Ariella
Holly Palace
Raider city
Ardonia Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
December 6th 6414
"Well, don't just stand there—come on in," said Jack Kuria, the legendary hero of the Long War, one of the world's most enigmatic Paragons. He sat casually at the long banquet table, a crisp, protective napkin tucked into the collar of his jet-black suit, as if this were just any ordinary evening.
"You all must be starving. Sorry—I went ahead and started without you," he said with a charming, unapologetic grin. "But what can I say? Chef Hallway's cooking is to die for."
His presence was disarming—relaxed, almost theatrical—but there was no mistaking the power that clung to him like a second skin. It wasn't just the polished aura of a celebrity Paragon. It was deeper. Older. Something that hummed beneath the surface like a coiled storm, always watching, always waiting.
Greta, the Wytch who had brought us here, smiled at us and proceeded ahead without hesitation. She took her seat gracefully at the far end of the table, directly opposite Jack. Her movements were fluid, confident, and trained.
She gestured for us to sit.
I moved to the chair at Jack's right, the spot of an honored guest—or perhaps, the one he wanted closest. Eduardo took the seat beside me, his eyes scanning the room like a soldier off-duty but never off-guard. Lil dropped into the chair on Jack's left, arms crossed, gaze cautious. Ben sat beside her, silent but observant.
My attention drifted to the long table before us—an opulent display of delicacies, all of them humming faintly with infused mana. Roasted beast marbled with elemental herbs, glowing fruits from floating archipelagos, and spirit-blessed bread that shimmered under the crystal lights above. The mana in the food wasn't just decoration—it was potent, layered into the cooking with such precision it might as well have been alchemy.
Vampires like me didn't require mortal food to survive. We lived on blood, spirit, and essence. But mana-infused cuisine was different—it nourished more than the body. It refined the mind, stabilized the spirit, and strengthened cultivation pathways in subtle but lasting ways. Even now, the aroma stirred a quiet hunger in me. Not the savage thirst of a newly turned Vampire—but something deeper. A craving for power. For understanding. For a place.
Jack poured himself a glass of crystalline wine, then glanced at me with violet eyes that seemed to cut through names, lies, and bloodlines alike.
"So," Jack said, raising his glass in a mock toast, "shall we talk or eat first? Personally, I vote we eat. You have to try Chef Hallway's Parmesan risotto—absolutely to die for. I got the recipe straight from the Republic of Italia. Back then, of course, it was called the Roman Italia Kingdom. Funny how much changes in a few thousand years…"
He laughed lightly at his rambling and waved both hands as if ushering in a feast. "Ah, listen to me. I keep going on. Please, eat—eat!"
Just as we were about to reach for our utensils, a rhythmic tapping brought everything to a pause. At first, it was subtle—Lil gently drumming her fingers on the polished table surface. But then came a final tap, sharper than the rest. The room fell silent. All eyes turned to her.
Jack tilted his head, curious, but said nothing.
"Sorry," Lil said evenly. Her tone was cool, but firm. She cast a brief glance over the luxurious spread, then looked Jack square in the eye. Unlike the rest of us—Eduardo, Ben, and even I—there was no admiration or reverence in her expression. "Before we all dig in, I'd like to talk about what the hell you've been playing at."
Jack chuckled, not offended in the least. "Ah, Lilith Kain. I've heard about you—headstrong, just like your father and mother."
"You knew my father?" she asked. Her voice was calm, composed, but something flickered in her eyes. Not a surprise—just quiet calculation.
"Knew him?" Jack said. "I fought beside him. During the Long War. He was one of the Radiant Five."
His words struck the table like a lightning bolt. Even I, someone obsessed with historical accounts of the Long War, felt stunned. I had never come across a single record linking Jonathan Kain to the Radiant Five.
Of course, not all the truths of that era had survived the centuries. The Long War's legacy was fragmented—myth entangled with memory, half-lost to time. It was well known that five legendary heroes had risen to save Ashtarium from annihilation. But only two of them were remembered by name in the modern world.
First was Jack Kuria, whose name had become inseparable from the very idea of heroism and the Radiant Five. Then there was Dante Lionheart, the mythic warrior of the Lionheart Clan. His martial feats redefined the prestige of the martial clans, earning them semi-autonomous status in Kettlia, a privilege they still wielded today.
But the other three? Their names had vanished—consumed by war, time, and silence. And now, Jack had just casually revealed that Jonathan Kain, Lilith's father, was one of them.
"He was the leader of the group," Jack said, swirling the wine in his glass absently. "Though truth be told, we didn't have an official leader. We each had our own missions, our own paths. But when we met on the battlefield, it was always Jonathan who took point—he'd lead the charge, and the rest of us would fall in line."
Jack paused, his eyes flickering with the weight of memory.
"Plus, he had direct access to the Ashtarmel back then...but here I go again, rambling. That's not what you're really here to ask, is it?" He looked to Lil. "You want to know why I sent you and the Princess to Thornhill. Why I threw you into a war zone without a proper explanation."
"Yes," Lil said, her voice steady but tight.
Jack set down his glass and leaned back, folding his arms. "For one, I needed to put you somewhere RETU wouldn't easily reach. Constant movement across cities without grounding isn't healthy—not for someone in your condition, not when you're still developing."
Lil's eyes narrowed. "We weren't in Thornhill long."
Jack nodded. "Fair point. That first reason doesn't hold up as well. The second reason, though...you needed to bond with the Codex."
"You know about Aeternum," Lil said, brows raised.
Jack smiled. "Of course I do. Everyone in the Arcane Circle knows of Balthazar Morningstar's grimoire. The Aeternum is a legend in its own right. Your father—Jonathan—came into possession of it during the Long War. He protected it, nurtured its sentience, then sealed it deep within Thornhill Dungeon."
"Is that also when he sealed... that thing?" I asked quietly.
Jack's expression darkened. "No. That came after the war. He and I did it together. What you encountered...was the last fragment of our enemy—its will, its hatred. We couldn't destroy it. So we buried it in the deepest layer of the dungeon, behind a weave of divine and infernal magics."
Lil clenched her fists. "Then you created the Weaving Array. And you made my killing Loridien Kael the condition to unravel it."
"I know what you're thinking," Jack said softly. "You're wondering why we chose that—why your hand had to bear that burden."
She didn't speak. Her silence carried the weight of accusation.
"It wasn't just you," Jack went on. "The array wasn't meant to respond to Lilith Kain. Any bearer of the Kain Mark could have triggered it. The spell's core function was to bind the enemy's essence and erode it over time. But with Jonathan gone, the array began to decay. Its focus wavered. Its power diminished."
"I was the one who summoned the metaphysical remnant of Loridien Kael to guard the seal," Jack said, his voice low with measured regret. "That poor fool had committed so many atrocities in life, his soul barely scraped its way through the afterlife. I figured what remained of him—broken, remorseful—might serve a final purpose. So I bound him with one function: to stand watch over the seal."
He hesitated.
"But..."
"But what?" Lil pressed, eyes sharp.
"Jonathan should never have left Thornhill," Jack admitted. "His presence was the anchor—the stabilizer for the weave. Without him, the whole construct began to unravel."
"And you?" Lil's voice was hard now. "Where were you?"
Jack met her gaze, unflinching. "I wasn't the one who wove the array. I assisted, yes, but the magic—the foundation of the seal—that was Jonathan's alone. My role was to leave behind a guardian after he left. That guardian was Loridien."
He exhaled, the weight of years pressing into his tone.
"But once Jonathan was gone, the array began to lose cohesion. The seal frayed, its influence seeped beyond the Dungeon. And then it—the entity—began twisting everything."
Lil's jaw clenched.
"It warped the Warden's purpose," Jack continued, his voice tight. "Used Loridien's fear—his desperate obsession with preventing its escape—to twist him. It convinced him that destroying the prison was the only way to stop it, never realizing he was playing directly into its hands."
"You mean the destruction of Thornhill," Ben said. "It kept saying Thornhill had been destroyed again and again... But I've lived there for years. I've never heard of such a thing. No ruins, no disasters. Just... normal."
"That's because it didn't happen. Not in any way you'd remember," Jack said. "Have you ever heard of Temporal Regression?"
Ben and I exchanged looks.
"Thornhill rests on land protected by divine architecture—protection that stems directly from the Dungeon," Jack explained. "The land itself can regress in time whenever it suffers significant damage. And when it does, everyone within it is pulled back—recreated, revived, restored—without any memory of the catastrophe. Time rewinds, but life continues as if nothing ever happened."
"You're saying Thornhill has been destroyed... and then brought back? Over and over?" I asked, unable to hide the disbelief in my voice.
"Yes," Jack said gravely. "And each time, it was Loridien. Acting on his fear. Burning it to the ground, believing he was saving the world. But the regression always undid it, resetting everything. A mercy... and a curse."
"But that would take an enormous amount of energy," Lil murmured.
"It did," Jack nodded. "And as the land focused its power on preserving the town and its people, the weaving array that bound the entity began to weaken. The Dungeon could no longer sustain both."
"And so it spread," I said quietly.
"Across time and space," Jack confirmed. "Unbound by the prison, it reached outward—subtly, insidiously."
"To influence causality itself," Lil said, her voice like steel.
"Causality is one of the fundamental laws of our reality," Jack said. "It governs the chain of cause and effect across time, space, and existence. Every thought, choice, action, or energy shift—causality ties it together in a chain that maintains narrative, metaphysical, and historical integrity."
"So... that thing could manipulate anyone it wanted," Lil said.
"Yes. And the worst part? You'd never know you were being manipulated," Jack replied. "Take Eduardo, for example."
"Me?" Eduardo blinked.
"You came to Ashtarium hoping to help Ariella, believing she was alive. But with war between Xibalba and Ashtarium looming, you knew your nation couldn't win. So you took a fool's chance—chasing a bond that didn't exist."
"That's not true. I felt her—through the blood bond we share—"
"What blood bond?" Jack and I said in unison. Eduardo's expression twisted.
"I'm sorry, Eduardo. There is no bond. The ceremony never happened. Ariella hadn't become a vampire when your betrothal was arranged. You were made to believe there was a connection, because that's what you needed to believe."
"But… I felt it," Eduardo murmured.
"Did you? Or did it plant that belief to lead you here—so you and your allies could become pawns in its resurrection? It needed the elixir Anton was meant to craft for Lil's transition. For some reason, Mircalla's bloodline was essential to its completion."
"So that old man… he was working with you," Eduardo said bitterly.
"No. He was working for me. The Maveth Cult was the only group left who remembered how to make the Kain transition elixir. Jonathan's knowledge died with him. So, I paid the cult—handsomely."
"What does a cult have to do with me?" Lil asked.
"The Maveth Cult worships the Kain Vampire. To them, Cain—first murderer—was the first servant of death. They see his descendants as sacred. So when I gave them the task, they eagerly complied. But that thing… it had its own plans. It needed a vessel. And a Kain Vampire would be the perfect host."
"So it orchestrated everything," Lil said. "Me being taken in by the Ashtarmel, the King's murder, Nehemiah's betrayal, Eduardo's misguided journey, and your decision to send us to Thornhill."
Jack nodded. "Not entirely. You were always meant to return to Thornhill. That was the agreement I had with Rafael. I gave him your location in the Dread Forest so he could bring you back to the Enoch estate. Your presence was meant to gradually reinforce the seal. But Rafael had other plans." He looked at me. "For some reason, he wanted you and the princesses to grow close. He intended to bring you back to Thornhill eventually—but he died before he could. The entity twisted everything. It used Nehemiah to assassinate the King, forcing your group into exile and back toward Thornhill."
"Because that was where I could undo the seal," Lil muttered.
"Exactly. It engineered your confrontation with Loridien, knowing that his repeated destruction of Thornhill had entangled him in the Weaving Array's formula. And your divine blood as a Kain made you the catalyst. Killing him severed the last thread binding the prison. The seal failed. The entity was freed."
"And it tried to use Jen to force me into becoming its vessel," Lil said. "But I killed her. I completed the Kain Rite. I transitioned—but I denied it a body."
"I guess it underestimated you," Ben offered.
Jack's expression darkened. "Did it? Or did it know exactly what you would do? It needed you to kill someone precious to awaken the Mark of Kain. That act ensured your transformation."
"You're saying it forced me to kill Jen... so I would become the perfect host," I asked.
"Yes," Jack said. "It holds dominion over causality. It can perceive the threads of fate—past, present, and future. It knew what Lilith would choose."
"Did it know I'd destroy it?" I asked.
"Probably not. But by then, it didn't matter. Everything unfolded close enough to its plan—even if a few threads veered off-course."
A long silence stretched. Then Lil's voice cut through.
"Just one question, Jack. You said you had plans for me to return to Thornhill. Did you also plan for me to become a Kain Vampire? You paid that cult well. You knew what it would take. You knew I'd have to kill someone I cared for." The atmosphere turned cold at Lil's words.
"What if I didn't care about Jen?" she asked, her voice low, dangerous. "What then? Would you have made me kill Ella instead? She's the only person I truly care about."
Jack's face tightened. "I didn't know about the requirement—that the Mark of Kain only completes through killing someone close. Like I said, the Kain bloodline is a mystery. Only Jonathan truly understood its intricacies. The House of Kain is ancient—older than most records—and no one knows how they came to possess both Vampire and Seraph'ilim traits. There are legends, sure, but no verified history. Only a Kain would know the truth."
"And that thing," I muttered, the thought knotting in my gut. If Jen hadn't been there… would Lil have needed to kill me?
Ben shook his head. "None of this would've happened if Jonathan had just stayed in Thornhill. He created the prison—why abandon it, knowing the seal could weaken? What was he thinking?"
All eyes turned to Jack, who nonchalantly popped a grape into his mouth.
"Oh, that," he said, chewing. "Well… Lil fell sick. Crimson Virus."
"That's impossible," I said. "The Crimson Virus was eradicated. The Energy Strikes from the Long War purged it from the world."
"Yes, it's gone now," Jack replied. "But thousands of years ago? It was still very much alive. And Lil was infected."
Lil's eyes narrowed. "Wait—thousands of years? Are you saying I'm… that old?"
Jack gave a slight nod. "Sounds like your memories haven't fully returned yet. But yes, Lil. You've lived far longer than you think. You were alive long before the day you were found in the Dread Forest."
"But I was ten when I was rescued," Lil said, stunned. "Are you telling me I… what? De-aged?"
"I don't know how it happened," Jack admitted. "I wasn't there. Jonathan never explained. All I know is what he left behind—a message, coordinates, instructions. That's how I found you. A child. But clearly not a normal one."
He looked at her intently.
"There are so many unanswered questions: how did you get infected with the Crimson Virus in the first place? Where did Jonathan go to heal you? What did he do during all those missing years—between the warning he left me and his sudden disappearance from society? Why did he abandon you in the Dread Forest? And how, exactly, did you revert back into a child?"
He shook his head slowly.
"I have theories. But no answers. That's why I've always been intrigued by you, Lil. You're the last piece of Jonathan's puzzle."
All of us fell silent, processing everything Jack had just revealed. So much had unraveled—and yet, so many threads remained tangled. Why had my father wanted to keep Lil so close, to bind her to our House? Why had that thing needed Eduardo as a sacrifice for the elixir? And… was it truly gone?
"Huh," Jack said, breaking the heavy silence. "Look at the food—it's gone cold from all the talking." He snapped his fingers. Instantly, the dishes regained their warmth, freshness, and a rising curl of steam. "Now that the secrets are spilled," he added with a half-smile, "can we please eat?"
-
Lilith
After dinner, Greta showed us to our quarters—an entire wing of the estate reserved just for us. Each of us had our own rooms, complete with a shared living space and private dining area. My room was near Ella's, which gave me some comfort.
But instead of sleeping, I found myself inside Aeternum's pocket space, seated beneath the warm glow of arcane lanterns, flipping through the book Mary had given me about the Kain House.
"In the beginning, Cain had a brother—Abel Kadmon. The brothers were close, learning and growing from one another as they protected their lands from the Elder Races who sought dominion over them..." I turned the page.
"It was during this time Cain began to hear a voice—a voice that would change everything..."
I closed the book. I could already guess where it was headed. He killed his brother, was cursed, and birthed the Kain bloodline. I didn't want to read any more—not tonight. Not when the thought of Jen was still fresh in my mind.
Setting the book aside, I pulled another tome from Aeternum's archive—a thick manuscript on Wytchcraft and arcane theory—and began to skim through it, half-focused.
Aeternum let out a long, dramatic sigh.
"What?" I said without looking up.
"It's... unusual," it said. "Watching you pretend to care about books."
"I read," I muttered.
"You skim," Aeternum replied. "Your eyes move, but your mind's locked in a loop. You're not reading to understand—you're reading to run."
"I can't sleep."
"Can't… or won't?"
I paused. Then shut the book with more force than necessary.
"Every time I close my eyes, I see Jen." The words felt like iron in my throat. "So no—I don't want to sleep."
Aeternum was quiet, but I could feel it watching me.
"Then let me generate a battle simulation. Burn it off. Lose yourself in motion."
"Is there a rule against reading now?"
"Not at all." Aeternum's tone cooled. "But that's a living tome you're holding. A real grimoire. Its pages are charged with magic meant to guide a seeker. You're bleeding its energy without absorbing its meaning."
I frowned.
"So now I'm grieving wrong."
"You're grieving through denial," it said. "Through distraction. But distraction without intention becomes damage. Especially in here."
I looked down at the book. The runes on its pages were dimmer now—like a heartbeat slowing down.
"What do you want me to do, Aeternum? Cry? Scream? Smash something?"
"No," it said, gently now. "I want you to let the truth reach you."
I said nothing. Truth was the last thing I wanted. Truth was Jen, limp in my arms. Truth was blood on my hands. Truth was me, still breathing.
"I'm out," I said flatly.
With a sharp blink of will, I severed the tether to Aeternum's voice—muting its presence in my mind. The bond still lingered, faint and pulsing at the edge of awareness, like a closed door I could open at any time. But for now, I needed silence.
I stepped out of my room and wandered down the corridor, stopping outside Ella's door. I extended my senses—her breathing was deep, calm. She was asleep. I hovered there for a moment, hand half-raised, then dropped it. No sense dragging her into this haze I couldn't even name.
So I kept walking.
The wing they'd given us was lavish to a fault—velvet carpets, gilded sconces, polished obsidian columns with gold-veined trim. Every few feet, a new portrait loomed on the wall: regal vampires draped in archaic robes and ancient armor, gazing down as if they'd never once questioned their place in the world.
I snorted under my breath. Pompous doesn't even begin to cover it.
Eventually, I drifted out of our assigned quarters and into the deeper guts of the palace. Here, the lighting had been dimmed—halls stretched long and quiet, with only scattered, cold-glowing crystals casting their pale shimmer across the stone. Shadows bled into every crevice. But I saw it all—Ascendant eyes cut through darkness like it was smoke.
As I moved from one corridor to another, something tugged at my awareness. I followed the feeling until I reached a door unlike the rest—reinforced metal frame, arcanotech panels humming softly. Above it, a faded engraving marked it as a Forge Lab.
I stopped outside.
Most people would think a forge was all fire and hammers. This one radiated mana, old and layered, like the space had been used for centuries and remembered every spark. The very air around the door buzzed with spell residue.
I hesitated. A Forge Lab was sacred space—especially for Mages. Walking in uninvited could easily be taken as disrespect.
I didn't want to test that line tonight.
"You can go inside if you want," a voice said from behind me.
I turned.
Greta Stregha stood there, silent as mist. She wore a long, dark lab coat cinched at the waist, a few arcane tools hanging from a leather strap across her chest. Her brown eyes studied me—not unkindly, but with that analytical gleam all powerful mages seem to carry. She reached into her coat pocket and retrieved a small silver card, then placed it against the glowing panel beside the door. The runes on the panel pulsed once, and the door slid open with a quiet hiss.
She stepped aside and gestured. "Go ahead."
The lab beyond the door shimmered with pale-blue wards and warm forge-light. I stepped closer, peering into the workspace as arcane sparks danced along the edges of floating tools and half-assembled enchantments.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
Greta offered a tired smile. "Trust me. If you break something, I'll just make you fix it."
The lab was warmer than expected—lit not just by arc-lanterns, but by the forge itself, a sleek half-moon structure at the far end of the room, glowing with controlled flame. Tools floated in orderly loops around worktables, suspended by runes etched into the floor. Alchemical sigils glimmered beneath shelves of rare ingredients, their surfaces dusted with chalk and crystal shavings.
It smelled of burnt aether and steel.
Greta walked ahead of me, weaving between benches piled with fragments of metal and bone, vials of blood, glyph-ink, and glowing gemstones in containment jars. The room felt... alive. Not just enchanted—attentive, somehow. Like it watched.
"Don't mind the atmosphere," Greta said without turning. "The wards react to new presence. They're curious."
"Charming," I muttered.
She stopped at a far worktable, placing her hand on a stasis case—a transparent cube humming with containment glyphs. The inside was covered by a black cloth.
"I wasn't supposed to show this to anyone yet," she said quietly. "But I think you'll understand why I am."
She flicked her fingers. The stasis field dissolved, and she pulled the cloth off.
Beneath it lay a strange weapon.
It was a cross between a gauntlet and a grafted relic—the structure was sleek and obsidian-dark, its fingers articulated like claws, each one inscribed with micro-runes. The palm held a sunken core, like a heart cavity waiting to be filled. Crystalline threads snaked through the framework, and I could feel its hum—not of magic, but something older. Hungrier.
"I call it the Eclipse Vector," Greta said. "It's a prototype—part weapon, part regulator."
"For who?" I asked warily.
Greta glanced at me, then down at the device. "You."
My breath caught. "What?"
"It was originally made for someone like you—"
"Someone like me." I repeated.
"A Nexus being," Greta said. "The gauntlet channels chaotic energy—emotional spikes, metaphysical overloads—and stabilizes them. It draws on a principle I discovered in Jack's records—something referred to as Lucent Control. A form of anchoring that uses focused intent to bind volatile energy into structured output."
She tapped the gauntlet. "Think of it as a spiritual limiter… or amplifier. Depends on how much of yourself you feed into it. It should be able to help you when you need it."
I reached out. My hand hovered inches above the Vector, and I felt it pull at me. Not physically—but deeper. Like it recognized something in my soul. I pulled back.
"And why give it to me?" I asked. "Why now?"
"Because I felt bad," Greta said quietly. "No one should have to endure what you did. Divine protection might sound like a blessing, but it always comes with a hidden flaw. Power—especially power tied to divinity—is never perfect. And the price you pay for yours... you know what it is, don't you?"
I already knew. I'd known for a long time. It wasn't just a guess. It was a truth I lived with every day.
"Pain," I said. "Whenever I push my Ability Factor too far, I feel it. Splitting pain in my head. Burning in my gut. And sometimes... something deeper. Like my soul's being shredded."
Greta nodded. "The Mark... will be on another level. It won't just hurt your body. It'll tear through your essence. Metaphysical pain—raw, invasive. Like the agony of being rewritten from the inside out."
"So this..." I glanced at the object in her hand.
"This will help dull that pain," she said, lifting the gauntlet gently, almost reverently. Then she paused, as if unsure how much more to share. "It's not finished. The core still needs an anchor—a spiritual token strong enough to synchronize with your soul. Something personal. Right now, I've got a few ores that can stand in temporarily, but they can't handle major feedback. Eventually, you'll need something more... intimate. But for now—take it."
I stared at the gauntlet, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out. But caution held me still. Why was she being so generous? What was her angle?
"You don't trust me," Greta said flatly, catching the hesitation in my eyes.
"I've just met you," I said.
"You probably don't remember me," she said, voice softer now. "It's been... a long time. Hundreds of years, in fact, since we were anywhere near the same space."
I blinked. "Wait... you know me?"
"Not personally. Not back then," she said, her gaze distant now, eyes searching the past. "I was born in the outer territories of the Ansgar Empire. You know the one—it spans central, eastern, and parts of western Europa. The Vampire military regime ruled by House Ansgar. Our village bordered the Dread Forest."
The hairs on my arms rose.
"I was captured. Taken as a slave," she continued. "I thought I'd die that way—chained, beaten, forgotten. Then one day, someone tore through the slavers. A little girl. No older than I was. She fought adult Vampires like they were nothing... and she killed them. Freed us all."
I didn't breathe.
"I escaped because of her. Because of you. Jack found me not long after and took me in. I owe him my life—but before him, it was you. If you hadn't done what you did... I wouldn't be standing here."
Silence stretched between us, heavy and reverent.
"Thank you," she said at last, placing the gauntlet in my hands. "Even if you don't remember... I never forgot."
I willed the gauntlet into the Codex's internal space, watching as it shimmered and vanished into the sub-dimensional pocket. Greta's eyes followed the motion, and a small, knowing smile tugged at her lips.
"Please don't let your Codex study it," she said, almost playfully.
"Why not?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Because a Forgemaster's work is meant to be private," she said with mock seriousness, placing a hand over her chest in exaggerated dignity. "It's like showing someone the recipe to your secret family dish. Sacrilegious."
I smirked. "How else am I supposed to know if your work's any good if I don't appraise it?"
"Touche," she said, chuckling. "You've got a forge lab in there, don't you?"
"I do."
"Have you forged anything?" she asked, her tone turning genuinely curious.
"Not really," I admitted. "I'm not a Forgemaster like you."
"Would you like to learn?" she asked, eyes lighting up with a spark of mischief and invitation.
"Me?" I laughed, scratching the back of my head. "I don't know. I mean... maybe?"
"Come on. It's not that hard. I heard you dabbled in engineering back in the day."
I blinked. "I tinkered with machines when I was a kid. Took apart devices, built a few crude gadgets. But nothing serious. I haven't touched any of that in years."
"Well," she said, stepping forward and folding her arms confidently, "you could start again—but this time with Arcane engineering. It's everything you love, just with more glowing runes, unstable power cores, and the occasional risk of metaphysical explosions."
"That's oddly specific," I said, raising a brow.
"I speak from experience." She grinned. "But I'll help. I'll mentor you. We'll start simple—core inscriptions, material attunement, Basic techniques. Baby steps."
"You just want to show off, don't you?" I said, unable to hold back a smile.
"Obviously," she said with mock pride. "And who knows? Maybe I'll even teach you a few of my signature tricks. The kind they don't write in textbooks."
I paused, thinking. The offer was tempting. The idea of building something with my own hands—infusing it with meaning, power, and memory—it wasn't just a craft. It was therapy. Legacy. Creation in the face of all I'd lost.
"Alright," I said finally. "I'm in."
Greta's smile widened. "Welcome to the forge, apprentice."