I stepped toward the center of the island. In the middle stood a forge—unlike any I had ever seen, its presence a pulse against the heat-soaked air.
The air shimmered around it—light bending like heat over steel, a mirage of power barely contained
The metal gleamed with a hue that shifted colors as I watched—bronze to silver to deep crimson. It seemed... alive, a heartbeat thrumming beneath its surface, whispering secrets I couldn't grasp.
"I thought it was a myth," Torglel murmured behind me—his voice low, almost reverent.
I turned to him, brow arching—his wide eyes locked on the forge, glinting with something I hadn't seen before. "Torglel, what are you talking about?"
He took a slow step forward, boots scuffing ash. "The First Forge," he murmured, reverent. "They say Tharnak forged the first dwarves here. This... isn't mining. This is sacred."
I stared at him—trying to wrap my head around it, words sinking like stone through water. "Well," I said, a dry smile tugging at my mouth. "That ought to win us a few votes."
As I turned away, something caught my eye. Alythiel was crouched, her hands carefully digging into the blackened earth.
I walked over. "What are you doing?" I asked.
She stood as I reached her—turning to face me, ash smudged on her hands—and in them was an egg, cradled like a secret too heavy to drop.
I froze—my mouth dry, my pulse stuttering. "How the hell did you find an egg down here?"
"The ground was softer here," she replied—calmly, but I saw the sharp focus in her moonstone eyes, a glint of discovery beneath her poise. "Not hard stone like the rest of the island. I wanted to know why."
I stared at the thing in her hands—dark and smooth, its surface veined with molten light that pulsed like a heartbeat—faint, alive, radiating warmth that brushed my skin even from a foot away. "Hide that," I said quietly, urgency cutting through. "Until we're out of Thoringard."
Without a word, Alythiel opened her pack, and wrapped it in cloth. She slid it in as if it were fragile as glass.
We made our way back up through the Smeltfire Deeps—the weight of our discovery heavy on my mind.
Torglel walked ahead—tossing the Drake's severed head between his hands like it was a bar snack and not proof of divine overachievement, its scales glinting faintly in the torchlight, jaws slack.
"Ugliest lizard I've ever barbecued," Torglel muttered, half-laughing as he hefted the dragon's head like a beer cask. His voice echoed off the stone, light—but when he looked back at me, something lingered behind the grin. Not just pride. Something quieter. Grateful. "You pulled us out of the fire, Solari."
Alythiel walked in silence beside us—her steps soft, measured—but I caught her glancing my way more than once—quick, searching looks, like she was weighing something in her mind, her lips pressed thin. I thought about asking what was on her mind, but now wasn't the time.
When we finally emerged—ash clinging to our boots, heat still searing our lungs—I sent word to the Emberforge Senate, summoning them to the council chamber. Torglel, Alythiel, and I waited in silence—stone walls looming, the air cool against my sweat-slick skin—as one by one, the senators filed in, taking their seats in a semicircle of stone and iron.
When they were all seated—Tolgarn leaned forward, his expression carved from granite—gray beard stark against his dark armor, eyes hard as flint. "Solari," he said—his deep voice filling the chamber, resonant as a hammer strike—"since you've gathered us again, I take it you've slain the Deepfire Drake?"
Without a word, Torglel stepped forward—boots thudding—and dropped the Drake's head onto the table with a heavy thud that echoed off the stone walls.
He grinned like he'd knocked the Drake out with one hand and used the other to baste it in gravy. "Aye," he said. "Dead as you can get, that's for sure."
Tolgarn's stern expression cracked just enough for a faint smile—a flicker of warmth beneath the king's mask. "The Smeltfire Deeps harbored much more than the Drake," I said—my voice cutting through the rising murmurs in the room, steady and firm.
I glanced at Torglel—who nodded, stepping forward with a gleam in his eye. "Aye," he said—voice booming now, awed but proud. "You won't believe it—but the Drake was guarding the First Forge."
The chamber exploded into chaos—senators shouting over one another, voices rising in disbelief and fury. Velmira leaned back in her chair—a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips as she watched the argument unfold—ringed fingers tapping idly, her sharp eyes glinting with calculation.
Ruvik and Gralden were the first to deny it outright—calling our claim impossible, Ruvik's cold voice slicing through, Gralden's disdain thick as he gripped his staff. Taldric, Odrin, and Brannik fired back—arguing it had to be true—how else could such a beast have been guarding something so sacred?—Taldric's calm logic clashing with Odrin's sharp insistence, Brannik's blunt nod sealing their stance.
"Silence!" Tolgarn's voice cracked through the chamber like thunder—silencing the storm in an instant. The room fell still, eyes snapping to him. "The Senate will investigate the Shadow Hand's claim," he said. "We will meet again at the peak of day tomorrow."
His gaze met mine—hard, weighing, a king's scrutiny cutting deep. "You are all dismissed."
One by one, the senators filed out—their hushed conversations trailing after them into the dark halls like whispers of smoke.
I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding—tension easing from my shoulders, chest loosening. "Let's get dinner," I said.
"Dragon slaying makes me hungrier then a troll at a banquet," Torglel replied with a grin—rubbing his stomach as we walked, his hand thumping against his singed armor. I couldn't help but chuckle under my breath—a low, tired sound breaking through the weight.
We made our way to the Broken Helm—Torglel's favorite spot in Thoringard, its stone walls vibrating with life. The place was as rowdy as I remembered—dwarven soldiers packed the stone tables, deep in their cups, slamming tankards and shouting songs off-key—ale sloshing, voices clashing. A brawl erupted in the back. Fists flying, and one broad-shouldered idiot took to the air with a flying elbow drop off a keg, roaring something about vengeance and venison.
The food was good, immaculate even—roast meat and bread steaming on the table, scents cutting through the chaos. Almost enough to ignore the noise—but not quite, the din a constant roar in my ears.
We sat in silence while the dwarves around us buzzed with drunken merriment—laughter echoing through the Broken Helm, tankards slamming on tables, the fight's shouts fading into the clamor. None of it mattered—not to us.
I met Alythiel's gaze across the table. She didn't hesitate. "What really happened down there?" she asked—voice steady but sharp underneath, a blade probing for truth. "You sprouted wings. And those runes... they burned through your skin brighter than anything I've ever seen."
Torglel let out a heavy sigh—rubbing a hand down his face. "Aye, brother," he said—tone low and serious, no trace of his usual grin. "She's right. What's going on with you?" His face was set—determined, eyes locked on mine—I'd never seen him like this, all levity stripped away.
I stared down at the scarred wood of the table for a long moment—tracing a gouge with my thumb—before I spoke. "Look," I said. "I don't even understand it myself." I exhaled slow. "I know I have demonic heritage. But this?" I shook my head. "I don't know what this was."
Alythiel's hand closed over mine before I realized she was reaching for it—warm, steady, grounding me in the chaos. "You can rely on us," meeting my eyes, her grip tightening just a little, a lifeline in her touch. "We'll help you figure it out." Her voice softened—firm but gentle. "Your burden isn't yours alone to bear... not when you're surrounded by friends."
Torglel reached across and clapped me on the shoulder—the slap familiar but heavier this time. "Aye," he said. "As long as you've got us, we'll tackle anything. Head on. Together."
I took a breath—the weight in my chest didn't vanish, but it eased—a knot loosening under their words. "Thanks," I said. "Both of you. Truly." I gave Alythiel's hand a gentle squeeze—then reached for my mug and lifted it high—foam sloshing faintly. "If we die before we wake, may we be reunited in the afterlife." I gave them both a small grin. "And if we live, the day is ours. So let's drink and laugh until the morning sun."
Torglel let out a bark of laughter—slamming his mug against mine, ale spilling over the rim—and Alythiel's smile was faint but real—raising her mug to meet ours, a quiet spark in her eyes.
We drank—deep, gulps cutting through the day's ash with warmth and a bite. We swapped stories late into the night—Torglel's wild tales, Alythiel's dry quips—laughter rising over the din. And for a little while, we let the world fall away—I was truly grateful for moments like this, a tether in the storm. I didn't realize how much... until later, when the quiet broke.
I stumbled into my room—legs heavy, head buzzing—and collapsed onto the bed, too drained to bother undressing—boots dangling off the edge, armor creaking. I closed my eyes—waiting for sleep to take me, darkness pulling at the edges.
When it did, I found myself back in that same room—walls made of pure darkness, unnaturally circular, a void swallowing light. The air hung heavy—silent—like the world itself was holding its breath. And there he was—sitting in an elegant red chair, one leg crossed over the other like a noble at court—me, but wrong in all the ways that mattered. Black wings folded lazy, a shadow of my own face staring back.
His eyes gleamed like smoldering coals—red-orange flickers in the dark—and that same infuriating, smug smile curled across his lips. "I've told you time and time again," he said, voice soft as velvet soaked in venom—too gentle for the threat it carried. "But do you listen? No." He gestured lazily with one hand—as if addressing a child.
"You flail until death is already breathing down your neck. Why wait, Solari? It's already yours."
He leaned forward slightly—the chair creaking under him, a low groan in the void. "Wouldn't you rather soar? You've already tasted it. Stop pretending you haven't enjoyed it."
His smile widened—he always smiled like he knew something I didn't, a secret dangling just out of reach. And I hated the smug certainty, the pull of his words.
"I'm not a monster," I said, fists clenched. "Tapping into that power makes me you."
I breathed through clenched teeth.
"I'd rather burn."
His laugh cracked the silence—sharp, jagged, like glass breaking under pressure. "You will accept it one day," he said—voice low, almost gentle. "And that day draws closer with every breath you take."
The room darkened—his gleaming, pointed smile the last thing I saw—bright against the void—before—
I woke—breath ragged, heart pounding in my chest—sweat cold on my skin. The dim lighting of torches reflected the dark chill I felt inside.
That smile was burned in my mind—haunting, infuriating. A promise carved in shadow, echoing louder the more I tried to forget it.
We were summoned back to the council chamber—
boots echoing through Thoringard's stone halls.
As I entered—my gaze swept across the gathered Senate, each member a pillar of judgment.
Ruvik and Gralden glared with more venom than ever—eyes like tempered steel. Ruvik's red hair slashed across his pale brow; Gralden's staff shook in his white-knuckled grip.
Velmira, by contrast, radiated satisfaction—her sharp smile glinting beneath a canopy of jeweled rings, like she'd scripted this outcome herself.
Brannik offered a simple nod—stern but neutral, his scarred face unreadable.
Odrin beamed, pride tugging at his lean frame—no doubt thrilled that his gamble had paid off.
And Taldric? He gave me a soft smile, a respectful nod—quiet approval steady in his gaze.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Tolgarn's voice cut through the silence—deep, resonant, the sound of command.
"The Emberforge Senate has investigated the Shadow Hand's claim regarding the First Forge."
He let the words settle like cooling steel.
"They are true. We found veins of Tharnakite... and Valkrynium ore as well."
Beside me, Torglel let out a low whistle.
I kept still—but my pulse raced. Two metals of legend.
"It has been decided," Tolgarn continued, voice like granite. "Thoringard will enter into diplomatic alliance with the Shadow Hand."
A flicker of a smile tugged at my lips—small, restrained, but there.
One step closer to Zolphan.
Tolgarn's gaze settled on me again.
"Additionally, it is the will of the Senate that Solari and Torglel be rewarded for their deeds."
He let that sit. "You shall each receive new weapons... forged by Baldrum Tharnforge, Master Ancestral Smith."
My breath hitched.
Even Torglel stiffened beside me—brows rising, blue eyes wide.
This wasn't a gift. This was legend made real. A dwarven smith of Baldrum's caliber didn't forge for just anyone—especially not for outsiders, adopted son or not.
Tolgarn's voice softened, prideful.
"Your discovery will alter the course of our people's future. You three have carved history."
His eyes moved to Alythiel. "As for you... though you fought with valor, such gifts cannot be offered to an outsider. I trust you understand."
Alythiel bowed her head gracefully—silver hair catching the light like moonlight on snow.
"I do."
But as she adjusted her pack, I caught a subtle curl of her lips—a private smile. She didn't leave empty-handed.
I stepped forward.
"Your Majesty. I have a request."
Gralden opened his mouth to object—staff already lifting—
but Tolgarn silenced him with a single glare.
The kind that did not ask twice.
Gralden shut his mouth with an audible snap.
"Speak," Tolgarn said.
I drew my blades.
Celerius and Mors, dulled and cracked. Their scars told stories of the Drake's fire, the depths, and everything in between.
"These were a gift from you," I said. "They've served me well. But they're beyond repair."
I bowed my head.
"I would ask they be melted down... and reborn. Into something worthy."
Silence followed.
Then Tolgarn nodded.
"Granted."
He turned to the room.
"Is there any other business?"
Odrin raised a hand.
"Solari. Torglel. When your weapons are ready... come see me."
His grin made it sound less like a summons and more like a dare.
I nodded.
Tolgarn's gaze passed once more across the chamber, then dropped like a hammer.
"This meeting is adjourned."
I turned to Alythiel.
"We'll meet you later. At the Broken Helm."
She nodded.
Then she was gone, silver hair vanishing into the shadows.