The morning came without sunlight. In the underworld, dawn arrived not by the rising of the sun but by the soft awakening of light through the veins of the cavern. The molten rivers running through the city brightened from amber to gold, and the humming of forges replaced the silence of night.
Himmel awoke first. His room, carved from obsidian stone, reflected the faint glow of the city through a small slit of a window. He sat up on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. For a long moment, he just listened—the rhythmic hammering, the faint laughter, the flow of water. Life.
"Still feels unreal," he muttered.
Texan snored softly in the next room, a leg dangling off the bed. Gumbo was curled up beside him, his fin lazily swatting at the air with every exhale. Recon slept in the corner, bow clutched in his arms like a pillow.
For the first time in months, they were safe.
By the time they emerged from their quarters, the city had already awakened in full. They followed a winding stair that opened into a plaza carved into the rock. Here, the city revealed its true depth.
Balconies of black stone jutted out from the cavern walls, lined with tapestries dyed in crimson and bronze. The air shimmered with heat from countless forges, each producing a different melody of metal and fire. Yet, it wasn't chaos—it was harmony. Every hammer strike fell in time with another, forming an unspoken rhythm that seemed to pulse through the entire city.
Texan leaned on the railing overlooking the lower levels, his eyes wide. "Man… this place is nuts. They got smiths working with music. It's like… jazz, but with hammers."
Recon smirked. "Only you could compare an ancient orc forge to a bar band."
"Hey, I'm not wrong," Texan said. "You hear that beat? That's coordination, baby."
Himmel said nothing. His eyes trailed upward, past the bridges and terraces. Massive statues carved into the stone walls watched over the city—old orc heroes, their eyes filled with gemstones that glowed faintly in the firelight. Beneath them, molten channels split the ground like veins of light, feeding into the forges below.
He could feel something under his skin here—like the city itself was alive, its heartbeat slow but steady.
A group of orcs walked past them. Beautiful, symmetrical, flawless. One of them nodded politely to Himmel, though the gesture was careful—measured. Another whispered something under her breath to her friend, their eyes lingering on his uneven tusks before turning away.
Himmel looked down at his reflection in the molten stream. His reflection was distorted, stretched by the heat waves. "Different world," he said quietly.
Texan clapped him on the back. "Hey, don't start comparing tusks now. You're you, they're them. I say screw the symmetry."
Himmel chuckled under his breath. "Easy for you to say. You're not an orc."
"No," Texan grinned. "I'm better looking."
Recon groaned. "I can't tell if your confidence is inspiring or just annoying."
Texan winked. "Little of both."
Later that morning, they were summoned by Angar to the upper halls. The Elder awaited them outside the main forge—a structure so vast that its doors were taller than most city walls. The air shimmered with energy, and faint streams of color drifted through the air like smoke—souls being guided, perhaps, or echoes of them.
Angar stood with three other orcs.
Each one was different, each one radiated power in their own way.
The first was a massive blacksmith whose arms looked like they'd been carved from steel. His beard was singed at the ends, his skin darkened from years at the forge. The heat around him felt tangible, heavy.
The second was a tall, lean orc with silver-green skin and sharp features—handsome in a cold, arrogant way. His eyes glowed faintly blue, and his posture screamed superiority.
The last was a woman—slim but built like a coiled spring. Her hair was short and tied back with a strip of leather, her armor unadorned but clean. There was something calm and dangerous about her—like a sword that had never dulled.
Angar spread his arms. "These are your teachers," he said. "They are among the few left who still shape this city's strength. Learn from them, respect them, and you may yet earn a place among the forges."
He gestured to the first. "Thorrak—the blacksmith of the lower forges. He will take the merfolk."
Texan perked up, flashing a grin. "That's me. Try not to melt me too fast, big guy."
Thorrak's deep voice rumbled. "If you survive my forge, you'll be worth melting."
Next, Angar turned to the second. "Varan—the marksman of the Soul Guard. He will take the beastman."
Recon straightened, but the moment their eyes met, Varan smirked faintly. "I train warriors, not children who flinch at their own reflection."
Recon's jaw clenched, his ears flicking back in irritation. "I don't flinch."
"We'll see," Varan said smoothly.
Finally, Angar gestured to the woman. "And this is Kirra—the most disciplined of our blades. She will take Himmel."
Kirra's expression barely changed. "If you can keep up."
Himmel bowed slightly. "I'll do my best."
She gave a small nod. "Don't. Just do."
Texan leaned close to Himmel. "Oh, she's one of those."
Himmel sighed. "Yeah. I can tell."
Angar raised a hand. "They will begin your training at dusk. Until then, the city is yours to walk. Learn its rhythm, and it may yet accept you."
They spent the day exploring.
The market was unlike anything they had ever seen. Stalls sold not only food and armor but vials of light—souls suspended in crystal orbs, flickering like dying candles. Each was marked with a sigil: Memory, Strength, Courage, Grace.
Texan leaned close to one merchant's display. "You're really selling… souls?"
The merchant, an elderly woman with copper skin, nodded. "Fragments only. The weak ones that don't attach. Still good for light or warmth."
Recon whispered, "Creepy as hell."
But Himmel stood transfixed. One of the orbs pulsed faintly in his hand. He swore, just for a second, he could feel it breathe.
"They're not gone," he said quietly. "They're just… waiting."
Texan put the orb back quickly. "Yeah, waiting for me to lose sleep tonight."
They wandered past the soul stalls to the food markets. The smells here were strange—sweet and metallic. Fruit that shimmered like polished copper. Meat sizzling on glowing plates. Drinks that steamed cold instead of hot.
Recon bit into something that looked like an apple but tasted like honeyed stone. "Weirdest thing I've ever eaten."
Texan chewed thoughtfully on a slice of glowing jerky. "Tastes like lightning."
Himmel laughed for the first time in days. "That's because it's literally charged meat. Look at your fingers."
Sparks jumped off Texan's fingertips. "Well, damn. That's actually kinda cool."
For a while, they forgot the weight of the surface. They laughed, haggled, and even joined a crowd watching two orc duelists spar in a glowing ring of molten sand.
But as dusk approached, the warmth of the city dimmed. The music of the forges slowed, replaced by the steady thrum of the night forges waking.
It was time.
Thorrak's Forge: Texan arrived first. The heat was suffocating, yet the air sang with life. Lava ran through narrow trenches like glowing rivers. Thorrak stood bare-chested, hammer in hand, sparks flying as he struck a glowing blade.
Texan whistled. "Alright, that's metal."
Thorrak didn't look up. "If you're going to waste my air, make it worth it."
Texan smirked. "You talk like my old boss."
"Then you probably didn't listen to him either," Thorrak said, handing Texan a hammer nearly his size. "Let's see if your soft hands can hold something real."
The next hour was filled with grunts, sweat, and pain. Texan's arms burned as he swung the hammer again and again, the rhythm almost musical. He couldn't help smiling despite himself.
"Not bad," Thorrak said at last. "You've got more grit than sense."
"I get that a lot."
Varan's Range: Recon found himself standing on a ledge overlooking an abyss. Targets floated in the air, glowing faintly. Varan stood beside him, bow in hand, posture perfect.
"Show me your aim," Varan said.
Recon drew his bow and fired. The arrow missed by a wide margin, clattering uselessly against the rock wall.
Varan didn't even sigh. "You grip too tight. You shoot like a desperate man."
Recon scowled. "I'm not desperate."
"Oh?" Varan fired without looking. His arrow hit the bullseye dead center. "Then why do you reek of wanting to prove yourself?"
Recon said nothing. He drew again, slower this time. The next shot landed closer—but still off.
"Better," Varan said. "You might be teachable after all."
Kirra's Arena: Himmel met his trainer in a small arena of black glass. The walls shimmered faintly with captured light. Kirra stood in the center, her sword drawn.
"Draw your weapon," she said.
He obeyed.
The next moment, she was on him. Their blades clashed, sparks flashing in the dim arena. Her strikes were sharp and deliberate, but what struck Himmel most was her precision—she wasted nothing.
"You hesitate," she said, pushing him back.
"I'm thinking," Himmel replied.
"Thinking is for after the battle."
She disarmed him in three swift moves. His sword clattered to the floor.
He exhaled, chest heaving. "You're fast."
She sheathed her blade. "You're slow. But not hopeless."
Then, for the briefest moment, her gaze softened. "You've seen real death. That's good. You won't flinch when it matters."
Himmel met her eyes. "You talk like someone who's lived through worse."
Her voice dropped. "I've buried better."
By the time they regrouped at their quarters, they were exhausted.
Texan's hands were blistered. Recon's pride was dented. Himmel's arms trembled from the constant parries. Yet there was a strange peace between them—earned through pain and sweat.
Texan dropped onto the bed. "That guy's crazy strong. But I think he likes me."
Recon groaned. "Mine hates me."
Himmel smirked. "Mine could probably kill both of yours in a second."
Texan laughed. "Sounds about right."
As they settled, the city dimmed again, the molten rivers glowing low and slow.
Above them, the hum of hammers turned to silence. Only the deep pulse of the cavern remained—a sound like a heartbeat under stone.
Himmel lay awake long after the others slept. His thoughts circled back to Kirra's words… and to the sword he'd seen in Angar's chamber—the sword that still flickered faintly in his mind.
Something told him that the next day, their lessons would dig deeper than skill or strength.
They would touch the soul itself.