"When the tyrant king fell, the people cheered in jubilation. When Albarion rose, they worshipped him like a god. They never saw the chains being forged in the dark depths of the flames."
— The Forbidden Verses, Archives of Embers (sealed by royal decree)
The fire in the forge had long since died out.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
A young man hammered a brightly glowing piece of steel. Sparks danced wildly with every strike of the hammer against the anvil, while thick smoke billowed, forming a grey blanket in the air. He was merely in his early twenties, yet the muscles on his shoulders bore the burden of a middle-aged man—the price of survival in the industrial district of Sarexenth: Smokewatch.
The iron door of the workshop creaked open. A young woman clad in dark leather stepped inside, parting the lingering dust. Her black hair was tied back neatly, framing a pair of sharp eyes that radiated a brilliant intellect.
"Elka," she called out, her eyes scanning the blacksmith's bustling activity with calculation.
No answer. Her call was drowned out by the roar of clashing metal and thick smoke.
"Elka Evereon!" she shouted louder, cutting through the workshop's din.
The blacksmith's hammer froze mid-swing. Elka turned, finally noticing his friend standing in the doorway. He exhaled a rough breath, blowing the sweat from his face. "What is it, Rizel Vorentha?"
"Just a reminder," Rizel said anxiously. "You haven't forgotten about the meeting tonight, have you?"
"I need to finish this order first," Elka replied bluntly, bringing his hammer down once more. The glowing iron bar on the anvil slowly began to flatten under the constant, rhythmic strikes.
Rizel's gaze shifted, her eyes landing on a pile of empty Seal tokens scattered on the corner of the table, then moved to the cold, lifeless hearth.
Yet, the iron in Elka's hand glowed brightly. Seeing this, Rizel shook her head slowly.
"You've truly lost your mind," she muttered in a half-whisper.
She reached into a flat leather pouch at her waist and pulled out a pure Seal, pulsating with a deep blue light. She held it at eye level to inspect its mana capacity—dark ink stains still clinging to her fingertips—before finally handing it to Elka.
"At the very least, that hearth needs to burn with a fire they recognize. You know the patrols have become more frequent lately."
Elka paused his swing for a moment. He accepted the precious magic token and slipped it into the pocket of his leather apron. Inside his veins, Ashen—the mysterious spirit entity that fueled his fire—slowly subsided.
Before Elka could turn back to the anvil—
CRASH!
The sound of a wooden door being violently kicked open echoed from across the cobblestone street. A piercing scream followed immediately, tearing through the grey air of the Smokewatch industrial district.
Three massive figures clad in pitch-black armor had just stormed out of the Borin family's weaving shop. The Flameguard. One of them violently dragged a terrified, struggling teenage girl out into the middle of the muddy street.
"Third-degree business debt," the Flameguard's mechanical voice echoed coldly from behind its visor, reading the decree in its hand without a shred of empathy. "By the mandate of the System, Mister Borin's death is automatically inherited by his offspring."
The surrounding citizens began peeking from behind windows and cracks in doors; no one dared to step outside. Elka froze in the doorway of his workshop. Beside him, Rizel gripped the blacksmith's sleeve tightly, a silent warning for him to hold back.
Widow Borin rushed out, throwing herself onto the filthy street. The middle-aged woman wept hysterically, prostrating herself and hugging the guard's iron boots. "I beg you! Take me instead! She's too young!" she wailed pitifully.
The Flameguard snorted in disgust and roughly kicked the woman aside, sending her sprawling. Seeing her mother treated like that, the teenage girl broke free, throwing herself over her mother to protect her.
Feeling its authority disrespected, the black-armored guard raised its heavy steel boot, preparing to kick the girl's head.
Elka's rationality snapped instantly.
In the blink of an eye, the young man lunged across the street. His movements were far too swift for an ordinary blacksmith. Right before the steel could crush the girl's face, Elka crossed his arms, blocking the lethal kick.
BAM! A heavy impact echoed. The young man's momentum and solid stance forced the black-armored giant to stumble a step backward from the recoil of its own force.
Behind its iron mask, the guard's red Sight-rune flared with rage. Before Elka could correct his posture, the other two Flameguards lunged at once. One of them drove a steel-plated knee into Elka's back, forcing the young man to kiss the rough cobblestones.
"Defying the System? You ungrateful piece of trash," growled the guard holding him down, pressing its steel heel harder between Elka's shoulder blades.
Rizel ran over, standing in their way with both hands raised. "That's enough!" Rizel shouted loudly, pointing sharply at the wooden signboard bearing a hammer and anvil logo above his door. "He's a licensed royal blacksmith!"
The first guard, who had stumbled earlier, stepped forward, glaring down at Elka pinned to the ground. Its red lenses scanned the young man's face, then glanced at the forge. It snorted roughly.
"Consider yourself lucky, boy. Do your job right and forge for the kingdom. Don't get in our way," the squad leader said coldly. He signaled his comrade. "Release him. Our duty is only to detain this debtor. Take her."
Elka could only press his jaw against the cobblestones, staring bleakly as Mister Borin's daughter was dragged into the prisoner carriage heading toward the city center. The girl's screams calling out for her mother slowly faded, leaving only the widow's agonizing sobs in the middle of the muddy street.
The weight lifted off his back. The black-armored squad marched away.
"But remember this, Blacksmith," one of the guards threatened without looking back. "If this happens again, you will be deemed a rebel. Your skill with steel won't save your life."
Elka rose in silence, wiping the mud from his face and ignoring the horrified stares of the onlookers. He walked over to the middle-aged woman who was still trembling on the ground.
Without a word, he knelt and helped her up, guiding her back into the house.
Rizel quickly followed. Inside, she took over—gently seating the mother, holding her hands tightly, and whispering soothing words amidst the endless sobs.
Elka turned, returning to the suffocating heat of the workshop. He grabbed a pair of tongs, pulling the half-flattened iron bar from the forge. Loud clangs filled the room, one after another, as if every strike ignited the fury he was burying deep inside.
Not long after, Rizel approached him again, leaning against a wooden pillar with a heavy sigh. She let the sound of the hammer echo for a few moments before finally speaking—
"Do you realize what you just did?"
Elka didn't answer; his jaw clenched.
Rizel shook her head slowly. "The Flameguard are just dogs of the Arcanum. Their System is the root of this city's rot. That is exactly what we want to destroy."
She paused for a second. "That poor girl—"
"—will be turned into a forced laborer," Elka cut in furiously. "Channeling Seals until her body wastes away."
CLANG!
The hammer struck the anvil so hard that sparks danced across the floor.
"And I couldn't stop it."
Rizel stared at him for a long time.
"I know it hurts. The late Mister Borin was nice to you." She let out a sigh. "But this isn't your fault."
CLANG!
Elka kept hammering without answering. His jaw was clamped so tight that the muscles in his cheeks bulged.
Rizel endured the rising heat filling the workshop.
"Listen to me, Elka," she pleaded softly. "This rebellion finally has a chance to expose the rot of the Arcanum. There's no longer any reason to—"
HSSSSS!
Elka plunged the hot iron blade into the cooling barrel beside the anvil. Thick steam erupted into the air, carrying the smell of wet metal and ozone.
The hiss of the water slowly faded.
Elka lifted the cooled blade. He stared deep into Rizel's eyes, his face half-hidden behind the billowing steam.
"It's done," he said softly but firmly.
"Tonight... we meet him."
A relieved smile bloomed on Rizel's face, erasing the lines of worry that had haunted it moments before.
"Nice," she replied quickly, the spark returning to her eyes. "Meet me on the roof of the old temple near the square. Eight o'clock sharp."
A moment before she went, she pointed lightly at Elka with sharp eyes.
"Don't disappoint me again."