The forge’s fire roared like a caged beast, its embers hissing as Dain plunged the red-hot blade into the quenching trough.Steam exploded into the air, filling the workshop with the scent of scorched metal and sweat. His arms burned, his back ached, but he didn’t stop. Borin the Steady had taught him better."A smith’s work is never done, boy," Borin’s voice echoed in his memory, gruff but warm. "The fire doesn’t care if you’re tired. The steel doesn’t care if you’re scared."Dain wiped the soot from his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of black across his forehead. The blade he’d been working on, a simple short sword for a merchant’s son who fancied himself a warrio, gleamed dully in the firelight. No Dragonsteel. No runes. No magic. Just iron, sweat, and the rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil.Then the ground trembled.Dain froze. The anvil beside him hummed, vibrating as if struck by an invisible force. The fire in the forge pulsed, its flames twisting into the shap

Dain coughed, dust filling his lungs as he rolled to his feet. The chamber was ruined, its walls cracked, its altar shattered. Serra lay a few feet away, her armor scorched, her sword extinguished.The gauntlet’s runes pulsed, its light casting long shadows on the broken stone. Dain’s arm ached, the mark burning like a brand. He could still hear the voice, the Wyrm’s voice, whispering in his skull."Heir…"Serra pushed herself up, her breath ragged. "You hit like a blacksmith."Dain didn’t laugh. "You tried to kill me.""I should have killed you." She wiped blood from her lip. "But the Order lies. And I’m done being their blade."Dain studied her. "Why?"Serra’s grip tightened on her sword. "Because I saw your face when the mountain roared. And I saw his.""Who?""The Wyrm." She met his gaze. "It’s not what they say. It’s not just a beast. It’s bound."Dain’s skin prickled. "Bound to what?""You."The chamber trembled again. The mural’s dragon screamed, its stone form peeling away fro

The storm clouds over Mount Vorthas churned like a living thing, lightning splitting the sky in jagged veins. The air smelled of ozone and ash, thick with the weight of what had been lost.Dain stood at the edge of the chasm where Black Hollow had once stood, his fingers clenched around the hammer’s handle.The gauntlet’s runes pulsed against his skin, a steady, insistent rhythm, like a second heartbeat. His arm ached, the mark spreading further with each passing moment, creeping toward his shoulder like living ink.Serra crouched a few paces away, pressing a strip of torn cloth to the gash on her cheek. The wound had stopped bleeding, but the bruise was already darkening, a stark contrast against her pale skin. She didn’t look at him. Not yet."We can’t stay here," she said, her voice rough. "The Order will track us. And if the Wyrm’s truly awake…" She trailed off, her gaze flicking toward the mountain. The glowing eyes were gone now, but the memory of them burned in Dain’s mind."Th

The dunes of Sol’Kareth gave way to cracked earth, the red sand bleeding into blackened rock as Dain and Serra trekked toward the horizon.The air grew heavier, thick with the scent of salt and decay, the wind carrying the distant roar of waves crashing against jagged cliffs. The Embercore pulsed in Dain’s grip, its warmth a constant reminder of the power he now carried, and the price it had demanded.Serra walked ahead, her stride purposeful, her sword sheathed but her hand never far from its hilt. She hadn’t spoken since they left the Phoenix’s Nest, her silence weighted with something Dain couldn’t name. Guilt, maybe. Or fear. He knew the feeling."We’re close," she said finally, her voice cutting through the wind. "The Tideborn Citadel is just beyond those cliffs. If the Stormfang is anywhere, it’s there."Dain adjusted his grip on the hammer, the gauntlet’s runes flaring in response to the electric charge in the air. The Shattered Sea was near, its presence a hum in his bones. "A

The Gloomshard pulsed in Dain’s grip, its darkness coiling around his fingers like smoke. The gauntlet’s runes flickered, their golden light struggling against the gem’s creeping shadow. His arm ached, the mark now spreading past his shoulder, its edges jagged and raw, as if the Gloomshard had bitten into his skin."We need to leave. Now." Serra’s voice was sharp, her sword’s blue flame flickering weakly in the tomb’s oppressive dark. She grabbed Dain’s wrist, her grip tight. "The wood’s reacting to the shard. It’s waking."Dain didn’t argue. He could feel it, the Gloomwood’s roots stirring beyond the tomb’s walls, their movements syncing with the rhythm of his newly darkened veins. The Forgotten King’s whispers still echoed in his mind, a chorus of doubt:"You are mine now, Heir."Veyla watched him, their good eye glowing with something like satisfaction. "The shard doesn’t just give power, boy. It takes."Dain clenched his fist around the Gloomshard. "I know."Serra yanked him towar