness that lay beyond, a pang of longing ran through him. He wished Hali was here, at his side, to share in this victory. She would have reveled in the challenge of it, in the thrill of unlocking the Forge's secrets. And more than that, he simply wished to see her face, to hear her voice, to feel the warmth of her hand in his.

But that was a luxury he could not afford, not now. His duty lay with the Forge, and he would see it through, no matter the cost.

Agnith led them to a massive door of interlocking gears and mechanisms, glowing with molten energy. "The final trial," Agnith said. "Only a master of metalshaping magic can unlock the door and claim the Hammer. Prove your mastery, Emberhearth, and the way will be open."

As Osric approached the door, he could feel the weight of the other elders' expectations pressing down on him. He forced himself to ignore them, focusing instead on the intricate web of gears and magic that sealed the way forward. Placing his hands on the scorching metal, he closed his eyes and reached out with his senses, feeling for the flow of power that animated the door.

It was a delicate balance, he knew. Too much force, and the metal would warp and twist, rendering the door forever sealed. Too little, and the magic would hold fast, unyielding to any physical effort.

As he wove his magic into the door, he thought, unbidden, of Hali once more. He could almost see her face, her eyes alight with the same passion that burned within him. She was a master of unlocking secrets, of delving into the mysteries of the past, and in her presence, he had felt a long-dormant part of himself awakening.

He pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. With a final infusion, he manipulated the last gear into place, and with a rumble of stone on stone, the doors began to swing open.

But as the door's mechanisms shifted into place, a wave of doubt washed over him. Was this truly the right course of action? To unleash a weapon of such devastating power, even in the name of stopping the Obsidian Circle? The Forge's methods suddenly seemed harsh and uncompromising, a blunt instrument where Hali's approach of understanding and compassion shone like a honed blade.

He hesitated, his hands still pressed to the door, the metal glowing white hot beneath his palms. But then the moment passed, and with a final surge of power, he unlocked the way forward.

The door swung open with a deep, resonant groan, and a blinding light spilled out, searing Osric's eyes and skin. He shielded his face with one arm, the heat of the magic within the chamber washing over him in a scorching wave. As his eyes adjusted, he caught a glimpse of the chamber beyond, and his breath caught in his throat.

There, at the far end of the chamber, perched on a pedestal of swirling molten rock, was the Hammer of Earthblood.

It was a massive weapon, the head of it as large as Osric's entire body, and the handle a length of thick, twisted metal. The surface of the hammer rippled like molten metal, and ancient runes danced and pulsed with an otherworldly light. The air around it shimmered and sizzled with raw power, and as Osric gazed upon it, he could almost feel the power of it calling to him with a seductive, dangerous song.

"The Hammer of Earthblood," Agnith said. "Forged in the heart of the mountain, a weapon of untold power. Are you ready to claim it, Emberhearth?"

Osric's heart was pounding in his chest, a frantic, uneven rhythm. This was what he had been searching for, what he had risked everything to find. The ultimate weapon, the key to stopping the Obsidian Circle once and for all.

And yet as he stepped forward, his hand outstretched towards the hammer, he hesitated. The power that radiated from it was intoxicating, but it was a dangerous, feral kind of magic. The kind of magic that could just as easily consume the one who wielded it as it could their enemies.

Was this truly the path he wanted to walk? To become a weapon himself, a tool of destruction in the name of a greater good? The conflict within him raged, a storm of doubts and fears. But as he looked to his companions, he knew what he had to do.

"Osric."

He started at the sound of his name, the name he'd all but forgotten, and his eyes flew open. The chamber, the lava, the hammer before him—it all melted away, until there was only her. Hali, her silhouette framed in the doorway, her eyes glowing in the darkness.

"Osric," she said again, and this time he felt a warm hand on his arm, the heat of it searing through the cold. He tried to speak, to form words, but his throat was dry, his tongue thick.

"What are you doing here?" he managed at last.

She offered him a sad smile, and suddenly, he felt the weight of everything bearing down on him. The guilt, the lies, the shadow of the Obsidian Circle and the promise of the Hammer of Earthblood. He longed to step forward, to take her in his arms, but he knew he had no right. Not after what he had done.

"I had to see for myself," she said. "I had to know . . ."

Her voice trailed off, but he knew what she was asking. Was he the man she had thought he was? Was there any trace of Osric left, or had he been consumed by his quest, his duty, his need for vengeance?

He didn't know the answer himself.

The world spun around him. Hali's words, the fury and certainty in them, struck a chord deep within him, and suddenly he was torn. Torn between his duty to the Forge, and the growing realization that perhaps the Forge's way was not always the right one. Torn between the path that had been laid out for him, and the path that he longed to walk, a path that led back to her.

"Seize the Hammer," Agnith said, his voice a low rumble, but he was no longer looking at Osric. He was staring straight at Hali, his eyes burning with a cold, eldritch light.

"The Hammer of Earthblood will never belong to you," Hali said, and there was a tremor in her voice now, a hint of something softer, sadder. "There are other ways, Osric. You do not have to follow in their footsteps."

The ground beneath them shuddered, the chamber itself shuddering at the raw power that crackled between Hali and Agnith. Osric could feel the pressure building, the heat and the magic of it, threatening to tear him apart.

"Osric," Hali said, and this time, it was a plea. A prayer. "Please."

Osric's heart shattered with the plea in her voice, but this was what he was forged, reshaped to do. He seized the Hammer of Earthblood and wrenched it free, the metal groaning and spitting lava as it came loose. He turned his back on Hali and headed toward his Forge of Vulkan fellows, each footstep heavier than lead.