Morning began with the slow rhythm of hammers echoing through the undercity. The Soul Smiths' city never truly slept; its forges pulsed like living organs, feeding heat into the bones of the earth. The metallic tang of smoke and the low hum of molten rivers filled the air — a sound that had long replaced birdsong and wind.
It had been one month since Himmel, Texan, and Recon had arrived. A month of sleepless training, bruised hands, and learning to listen to the heartbeat of a civilization that had hidden beneath the world for five centuries.
Now, the forges hummed lower than usual — the city was holding its breath. Tonight would decide if the outsiders would be bound to the souls of the forge… or rejected.
Texan's laughter was the first sound to break the tension.
He sat on a stone bench beside Thorrak's forge, sweat already darkening the collar of his shirt. Thorrak, hammer in hand, was working a blade the size of a doorframe, his movements slow and meditative. Sparks scattered in graceful arcs — each one deliberate.
Texan leaned back, watching the glow. "You ever take a day off?"
"Days off are for the dead," Thorrak muttered, not looking up.
"Then you'll be working even after death, huh?"
The orc blacksmith grunted, a faint smile in the sound. "Ha, probably. My hammer will haunt whoever takes my anvil."
Texan chuckled, but the laugh came out tight. His heart felt too large for his chest. He'd been strong all his life — stubborn, loud, the kind of man who laughed through loss. But this morning, he felt something he hadn't since childhood: uncertainty.
Thorrak must've noticed. "You're thinking too much."
Texan shrugged. "I'm just wondering if the forge likes people who talk too much."
"The forge doesn't care what you say," Thorrak replied, eyes still on the metal. "It cares if you mean it."
Texan looked down at his hands — calloused, scarred, restless. "Guess I'll have to prove it, then."
Thorrak finally paused, resting the hammer. "You've got the heart for it, boy. You just need to stop treating your heart like a weapon."
Texan smiled faintly. "That's the only way I know how."
Across the city, Recon practiced in a narrow courtyard beneath a ceiling of crystal light. His arrows hissed through the air in rapid succession, each one striking the practice target's center — but with no rhythm. No patience.
Varan watched from the shadows, arms folded, face unreadable.
"You're not aiming," he said finally.
Recon scoffed. "You blind? Every one of these hit the mark."
"I said aiming, not hitting."
Recon turned, irritation sharp in his voice. "You always talk like that, you know — vague and annoying."
Varan stepped closer, his tone calm but cutting. "You shoot like someone trying to impress a ghost. You want strength, not purpose. You want glory, not growth."
Recon's jaw tightened. "I want to stop being the one who needs saving."
"Then stop waiting for the world to hand you worth," Varan said, walking away. "Earn it." Recon stared after him, chest heaving. The words hit too close.
He looked down at his calloused fingers. He'd spent a lifetime trying to keep up — to match Himmel's precision, Texan's strength. Maybe tonight, he thought, I can finally catch up.
High above, in the open training arena carved into the cavern wall, Himmel sparred with Kirra. Their blades moved in silence, silver flashes that blurred against the molten glow of the city far below.
When their swords locked, Kirra broke first, stepping back. "Your form's sharper."
Himmel smiled faintly. "You sound almost impressed."
"I'm not," she said, wiping her brow. "You just adapt too fast. It's irritating."
He chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Kirra sheathed her blade and sat on the edge of the platform, watching the forges shimmer. "You don't talk much about what you want."
"I want to make it out alive."
"Alive isn't the same as fulfilled."
Himmel hesitated. "Then I'll aim for both."
She looked at him for a long time, studying the calm steadiness in his voice. "You really believe you'll find your soul tonight?"
"I believe the forge knows me better than I know myself," he said. "If I'm ready, it'll show me."
Kirra's eyes lowered. "Then I hope it's kind to you."
He didn't notice the flicker of pain in her expression when she said it.
As the day waned, the city began to shift. Forges dimmed. Workers closed their stalls. Children were ushered inside. The air grew heavy, electric — the way it feels before a thunderstorm.
The outsiders were summoned to the Grand Forge — a vast chamber cut into the mountain's heart. Massive rings of steel circled a pit of molten fire, and the air shimmered with magic old enough to remember the dawn.
Himmel, Texan, and Recon arrived together, each silent in their own way. Texan cracked his knuckles. Recon rolled his shoulders. Himmel simply breathed.
Angar waited by the anvil, robes of black and gold gleaming faintly in the forge light. The Elder Soul Smith's voice was steady, each syllable measured.
"Tonight," he said, "you meet the forge. It will test not your strength, but your soul. The bond you form is forever — and forever is not kind."
He gestured to the glowing pit. "Step forward when called. The forge will answer in its own tongue."
Texan went first. He always did.
As he stepped to the anvil, the heat surged — alive, familiar, welcoming. He laid both hands on the metal and closed his eyes.
He thought of his mother's voice, soft and warm like morning fire. He thought of his father's laugh, his brother's hand pulling him up when he fell. He thought of Himmel, the calm in their storms; Recon, the mouthy little bastard who kept trying anyway. And Gumbo — his silly, loyal, half-shark kid.
I just want to keep them safe, he thought. That's all.
The forge flared.
A figure rose from the molten river — tall, handsome, armor cracked but shining. His presence filled the room like sunlight.
Angar's tone shifted with awe. "A captain of the Dawn Legion."
The spirit smiled at Texan, his voice smooth and kind. "You fight loud, but you love louder. I died for mine — would you live for yours?"
Texan swallowed hard. "Every damn day."
The spirit reached out, touching his chest. "Then take my fire."
Light poured around Texan's arms. Fire seared, then soothed, shaping metal and memory together. When it cooled, black gauntlets remained — veined with faint gold lines that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Texan stared, awestruck. "Guess I'm done punching with bare hands."
Thorrak's proud grin from the sidelines said everything words couldn't.
Recon's turn came next. He approached the anvil slowly, heartbeat quick and uneven.
When he touched the forge, it didn't roar like it had for Texan — it hissed. Whispers crawled up from the molten river.
From the darkness, a figure emerged: lean, cloaked in rags, eyes fever-bright. Coins fell from his grip, each one vanishing before it hit the floor.
"A scavenger," Angar murmured, troubled. "A man who died searching for riches no one else dared claim."
The spirit grinned, sharp and sly. "You know the feeling, don't you? The hunger that never stops?"
Recon stared, jaw set. "Maybe I do."
"Then you and I," the spirit said, "will never go hungry again."
He pressed his hand to Recon's chest. The forge erupted in blue-black light. Cold rushed through him — a hunger, a thrill, a promise.
When it cleared, a bow hung in his grip — carved of obsidian, smooth and hungry, its string humming faintly as if breathing.
Recon smiled thinly. "Now this feels right."
Varan's voice came from behind. "Be careful. That thing will take as much as it gives."
Recon didn't answer. The bow pulsed again, and the shadow behind his grin deepened.
Then it was Himmel's turn.
The forge seemed to recognize him before he even touched it. The air thickened, charged, vibrating like it was alive.
He stepped forward, laid his palms on the anvil, and the world moved.
The molten rivers surged upward — hundreds of shapes, voices, lights. Souls — ancient, young, radiant, broken — all drawn toward him. They circled like stars pulled into orbit.
For a moment, the world felt whole.
Then, suddenly, the forge screamed — and everything stopped.
The souls recoiled, fading one by one until the room was silent. The heat drained from the air, leaving only cold.
Himmel opened his eyes. The forge was empty.
Angar stepped forward, expression heavy. "They came to you… and they fled. You burn too fiercely for them to endure."
Himmel's voice was quiet, steady. "So there's no one?"
Angar hesitated. "There was one. But that soul has already been claimed."
His gaze drifted to the far edge of the room.
Kirra stood there — half in shadow, her sword faintly glowing with soft golden runes.
Himmel followed Angar's eyes, realization dawning slow and painful. "You mean—"
Angar nodded. "The soul meant for you bonded with her first. Such a link cannot be undone, save by death."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Kirra looked away. Himmel said nothing. The forge, mercifully, did not speak again.
When it was over, the city moved like a body exhaling. The gathered orcs dispersed quietly, voices hushed in reverence.
Texan sat beside Thorrak again, flexing his new gauntlets. The warmth in them wasn't fire — it was a pulse, steady and human.
Thorrak clasped his shoulder. "You've got his courage now. Don't waste it."
Texan nodded. "I won't." He meant it.
Recon stood in the training yard, turning the black bow in his hands. The weapon whispered faintly, promising speed, power, wealth — everything he'd ever wanted.
Varan approached, arms crossed. "How's your new friend?"
Recon didn't look up. "Hungry."
"Then you'll get along." Varan's tone softened for once. "Feed it with purpose, not pride."
Recon met his eyes. "You think I can do that?"
Varan smirked. "I think you'll try. That's a start."
Himmel found Kirra waiting outside the forge. Neither spoke at first. The glow from her sword faintly lit the wall between them.
"You knew," Himmel said quietly.
Kirra shook her head. "Not until it called to me. By then, it was already too late."
"Do you feel it?" he asked.
"Every time I draw it," she admitted, voice low. "It feels… heavier than it should. Like it remembers someone else."
He looked down, jaw tight. "Then maybe it's still waiting for me."
Kirra met his eyes. "Or maybe it's protecting me for you."
Neither found comfort in that thought.
Later that night, the three of them met on the terrace overlooking the city. The forges below pulsed softly, no longer intimidating — almost gentle.
Texan sat cross-legged, gauntlets resting beside him. Recon leaned against the railing, bow at his side. Himmel stood by the edge, arms folded, eyes on the faintly glowing horizon.
For a long time, none of them spoke.
Then Texan broke the silence. "Well, that was terrifying. Oh I also found out I got regenerating powers. I told a alchemist what the potion did to me and apparently it gave me like stage 10 cancer. Now I heal like some maniac.""
Recon smirked. "Damn, another power you have that I don't."
Texan laughed. "Oh come on, don't be bitter."
Recon laughed, "It was a joke, don't worry. Even I can't get that jealous."
Himmel glanced back, faint smile tugging at his mouth. "You both still won, you got a bond."
"Barely," Texan said. "If that soul hadn't picked me, I'd have melted."
Recon shrugged. "Guess we both got lucky."
Himmel didn't answer. His gaze drifted upward — to where the molten rivers met the ceiling in a pattern that looked almost like constellations. "Luck's not what it feels like."
"What then?" Recon asked.
"Debt," Himmel said softly.
They all went quiet after that. The forge's hum filled the silence.
Texan leaned back, closing his eyes. "Still, we made it a month. Feels longer."
Recon nodded, softer now. "Feels like forever."
Himmel looked at both of them — his friends, his family — and for the first time that day, his chest eased.
"Whatever comes next," he said, "we face it together."
Texan grinned. "Damn right."
Recon raised an eyebrow. "Even if it's another month of training?"
Texan groaned. "Please no."
They laughed — real laughter, the kind that echoes even after the sound's gone.
Below them, the city glowed like an ember refusing to die. And somewhere deeper still, the forge stirred — quiet, waiting, remembering the one soul it could not yet reach.