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As they reached the far side of the chamber, the lava began to recede, the rivers flowing back into their channels. The stone doors at the far end of the chamber rumbled, and then slowly, they began to swing open, revealing a passage that led deeper into the earth.
“Well done,” Agnith said, his stony expression giving nothing away. “But the true test is still to come.”
A chill ran down Osric’s spine as he peered beyond.
The second trial was a vast, circular chamber, thick with sulfur and the heat of the lava flows that surrounded them. Ancient runes lined the walls, pulsing with an eerie orange light as Agnith led them further into the chamber. “To claim the Hammer of Earthblood, we must first prove ourselves in the eyes of the Forge,” Agnith rumbled. “The runes on the walls hold the key. We must decipher the correct sequence to quell the firestorm and reveal the path forward.”
As he spoke, a vortex of fire roared to life at the center of the chamber. “Hurry,” Agnith said. “The storm is building. We must calm it before it engulfs us.”
The others scattered, moving from rune to rune as they debated their possible meanings. But Osric’s mind was racing, a distant echo of Hali’s voice in his ear. Think like a smith, she had told him. Like a forger of words, of metal, of meaning.
He closed his eyes, drawing on that memory, and then he stepped forward, wrenching a stone from the wall. He held it up before the vortex, and then with a roar of power, he hurled it into the heart of the storm.
The vortex shuddered, the flames sputtering and dying for a brief moment as the stone’s magic disrupted the fire’s flow. And in that brief respite, Osric saw his path.
He wove a path through the runes, each one a step in his intricate dance. The flames of the vortex surged towards him, but he forced himself to hold steady, to trust in the path he had forged. With a final cry, he slammed his hand against the last rune, and the chamber was plunged into darkness.
The flames roared, the storm of fire and magic howling all around them. But then, slowly, the fire began to subside, the magic that fueled it sputtering out. The chamber was wreathed in smoke and the acrid stench of charred stone, but the worst of the storm had passed.
As the smoke cleared, the stone doors at the far end of the chamber rumbled open.
“You did it,” Fyra said, her eyes wide with awe.
Agnith regarded him with a stony stare, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes. “Well done, Emberhearth.”
But as Osric gazed into the darkness that lay beyond, a pang of longing ran through him. He wished Hali was here, at his side, to share in this victory. She would have reveled in the challenge of it, in the thrill of unlocking the Forge’s secrets. And more than that, he simply wished to see her face, to hear her voice, to feel the warmth of her hand in his.
But that was a luxury he could not afford, not now. His duty lay with the Forge, and he would see it through, no matter the cost.
Agnith led them to a massive door of interlocking gears and mechanisms, glowing with molten energy. “The final trial,” Agnith said. “Only a master of metalshaping magic can unlock the door and claim the Hammer. Prove your mastery, Emberhearth, and the way will be open.”
As Osric approached the door, he could feel the weight of the other elders’ expectations pressing down on him. He forced himself to ignore them, focusing instead on the intricate web of gears and magic that sealed the way forward. Placing his hands on the scorching metal, he closed his eyes and reached out with his senses, feeling for the flow of power that animated the door.
It was a delicate balance, he knew. Too much force, and the metal would warp and twist, rendering the door forever sealed. Too little, and the magic would hold fast, unyielding to any physical effort.
As he wove his magic into the door, he thought, unbidden, of Hali once more. He could almost see her face, her eyes alight with the same passion that burned within him. She was a master of unlocking secrets, of delving into the mysteries of the past, and in her presence, he had felt a long-dormant part of himself awakening.
He pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. With a final infusion, he manipulated the last gear into place, and with a rumble of stone on stone, the doors began to swing open.
But as the door’s mechanisms shifted into place, a wave of doubt washed over him. Was this truly the right course of action? To unleash a weapon of such devastating power, even in the name of stopping the Obsidian Circle? The Forge’s methods suddenly seemed harsh and uncompromising, a blunt instrument where Hali’s approach of understanding and compassion shone like a honed blade.
He hesitated, his hands still pressed to the door, the metal glowing white hot beneath his palms. But then the moment passed, and with a final surge of power, he unlocked the way forward.
The door swung open with a deep, resonant groan, and a blinding light spilled out, searing Osric’s eyes and skin. He shielded his face with one arm, the heat of the magic within the chamber washing over him in a scorching wave. As his eyes adjusted, he caught a glimpse of the chamber beyond, and his breath caught in his throat.
There, at the far end of the chamber, perched on a pedestal of swirling molten rock, was the Hammer of Earthblood.
It was a massive weapon, the head of it as large as Osric’s entire body, and the handle a length of thick, twisted metal. The surface of the hammer rippled like molten metal, and ancient runes danced and pulsed with an otherworldly light. The air around it shimmered and sizzled with raw power, and as Osric gazed upon it, he could almost feel the power of it calling to him with a seductive, dangerous song.
“The Hammer of Earthblood,” Agnith said. “Forged in the heart of the mountain, a weapon of untold power. Are you ready to claim it, Emberhearth?”
Osric’s heart was pounding in his chest, a frantic, uneven rhythm. This was what he had been searching for, what he had risked everything to find. The ultimate weapon, the key to stopping the Obsidian Circle once and for all.
And yet as he stepped forward, his hand outstretched towards the hammer, he hesitated. The power that radiated from it was intoxicating, but it was a dangerous, feral kind of magic. The kind of magic that could just as easily consume the one who wielded it as it could their enemies.
Was this truly the path he wanted to walk? To become a weapon himself, a tool of destruction in the name of a greater good? The conflict within him raged, a storm of doubts and fears. But as he looked to his companions, he knew what he had to do.
“Osric.”
