The ground shook harder. Cracks spread across the chamber floor. Ash rained from the ceiling.
The Forge wasn't dying. It was waking.
Vael gripped the ring. The pulse in it grew faster, steady like a drum. It wasn't pulling him. It was guiding him.
"Elira. Reylen. Stay close," he said.
Nyra smirked faintly. "Close won't save us."
The floor split with a roar. Fire poured upward, bright and violent. From the flames rose a shape—massive, built of molten stone. Its chest glowed like a furnace. Its eyes burned red.
Elira's breath caught. "A guardian."
Vael stared. "No. The Forge itself."
The creature leaned forward. Its voice rumbled without words, only meaning. You broke the crown. You carry its will. Prove it.
It struck the ground. Stone shattered. Heat blasted outward. Reylen staggered back, his weapon shaking in his hands.
Vael stepped forward. The ring was calm against his skin. Waiting.
"I'm not your vessel," he said. "I'm not your enemy either."
The giant advanced. Each step cracked the floor. Elira drew her bow, light forming between her fingers.
"Vael!" she shouted.
He raised his hand.
The ring caught the light.
The giant froze.
For a breath, the whole chamber stilled. Even the fire stopped moving.
The ring glowed once. Not wild. Not violent. Just steady.
The guardian lowered its head. The heat faded. The stone of its body softened. Slowly, it sank back into the earth.
Silence followed.
Vael let out a slow breath.
"It's not a weapon," he said. "It's proof."
The cracks closed. The flames died. Only the echo of the guardian's words remained. Will is forged, not given.
Vael looked at the others. His eyes were sharp. Clear.
"We're done here," he said. "We leave with what we've made, not what we take."
No shadows followed him this time.
He walked forward on his own.