The forge roared again for the first time in days.
Sparks leapt skyward like fireflies as molten bronze flowed across the stone pit. The tribe gathered around it, their faces lit by the glow, eyes shimmering with both wonder and pride. They whispered among themselves, unable to hide the excitement that filled the clearing.
Torya stood before the flame, sweat tracing lines down his neck, the heat licking against his arms. The red patterns under his skin pulsed faintly — the mark of an Ascendant at work.
He exhaled slowly, gripping a long metal shaft that gleamed like liquid sunlight.
"Leader Torya, are those… ores from the new we went mine?" Kael asked, eyes wide. The young hunter had followed him since the expedition and still carried awe for everything he saw.
Torya nodded. "Yes. Copper and iron mixed. The colors are still rough, but they'll do for what I have in mind."
Old Varin leaned forward on his cane, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're making another dagger?"
Torya smiled faintly. "No. Not this time. I've made something for myself — something fitting for a leader."
He raised the half-finished weapon and rested it against the anvil. Its long shaft curved into a blade at one end, its edges unfinished but already magnificent.
Yoren blinked. "That's… not a spear. What is it?"
"A halberd," Torya replied, eyes gleaming. "A weapon with reach, strength, and grace. Part spear, part axe — and wholly devastating if wielded right."
Rahn whistled. "It looks… dangerous."
"Everything worth using is," Torya said, setting the metal in place and raising his hammer. He struck the glowing edge with force — clang! The sound echoed through the forest like a heartbeat of fire.
Each blow sent sparks raining around him. The others stepped back, watching in silence as the Ascendant worked. The flame around Torya's arms danced brighter, red patterns crawling toward his shoulders. His movements were steady, rhythmic, as if guided by something unseen.
Lera approached quietly, her voice soft over the crackle of fire. "You really love that weapon, don't you?"
Torya didn't look up. "In my dreams… I've seen a man wielding one. He stood tall amid chaos, cutting through all that threatened his people. I think I've always wanted to be that kind of man."
She smiled faintly. "Then make it well — because you already are."
Torya gave a quiet laugh, and with one final strike, the blade's edge gleamed crimson. He lifted it into the light. The halberd's blade curved like a flame frozen in motion, its shaft engraved with faint serpentine marks that shimmered faintly with Aether.
Old Seran took a careful step closer. "By the flame… what do you call it?"
Torya turned, holding the weapon upright. "The Ember Fang."
The name carried through the air, and for a moment, even the forest seemed to listen.
By the next morning, the tribe was already at work. Children carried baskets of herbs; women cleaned the animal hides; the men hauled stones and logs to reinforce the forge.
Torya stood at the center, surrounded by the twelve young hunters who had followed him since the first expedition. Each of them carried a spear, faces serious and expectant.
He planted the Ember Fang into the ground and crossed his arms. "From this day on," he said, "we won't just fight with instinct. We'll fight with technique — with control."
Daren, the broad-shouldered hunter whose calmness matched his strength, frowned slightly. "Technique?"
Torya nodded. "A way of fighting passed through understanding, not just muscle. — the Spear Dragon manual. And I'll teach it to all of you."
Their eyes widened.
Yoren laughed, excitement breaking his composure. "A spear technique? Finally! The snakes won't know what hit them next time!"
The others murmured in agreement, gripping their spears tighter.
Torya motioned for them to form a circle. "The Spear Dragon is about flow. The spear isn't meant to stab like a rigid branch — it's meant to move like water, coil like a dragon, strike where it least expects."
He spun his halberd in demonstration, the weapon cutting the air with a sharp whistle. "Every step, every thrust, carries momentum. Feel the ground, feel the rhythm. The spear isn't just in your hands — it's part of your breath."
Rahn squinted. "So it's like dancing with your weapon?"
Torya grinned. "Exactly. But the kind of dance that kills."
They laughed, the tension easing, and Torya began guiding them through the movements. Dust rose under their feet as they practiced, bodies moving in unison under the midday sun. The first few attempts were clumsy — too much strength, too little control — but with each repetition, the rhythm began to form.
"Daren, loosen your stance. Let the spear flow, don't force it."
"Yes, Leader."
"Yoren, don't pull back too much before a strike — you lose speed."
"Got it!"
Hours passed. The sun dipped lower, painting the clearing in gold. Their breathing grew heavy, arms sore, yet none of them stopped.
When Torya called for a rest, Daren stayed standing, his spear spinning lightly in his hands. His movements were precise, smoother than before. The others paused to watch.
Torya's brows lifted in surprise. "You've got it already?"
Daren stopped mid-swing and scratched the back of his neck. "It just… felt right. Like the spear wanted to move that way."
Yoren groaned. "Of course it did for you, mountain-arms."
Torya laughed. "No, he's right. That's how it's supposed to feel. Daren, from now on, you'll help teach the others while I tend to other matters."
Daren straightened, pride flickering in his eyes. "It would be my honor, Leader."
Before long, Yoren and Tir also began to grasp the rhythm. They laughed among themselves, challenging each other to faster movements while the others cheered them on.
Lera and some of the children watched from a distance, smiling as dust and laughter filled the air. "Look at them," she said softly. "They look alive."
Old Seran chuckled. "They are alive. For the first time, they're fighting not for survival… but for pride."
When the training ended, Torya set down his weapon and turned toward the forge again. The air was cooler now, but the heat of purpose burned stronger than ever.
He gathered several of the men — Rahn, Kael, and two others — and pointed toward the pile of ores. "We'll need more tools. Spears, knives, axes. But also shields — our people must be able to defend as well as attack."
Kael tilted his head. "Shields, Leader? Like… the shells of beasts?"
Torya smiled. "Yes, but better. We'll use hardwood — dense and strong — with a bronze center. It'll hold firm even against claws."
Kael's eyes lit up. "I can do that! My father used to carve with stone blades — I can shape the wood."
"Good," Torya said, handing him a hammer. "You'll learn metalwork too. Every Emberkin should know the weight of their tools."
They spent hours forging and crafting. The rhythmic clangs of metal filled the air as night fell, sparks lighting the clearing like stars.
Kael struggled at first, but when the veins on his hands glowed red he started to focus.
Kael groaned, shaking his hand.
Their laughter echoed through the clearing. The tribe, seeing their leader work alongside them, followed his example — some prepared meals, others fetched water or organized tools. The Emberkin were no longer merely surviving; they were building.
As dawn crept over the horizon, Torya hammered the final plate of bronze into the center of a newly made shield. He lifted it up to the firelight. The bronze gleamed faintly, the serpent-like lines from his flame hands etched into the metal.
He handed it to Kael. "Try it."
Kael braced himself, gripping the wooden edge. Torya struck the shield lightly with a spearhead — clang! The sound was deep and solid.
"It's… strong," Kael whispered, eyes wide.
"It's more than strong," Torya said. "It's ours."
The young hunter smiled, pride swelling in his chest. "Leader, one day… I'll make weapons as beautiful as yours."
"You will," Torya said simply. "And when that day comes, the world will remember that the Emberkin forged fire with their own hands."
Old Varin approached slowly, his eyes gleaming with emotion. "I never thought I'd live to see this. The tribe that once bartered for scraps now shapes metal with fire."
Torya looked around — at the glowing forge, the resting hunters, the laughing children — and nodded. "This is only the beginning, Elder. The forge won't stop. Not now."
Torya smiled to himself. "let's see how far we can go."
He lifted the Ember Fang once more, its blade reflecting the rising sun. Around him, the tribe's forges blazed anew — a sea of glowing fire, each spark a symbol of their future.
The Forging Era of the Emberkin had begun.