The forge beneath Solvaris roared with chaos, its stone walls trembling under the wasteland's crust, steam surging through the air as the humid haze thickened, mist curling through the cracks of a world breaking apart, Etherstone light pulsing in jagged veins, illuminating a nightmare unraveling. Tomas Kael stood at the cavern's heart, mud squelching under his boots, his borrowed pickaxe gripped tight, its haft slick with sweat and blood, its blade glinting in the glow—a Dull among gods, wielding a truth that shattered steel, a fire beneath blazing into an inferno he'd stoked until Solvaris burned with it. His leg burned, a blistering welt torn open, blood seeping through its bandage; his chest stung, fresh cuts bleeding; his side throbbed from Gavric's dagger; his shoulder ached, flesh scarred—ribs groaning, a body fraying, pushed past breaking, held together by a will forged in Dustcrag's dust and blood, steam rising from his soaked shirt like a shroud of defiance. The Etherstone chunk at his belt hummed loud, its glow a pulsing blue, a heartbeat syncing with his ragged breaths, tying him to the scraps—vials, runes, children dosed with lies—a truth exposed, a blaze breaking free, the crowd's chant—Kael, Kael—a faint echo from above, shaking the depths, a pulse in his bones igniting the chaos.
Elara stood beside him, her dark hair damp with mist, her Spark a faint breeze stirring the steam, her eyes fierce with trust, tears glinting as she stared at the cribs—infants glowing, Etherstone veins pulsing in their skin—her hands trembling as she clutched his pack, the scraps' weight a fire between them, proof of the council's forge breaking the lie wide open. Her voice cut through the chaos, a whisper rising over the forge's hum—"Tomas—kids—Lila—it's all true—burn it down!"—her presence a steady anchor through the ache, her boots planted in the mud, defiance blazing in her gaze as she faced the cavern's nightmare, a tide turning in the fire beneath.
Mara towered at the forge's edge, her storm-cloud eyes blazing with fury, her gray hair whipping in her own Spark's wind, her robe sweeping the stone as she clutched a vial—glowing, liquid light trembling—her Spark a gust roaring through the steam, her voice thunder rolling over the chaos, sharp and cold, trembling with rage breaking free. "Toren!" she roared, turning on him, her wind blasting, knocking him back, steel shards clattering—"You built this—dosed them—lied to us all? Solvaris—our order—Etherstone and blood?" Her gaze locked on the cribs, infants glowing, her hand trembling as she touched one's tiny hand, runes pulsing, a storm breaking within her calm, her fury a gale tearing through the depths, steam swirling as she faced him, the elders, the truth.
Sereth flanked her, her green eyes sharp, her mask gone, her council badge glinting in the torchlight, her Spark bending light to pierce the shadows, illuminating the cribs—children twisted by lies—her voice steady, rising over the chaos—"Forges—vials—dosing—Kael's truth—our lie—I've seen it—below, hidden—I didn't know 'til now!"—a fire joining his blaze, steam rising as she faced Mara, a tide turning, her defiance stoking the inferno, her gaze darting to Tomas, a nod of trust breaking through.
Toren crawled, steel dimming, his face twisting—panic, rage, desperation—his voice a snarl clawing through the forge's hum, his Spark flickering as he gripped the stone, blood trickling from his brow, steam swirling around him. "Strength—order—Solvaris thrives—Dulls served—stop this!" he roared, his glare darting to the cribs, to Mara's fury, to Sereth's defiance, a man drowning in the fire he'd forged, his steel surging—shards flying, aimed for Tomas—but Mara's wind roared, blasting them back, steel clattering, her voice thunder—"No more lies!"—her Spark a storm breaking, shaking the cavern.
Tomas grinned, blood dripping, steam rising, the chunk's hum spiking, a roar in his skull as he stepped forward, mud squelching, pickaxe steady despite the shake in his hands, his voice a growl tearing through the forge's hum, shaking the stone. "Lies?" he snarled, meeting Toren's glare, then Mara's storm, unflinching, the cribs glowing behind him—children, Dustcrag's echo twisted—"Hard work beats your lies—beats your forge—Dulls served? Died—bled—for your stone, your Sparks—kids like Lila dosed here—vials, runes, proof—I dug it, broke it—beasts, blades, betrayal—I'll burn it down!" He swung the pickaxe, smashing a construct's frame—steel buckled, Etherstone spilling, glowing blue across the stone, steam surging as workers fled, overseers shouted, a fire beneath breaking free.
Mara's Spark surged—wind roaring, the cavern trembling, her voice thunder rolling over the chaos—"Truth—children—our order's root?" She strode to the cribs, her hand trembling as she lifted an infant—tiny, glowing, Etherstone veins pulsing—her storm-cloud eyes widening, rage and awe warring as she turned to Toren—"You—buried this—dosed them—lied?" Her wind blasted, knocking him back, steel shards shattering, a storm breaking, steam swirling as the elders surged—Veyra's ice melting—"Impossible!"—Dren's shadows shrinking—"Treason!"—Gorrim's earth rumbling—"Proof!"—Lysa's flames flickering—"Burn it!"—but their Sparks faltered, doubt igniting into chaos, the forge shaking under the truth's weight.
Elara rushed forward, her breeze sharp, tears streaming as she touched a crib—infants glowing, silent—her voice breaking—"Tomas—look—kids—Lila's hands—here!"—her Spark swirling, a fire stoking his own, steam curling around them as she faced Mara, her gaze fierce—"He's right—vials, dosing—Dustcrag's blood—burn it!"—a tide turning, her defiance blazing into the inferno, her hand gripping his arm, blood and steam mixing in the heat.
Sereth's Spark flared—light bending, illuminating the forge—vials glowing, constructs pulsing, children dosed—her voice sharp—"Mara—see—forges—truth—Kael's dug it—our lie!"—her green eyes blazing, a fire joining his blaze, steam rising as she faced the council, a tide breaking, her defiance stoking the chaos, her gaze locked on Tomas, a nod of trust igniting further.
Toren staggered, steel dimming, his voice a snarl—"Strength—order—needed it!"—but his Spark broke, his glare darting to the cribs, to Mara's fury, a man drowning in the fire he'd stoked. He lunged—steel surging, shards flying—but Tomas swung, pickaxe clanging, deflecting them, steam surging, his voice a roar—"Hard work beats your strength—I'm the spark!"—tackling Toren, toppling him into the mud-slick stone, pinning him, fist raised—blood dripping, steam rising, the chunk's hum a roar tied to Dustcrag, to Lila, to the truth.
Mara's wind roared—blasting the cavern, silencing the chaos, her voice thunder—"Enough—truth—forges—children—our lie!" She lifted the infant higher—glowing, trembling—her storm-cloud eyes blazing, a crack splitting her calm—"Solvaris—built on this—Etherstone and blood?" Her wind surged, the cavern shaking, steam swirling as she faced the elders—"Order—lies—Kael's truth—burns us!"—a storm breaking, the forge trembling, infants glowing, a fire beneath blazing free.
Tomas stood, blood dripping, steam rising, his leg buckling, his chest heaving, his side bleeding—ribs cracking, a body breaking—but his grin widened, the chunk's hum a roar, the crowd's chant—Kael, Kael—shaking the depths, a fire beneath igniting into an inferno. "Hard work beats talent—beats your lies—I'm the spark, and I'll burn it down!" He swung the pickaxe one last time—smashing a vat—Etherstone spilled, glowing blue, steam surging, the forge erupting—workers fleeing, overseers shouting, infants glowing—a truth breaking Solvaris wide, a breaking point reached, a blaze he'd stoke into eternity.