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As Agnith spoke, a fire kindled in the eyes of the other council members, their voices rising with excitement. Cold dread spread through Osric’s veins like ice. This was what he had been working towards, what he had sacrificed everything for. And now that it was within his grasp, he wasn’t sure if he could go through with it.
He glanced to the side, his eyes seeking out the empty space where Hali had been sitting in his dreams. What would she think of this, of the path he was walking? He had sworn an oath to the Forge, had dedicated his life to their cause. But as he stared into the flames that danced across the obsidian table, he couldn’t silence the voice in his mind, the doubts and questions that had taken root.
“The Hammer’s power is vast,” one of the council members said. “But it must be harnessed, focused, or it will consume us all.”
Agnith turned to Osric, his eyes like chips of smoldering embers. “That is where you come in, my student.”
Osric shuddered. He had known that his mastery of Ignan magic would be crucial to the ritual, but he hadn’t expected to play such a central role. “What must I do?”
“You will be the vessel,” Agnith said. “The one to contain the Hammer’s power and direct it towards the Anvil. It is a task of immense responsibility, but I have every confidence in you.”
Osric nodded, his face a mask of determination, but inside, he was reeling. The lives of so many depended on him, his ability to control the raw power of the Hammer. If he faltered, even for a moment, it could mean disaster. And even if he succeeded, what then? The thought of all that death, all that pain and suffering, weighed heavily on his heart.
But as he looked around the table at the faces of the council members, their eyes alight with the promise of power, he knew there was no turning back. He had come too far, had sacrificed too much. The only path now was forward, no matter the cost.
After the council meeting broke, Osric retreated to the vast library that sprawled at the heart of the Forge’s hidden stronghold. The shelves were crammed with tomes and scrolls, ancient texts and forbidden grimoires, all carefully cataloged and warded. It was said that the library held the accumulated knowledge of the Emberforged, gathered over countless generations, and guarded with their lives.
Osric’s footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he headed deeper into the stacks. He passed roiling cauldrons of lava, their heat washing over him in waves, and ancient automatons that stood silent and watchful in the shadows. He knew he should be focusing on the details of the ritual, the precise incantations and gestures that would be required. But his mind was elsewhere, caught up in a tangle of doubts and questions.
Why did it have to be this way? Why did the power of the Hammer have to be bought with so much blood? He knew the council’s reasoning, had heard the same arguments a hundred times. The world was a chaotic, dangerous place, and only by seizing control of its fate could they hope to bring order. But at what cost? Was there no other path they could take?
He stopped in front of a row of tomes, each one bound in shimmering dragonhide. The history of the Forge. The theory and practice of ignan magic. Treatises on the nature of power and control. He had read them all before, but he searched for some clue, some hint of an alternative.
A memory flickered to life, unbidden. Hali’s hands, deft and sure, as she paged through an ancient grimoire. She had an uncanny gift for languages, for unlocking the secrets that others had overlooked. Perhaps there was something here, some clue that the Emberforged had missed.
He selected a tome at random and carried it over to a reading table, the cool stone scraping against his palms. The book was written in an ancient dialect of Ignan, the words and symbols flowing like liquid fire. He set it down and began to read, but the words seemed to blur and swim before his eyes.
He envisioned Hali’s face, the way her eyes sparkled with curiosity and intelligence. The way she refused to accept the world as it was, and instead chose to believe in the possibility of something more. He had been drawn to that light in her, had let himself believe, if only for a moment, that it might be true.
A young acolyte stood in the corridor as he slipped out, her eyes wide with awe. “Master Osric! I—I didn’t think you’d be back so soon, after the trials and all. Is there anything you require? Assistance with your research, perhaps?”
Osric’s heart clenched at her words, a sharp pang of memory piercing his armor. He used to be just like her, so full of devotion and certainty, eager to prove himself to the Forge. But that was a lifetime ago, a different person. He reached up and unclasped the pendant that marked him as a master of the Forge, tucking it away inside his tunic.
“I’m no longer a master,” he said, his voice like gravel. “And I have no need of anything. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
The acolyte’s face fell, her shoulders slumping. “Of course, Master. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
She scurried away down the corridor, and Osric let out a long, slow breath, the tension bleeding from his limbs. He knew he was being unfair to her. Her dedication was a virtue, a strength. But all he could see was a reflection of his former self, and it was more than he could bear.
Night had fallen by the time Osric left the fortress, the sky a vast expanse of inky black. The stars were hidden behind a shroud of clouds, and a fine mist hung in the air, blanketing the world in silence. He was a shadow in the night, his movements swift and sure as he started down the winding mountain path.
He had much to do, and not much time to do it in. The council had set the date for the ritual, and the preparations were already well underway. But before he could go any further, there was one person he needed to see.
Hali.
The name echoed in his mind, a siren’s call, drawing him towards it. She was the only one he could turn to, the only one who might have the knowledge and the courage to help him find another way. But to seek her out was to risk everything, his mission, his oaths, his very life. The Obsidian Circle was a dangerous enemy, and if he was seen consorting with them, the consequences would be dire.
But the thought of her was a fire in his veins, and he knew he could no more extinguish it than he could stop his heart from beating. She was his one chance, his one hope of finding a path that didn’t lead to so much death and destruction. He only prayed it wasn’t already too late.
Luminara was a city of secrets tonight, and it held them close, veiled in the mists that rolled in from the bay. But for Osric, the city was a memory, a dream of a life he had once thought possible. He moved through the streets like a ghost, his movements silent and swift, but the familiar sights and sounds tugged at his heart all the same.
The soft rush of the fountains in the plaza, the sweet scent of pipe smoke drifting from the cafes, the muffled laughter spilling out from the taverns. It felt like coming home, in a way he had never dared to imagine. He headed towards the Old Quarter, the streets growing narrower and more winding, the buildings leaning in towards each other, sharing their secrets.
And then, at last, he reached the one place he had been seeking. Folio & Fancy, its sign creaking in the night breeze. A warm light spilled from the windows, and he could just make out the shadow of someone moving inside. Hali. His heart ached at the sight of her, and he had to force himself to step back into the shadows, to stay hidden.
But he was too late.
The door creaked open, and Hali’s face appeared in the warm light that spilled onto the doorstep. For a moment, their eyes met, and it felt as though the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of them, suspended in the darkness. But then the moment passed, and Hali’s expression hardened, a veil falling into place.
