The Blazing Titan’s Crucible rose before them like a wound in the earth, its floating island wreathed in flame and smoke. The air shimmered with heat, the scent of molten metal and burning flesh thick in Dain’s throat. The Sunspire waited there, the final relic, its light piercing the smoke like a beacon.Dain’s arm ached, the Gloomshard’s darkness and the Soulsilver’s cold warring with the Embercore’s heat and the Stormfang’s storm. The Heartstone pulsed in his belt, its rhythm steady, but the gauntlet’s runes flickered, unstable, as if the clashing powers were tearing him apart from the inside."We’re almost there," Serra said, her voice hoarse. Her sword’s blue flame had dimmed since the Vault, the curse of the Moonlit Dead clinging to her like a second shadow. "One more relic. Then the Dragonforge."Veyla didn’t answer. The black chains from their bargain with the Vault had spread, now wrapping their forearm, their fingers twitching as if controlled by something unseen. Their sick

The caldera of Mount Vorthas was a wound in the world, its black lava bubbling like boiling blood, its slopes cracked and bleeding fire.The air reeked of sulfur and burning metal, thick enough to choke on. Above them, the sky split open, lightning tearing through the storm clouds like claws. The Eclipse Wyrm’s eyes, two pits of voidfire, burned at the mountain’s peak, its maw opening wider with every roar, the sound shaking the earth beneath their feet.Dain stood at the edge of the caldera, the Dragonbane clutched in his grip. The blade hummed, its runes pulsing with the seven relics’ power, their light and darkness swirling along its edge. His arm was a map of fire and shadow, the gauntlet’s runes now etched into his skin, the Gloomshard’s whispers and the Forgotten King’s voice a constant murmur in his mind:"You will fail, Heir. Just like the rest."Serra stood beside him, her sword drawn, its blue flame flickering weakly. The curse from the Vault of the Moonlit Dead had sapped h

The fire consumed the dragon-skull helmet, its blackened metal twisting in the flames like a living thing. Dain watched it melt, the heat licking at his face, the smell of burning steel filling the air.The Wyrm’s whispers were louder now, the Forgotten King’s voice a constant murmur in his mind: "The blood always wins, Heir.""Not today," Dain muttered, turning away from the fire.Serra stood a few paces off, her sword sheathed, her armor scorched and dented. She watched him, her eyes dark with exhaustion and something deeper, worry, maybe. Or fear."We should go," she said, her voice rough. "The Order won’t stop hunting you. Not after this."Dain nodded, but his gaze was fixed on the treeline, where the villagers had vanished. "We can’t just leave them.""We don’t have a choice," Serra snapped, then sighed, rubbing her face. "Sorry. I didn’t mean—""It’s fine," Dain said, though it wasn’t. Nothing was fine. His arm ached, the blackened veins of the gauntlet’s mark throbbing like a s

The firelight flickered across Malrik’s rotted face, casting jagged shadows that made his voidfire eyes seem to dance.The knights behind him fanned out, their armor gleaming like moonlit bone, their swords drawn and humming with a cold, unnatural light. The villagers recoiled, pressing against the obsidian walls of the Dragonforge’s outer chamber, their breaths shallow, their grips white-knuckled on the tools they’d just forged.Dain stepped forward, the Dragonbane raised, its runes flaring in response to the threat. The gauntlet’s mark on his arm burned, the blackened veins pulsing with the seven relics’ power. He could feel the Wyrm’s whispers stirring in his mind, the Forgotten King’s voice a distant murmur:"The blood always wins, Heir.""Not tonight," Dain growled.Malrik’s lips curled into a smile, his rotted skin cracking. "Oh, but it already has."He snapped his fingers.The knights charged.Serra moved like a storm, her sword igniting into blue flame as she intercepted the f

The crown rested heavily on Dain’s brow, its molten gold warm against his skin, its weight a constant reminder of the promise he had made.The villagers stood around him, their faces a mix of awe and fear, their hands clutching the tools the forge had gifted them.The Foundation Hammer, the obsidian plow, the crystal chisel, each hummed with the forge’s power, their surfaces glowing faintly in the dim light of the chamber."What now?" Taren asked, his voice quiet but steady. His rusted dagger was sheathed at his belt, but his hands trembled.Dain exhaled, the Dragonbane resting across his shoulders. The gauntlet’s mark on his arm pulsed, the blackened veins throbbing in time with the forge’s heartbeat. The Wyrm’s whispers were quieter now, but the Forgotten King’s voice still lingered, a distant murmur:"The blood always wins, Heir.""Not today," Dain muttered.Serra stepped beside him, her sword flaring to life, its blue flame casting sharp shadows on the walls. "We need to move," sh