The next morning, Vaeroth felt colder. Not in temperature — in mood. People glanced over their shoulders. Merchants closed early. Guards walked in pairs.
Trouble had a scent, and it was drifting in like fog.
Soryn divided the group.
Garron & Maera would investigate the old ironworks district.
Lyria & Kethra would question the city clerk who had signed Voss's altered documents.
Aeron & Soryn would follow rumors about strange singing coming from the eastern foundries.
"Yes. Singing," Maera said as they walked. "Creepy, metallic, echoing. Totally normal."
Garron grunted. "Nothing about this city is normal."
The group split.
Aeron & Soryn — The Foundry District
The foundry district smelled of rust, burnt oil, and smoke. Most buildings were abandoned, their furnaces cold.
Soryn placed a hand on Aeron's shoulder. "Stay close. The Forgefathers used this part of the city decades ago. They may have left old infrastructure running."
Aeron nodded.
They walked past a collapsed chimney when a soft, metallic hum drifted across the wind.
Then a voice.
Then several.
Singing.
Harmonized.
But wrong — like metal pipes forced to imitate human voices.
They followed the sound into a massive warehouse.
Inside stood a group of figures.
Not alive.
Not dead.
Cyborgs — part metal, part flesh, welded together with cruel precision. Their chests glowed with furnace-like heat. Their voices blended in eerie unity.
The Iron Choir.
Aeron's skin went cold. "What… are they?"
Soryn's face tightened. "Victims. Reforged."
The Choir turned toward them.
Their leader stepped forward — a tall figure whose face was half-mask, half-scar.
"I am Cantor," he said, voice buzzing. "We enforce the order that the living fail to maintain."
Aeron swallowed. "You're working for the Forgefathers."
Cantor nodded. "We are what happens when society builds strength from suffering."
Soryn whispered, "Don't provoke them."
But Aeron took a step forward anyway. "You didn't choose this."
The cyborgs' eerie chorus vibrated the walls.
"Choice," Cantor said slowly, "is a luxury of those who were not abandoned."
Soryn's hand moved toward his spear. "Aeron, behind me."
Cantor's eyes glowed brighter. "The Forgefathers ordered us to retrieve the Ashborn. Alive. If possible."
Aeron's pulse spiked.
The Choir advanced.
Soryn deflected a blast of metallic energy with his spear. "Run!"
Aeron dodged behind support beams, his glow flaring as panic surged.
Cantor's voice rang out. "You carry the Heartstone. Your power destabilizes the order we built. Come with us."
"No!" Aeron shouted.
A strand of molten light burst from his hands, striking a beam. It cracked, sending debris crashing down. The Choir staggered.
Soryn grabbed Aeron by the arm. "We need to regroup — now!"
They sprinted out as the warehouse began collapsing behind them. The Choir's chorus followed them into the street like a curse.
Garron & Maera — Ironworks District
Meanwhile, Garron and Maera found the old ironworks shutters torn open.
Inside, they discovered maps — mill routes, supply lines, ledger books tied with metal thread.
Maera flipped through one. "These are plans for future diversions."
Garron growled. "They're planning a famine."
Footsteps echoed behind them.
A man stepped out — masked, armored, carrying a hammer etched with runes.
"The Forgefathers thank you for destroying Voss," he said. "Now we can replace him."
Maera grinned. "We have terrible timing, don't we?"
Lyria & Kethra — City Offices
At the office of records, Lyria and Kethra cornered the clerk who burned documents.
He trembled. "I didn't want to help them, I swear! They threatened my family!"
Kethra softened. "Then help us now."
The clerk handed them a sealed envelope.
"I was told to deliver this… to the Ashborn."
Lyria opened it.
Inside was a single line.
"You cannot stop hunger. You can only choose who starves."
— The Forgefathers
Kethra cursed under her breath. "They're declaring war."
All Groups Reunite
The team met again at dusk, shaken and bruised.
"The Iron Choir is real," Soryn said grimly.
"They want Aeron," Maera added.
"And they're planning something big," Lyria said, holding up the letter.
Aeron felt his glow pulse with fear.
Garron looked at him with rare softness. "Listen, kid. Whatever happens — we're with you."
Aeron nodded, but his voice trembled. "They're coming for us."
"No," Soryn corrected.
"They're coming for the city."
The torches flickered. Somewhere in Vaeroth, the Choir began to sing again. And it sounded like war.