The forge burned hot through the night, its flames licking high into the rafters as sparks showered over iron. The village had quieted after the trial, but whispers still coiled like smoke in every corner.
Eryan slammed his hammer down, each strike ringing through the workshop like a battle cry. Sweat dripped from his brow, his muscles burning—but the weapon before him began to take form, stronger and sharper than anything he had made before.
Lyra sat nearby, watching with wide eyes. She traced the pendant he had given her again and again, as if it tethered her to the world.
"Again," Eryan said sharply.
She flinched. "What?"
"Pick up the hammer. Again."
Hesitant, Lyra approached the anvil. The hammer felt far too heavy for her thin arms, but Eryan guided her hands, his large calloused fingers closing around hers.
"Strength isn't only muscle," he murmured. "It's rhythm. It's patience. The forge doesn't yield to fear."
Selene, leaning against the doorway, raised an eyebrow. "Is that a forging lesson, or a speech to calm her nerves?"
Eryan ignored the jab. Lyra lifted the hammer, trembling, and brought it down. The strike was clumsy, ringing unevenly, but sparks still burst.
Eryan's voice lowered. "Good. Now again."
And again. And again.
By the fiftieth strike, her arms shook violently, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. But Eryan didn't let her stop. "The world won't wait for you to be ready. If you can't bear the weight of a hammer, how will you bear the weight of yourself?"
At last the hammer slipped from her grip. She fell against the anvil, chest heaving.
But instead of scolding her, Eryan lifted the warped piece of metal she had struck. He held it up, gleaming in the firelight. "It's imperfect. But it's yours. That means it's the start of something no one else can make."
For the first time since the trial, Lyra smiled—small, fleeting, but real.
Shadows Move
Beyond the village, in the treeline, dark shapes gathered. Six figures cloaked in tattered robes crouched low, their eyes glowing faintly with corrupted runes.
"The Zero-child has awakened," hissed one.
"The villagers protect her," another spat.
"Then we remove the protectors."
The leader raised a blackened blade, etched with symbols that pulsed like living veins. "Tonight, the Forgeborn will burn with her."
Night's Intrusion
The forge's fire had dimmed when the attack came.
Selene was the first to sense it—her instincts sharpened by nights of patrolling. She burst into the workshop, shouting: "Eryan! Outside—now!"
Before he could question, the wall exploded inward. A cloaked figure surged through the dust, blade flashing.
Eryan grabbed Lyra and shoved her aside, the enemy's strike missing her by inches. Sparks flew as his hammer met steel.
The impact rattled the building.
Kael appeared moments later, dragging a half-finished sword from the rack. "Figures they'd come at night. Damn cowards!"
The fight erupted. Cloaked intruders swarmed, blades curved and dripping with unnatural sheen. Their movements were wrong—jerky, yet fast, as if something else pulled their strings.
Eryan blocked one strike, countered with a crushing blow that shattered an attacker's ribs. But another came from behind. Lyra screamed—instinctively, her runes blazed, releasing a wave of energy that knocked two assailants back.
"Control it!" Eryan barked.
"I—I can't!"
Selene darted in, daggers flashing. She struck one in the throat, spun, and kicked another back through the doorway. Blood sprayed across the forge floor.
Kael laughed darkly, blade swinging. "I was hoping for a rematch, Eryan—but this is better. Let's see who racks up more kills!"
Lyra's Breaking Point
One of the cloaked figures lunged straight for Lyra. Terrified, she raised her arms—and the pendant Eryan had given her flared. Silver light burst outward, halting the enemy mid-strike.
But the backlash sent her sprawling. She coughed blood, her body too weak to channel the energy.
The leader of the attackers stepped forward, unfazed. His voice was like gravel. "The Zero-child cannot be contained. She belongs to the Abyss. Hand her over—or drown in your own flames."
Eryan's grip tightened on his hammer. His eyes burned like the forge itself.
"She belongs here. With us."
The leader sneered—and raised his blade high.
The forge floor was already slick with blood when the cult leader advanced. His blackened blade pulsed like a living vein, whispering in a tongue that made Lyra tremble.
"Zero-child," he intoned, "your existence defies the seal. Come. Return to the Abyss."
Lyra staggered back, clutching her chest, gasping for air. Her runes glowed faintly, trembling on the edge of eruption.
Eryan stepped forward, hammer raised, eyes locked on the enemy. "You're not taking her."
The leader sneered. "Then you'll break first."
The Duel Begins
Steel met iron in a roar. The cult leader's strikes were fast—unnaturally so, each swing carrying weight that belied his wiry frame. Eryan countered, his hammer sending shockwaves with every block, sparks lighting the dim forge like lightning bolts.
Selene cut down another cultist at the doorway, panting hard. "Eryan—he's not human. Be careful!"
Kael, bloodied but grinning, skewered one enemy and yanked his blade free. "Careful? He lives for this!"
Eryan drove his hammer upward, forcing the leader back, then slammed down with a blow that cracked the stone beneath them. But the cult leader twisted unnaturally, his body bending like a shadow, and countered with a strike that carved across Eryan's shoulder.
Blood sprayed, hot and bright.
Eryan gritted his teeth, ignoring the sting. He shifted his stance, lowering his center. Each breath came heavy, each muscle screaming—but his hammer burned with the heat of the forge itself.
Lyra's Unraveling
Meanwhile, Lyra's pendant flared again. Her runes bled silver light, spreading across her arms, her neck. She screamed, clutching at her skin as if trying to tear the marks away.
Selene rushed to her side. "Lyra! Stay with me—don't give in!"
"I—I can't hold it back!" Lyra sobbed. "It's burning me alive!"
A pulse erupted, throwing Selene off her feet. The entire forge shook. Tools rattled, flames roared higher, and the ground itself split slightly beneath Lyra.
The cult leader laughed darkly even as he fought Eryan. "Do you see? She is a vessel of ruin. She cannot be contained. She will consume you all."
Eryan's Stand
Rage boiled in Eryan's chest. With a roar, he slammed his hammer down, meeting the leader's blade with such force the weapon nearly snapped. Sparks and shards flew in every direction.
"Shut your cursed mouth!" he bellowed. "She's not yours. She's not a tool. She's human!"
The leader hissed as cracks spread through his blade, glowing red where Eryan's strike had bitten deep. But he only grinned wider. "You forge well, blacksmith. But all fire consumes in the end."
He surged forward, driving his blade toward Eryan's heart.
Eryan twisted, catching the blade on the haft of his hammer. The steel burned his hands, searing flesh, but he held fast. Then he shifted, letting the full weight of his body slam into the cult leader with a crushing blow.
Bone cracked. The leader staggered, coughing blood.
The Breaking Point
But Lyra screamed again, louder than before. Her body lifted from the ground, suspended in a swirl of silver light. The runes spread across her skin like wildfire, her eyes glowing like molten moons.
The pendant at her neck cracked, unable to contain the surge.
Selene scrambled up, horror on her face. "Eryan! She's going to lose control completely!"
Eryan turned, blood dripping from his wounds, chest heaving. He saw Lyra floating, her small frame trembling as power ripped through her like a storm.
"Stop… me…" she whispered, tears streaming. "Before I kill you all…"
The cult leader laughed even as he staggered. "Yes. Let her awaken. Let the Abyss reclaim its child!"
The Final Blow
Eryan roared. "Not while I still breathe!"
He hurled his hammer—not at Lyra, not at the cult leader, but at the cracked pendant. The weapon flew like a blazing comet, striking the silver charm dead-on.
The pendant shattered.
The explosion shook the village. Light consumed the forge, silver colliding with fire, a blinding storm of sparks and raw power. The cultists screamed as their bodies burned to ash. The leader fell to his knees, his blade dissolving into smoke.
Lyra crashed to the ground, unconscious, the runes dimming back into her skin.
Eryan stumbled forward, caught her before she hit the floor, and pulled her close. His chest heaved, blood soaking his tunic, but he whispered fiercely:
"You're not the Abyss. You're Lyra. That's all."
The cult leader, half-melted, croaked through broken teeth: "The Abyss… will come… for her…" Then he collapsed into ash.
Aftermath
Silence fell over the ruined forge. The fire guttered, walls cracked, weapons shattered. But the cult was gone.
Selene limped to Eryan's side, clutching her ribs. "You're insane… throwing your only weapon."
Kael chuckled, leaning on his bloodied sword. "Insane… but it worked. For now."
Eryan looked down at Lyra's sleeping face. She looked fragile, almost ordinary—but his arms remembered the weight of her power, the storm barely contained.
"She's not safe," Selene said softly. "Not for them. Not for us. Not even for herself."
Eryan's jaw tightened. "Then I'll forge her a path. Even if it breaks me."
Outside, the night wind carried away the ashes. But in the distance, unseen, a deeper darkness stirred—watching, waiting, hungering.