I stepped toward the center of the island, my boots crunching over scorched stone—grit grinding underfoot, the sound sharp in the cavern''s stillness. In the middle of it all stood a forge—unlike any I had ever seen, its presence a pulse against the heat-soaked air.


    It radiated energy—not heat, but something deeper, older—ancient as the bones of the earth, humming faintly through the stone. The air shimmered faintly around it—waves bending light, a mirage of power—and the metal gleamed with a hue that shifted colors as I watched—bronze to silver to deep crimson, like molten blood under shifting flame. It seemed... alive, a heartbeat thrumming beneath its surface, whispering secrets I couldn''t grasp.


    "I thought it was a myth," Torglel murmured behind me—his voice low, almost reverent, a rare hush cutting through his usual bluster. "Stories told to entertain kids."


    I turned to him, brow arching—his wide eyes locked on the forge, glinting with something I hadn''t seen before. "Torglel, what are you talking about?"


    He took a slow step closer—boots scuffing ash—his gaze fixed, unblinking. "This is the First Forge," he said, awe threading his words now, lifting them above the cavern''s hum. "Said to be used by Tharnak himself to forge the first dwarves. This isn''t just another mining site." He exhaled slowly—breath fogging faintly in the heat, a shudder of reverence. "This is sacred ground."


    I stared at him—trying to wrap my head around it, the weight of his words sinking in like stone through water. "Well," I said after a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth—dry, half-formed, though I wasn''t sure why it came. "This should win them over even more."


    As I turned away—dust swirling at my heels—something caught my eye. Alythiel was crouched a few paces off, silver hair catching the forge''s glow, her hands carefully digging into the blackened earth—fingers sifting through ash with a purpose I couldn''t read. Curious, I walked over—boots thudding soft against the stone.


    "What are you doing?" I asked—voice low, curiosity tugging sharper than the heat.


    She stood as I reached her—turning to face me, ash smudged on her hands—and in them was an egg, cradled like a secret too heavy to drop.


    I froze—shock hitting me like a hammer blow, leaving my mouth dry, my pulse stuttering. "How did you find an egg?" I asked—struggling to keep my voice steady, words catching on the edge of disbelief.


    "The ground was soft here," she replied—calmly, but I saw the sharp focus in her moonstone eyes, a glint of discovery beneath her poise. "Not hard stone like the rest of the island. I wanted to know why."


    I stared at the thing in her hands—dark and smooth, its surface veined with molten light that pulsed like a heartbeat—faint, alive, radiating warmth that brushed my skin even from a foot away. "Hide that," I said quietly—voice tight, urgency cutting through. "Until we''re out of Thoringard."


    Without a word, Alythiel opened her pack—movements swift, precise—and slid the egg inside, wrapping it in cloth with a care that belied her calm, sealing it away as if it were fragile as glass.


    We made our way back up through the Smeltfire Deeps—the weight of our discovery heavy on my mind, a shadow I couldn''t shake. Torglel walked ahead—tossing the Drake''s severed head between his hands like it was nothing more than a game, its scales glinting faintly in the torchlight, jaws slack. "That dragon was one tough lizard," he chuckled—voice echoing off the walls. Then he glanced back at me—his grin wide, but his eyes carried something heavier—gratitude, maybe, or pride. "Solari, you really saved our hides down there."


    Alythiel walked in silence beside us—her steps soft, measured—but I caught her glancing my way more than once—quick, searching looks, like she was weighing something in her mind, her lips pressed thin. I thought about asking what was on her mind—words forming then fading—but now wasn''t the time, the air too thick with unspoken weight.


    When we finally emerged—ash clinging to our boots, heat still searing our lungs—I sent word to the Emberforge Senate, summoning them to the council chamber. Torglel, Alythiel, and I waited in silence—stone walls looming, the air cool against my sweat-slick skin—as one by one, the senators filed in, taking their seats in a semicircle of stone and iron—runes glinting faintly under torchlight.


    When they were all seated—Tolgarn leaned forward, his expression carved from granite—gray beard stark against his dark armor, eyes hard as flint. "Solari," he said—his deep voice filling the chamber, resonant as a hammer strike—"since you''ve gathered us again, I take it you''ve slain the Deepfire Drake?"


    Without a word, Torglel stepped forward—boots thudding—and dropped the Drake''s head onto the table with a heavy thud that echoed off the stone walls—scales scraping wood, molten eyes dull and lifeless. He grinned—full of pride, chest puffed out. "Aye," he said. "Dead as you can get, that''s for sure."


    Tolgarn''s stern expression cracked just enough for a faint smile—a flicker of warmth beneath the king''s mask—but I wasn''t finished, the forge''s glow still etched in my mind. "The Smeltfire Deeps harbored much more than the Drake," I said—my voice cutting through the rising murmurs in the room, steady and firm.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    I glanced at Torglel—who nodded and picked up the thread, stepping forward with a gleam in his eye. "Aye," he said—voice booming now, awed but proud. "You won''t believe it—but the Drake was guarding the First Forge."


    The chamber exploded into chaos—senators shouting over one another, voices rising in disbelief and fury, a forge of noise hammering against the stone. Velmira leaned back in her chair—a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips as she watched the argument unfold—ringed fingers tapping idly, her sharp eyes glinting with calculation.


    Ruvik and Gralden were the first to deny it outright—calling our claim impossible, Ruvik''s cold voice slicing through, Gralden''s disdain thick as he gripped his staff. Taldric, Odrin, and Brannik fired back—arguing it had to be true—how else could such a beast have been guarding something so sacred?—Taldric''s calm logic clashing with Odrin''s sharp insistence, Brannik''s blunt nod sealing their stance.


    "Silence!" Tolgarn''s voice cracked through the chamber like thunder—deep, commanding, silencing the storm in an instant. The room fell still—breath held, eyes snapping to him. "The Senate will investigate the Shadow Hand''s claim," he said—voice steady, resolute. "We will meet again at the peak of day tomorrow."


    His gaze met mine—hard, weighing, a king''s scrutiny cutting deep—then he spoke again. "You are all dismissed."


    One by one, the senators filed out—robes rustling, armor clanking, their hushed conversations trailing after them into the dark halls like whispers of smoke.


    I exhaled a breath I hadn''t realized I was holding—tension easing from my shoulders, chest loosening. "Let''s get dinner," I said—voice rough, fatigue tugging at me.


    "Dragon slaying does make me hungry," Torglel replied with a grin—rubbing his stomach as we walked, his hand thumping against his singed armor. I couldn''t help but chuckle under my breath—a low, tired sound breaking through the weight.


    We made our way to the Broken Helm—Torglel''s favorite spot in Thoringard, its stone walls vibrating with life. The place was as rowdy as I remembered—dwarven soldiers packed the stone tables, deep in their cups, slamming tankards and shouting songs off-key—ale sloshing, voices clashing. A brawl erupted in the back—fists flying, chairs cracking—but the food was good, immaculate even—roast meat and bread steaming on the table, scents cutting through the chaos. Almost enough to ignore the noise—almost—but not quite, the din a constant roar in my ears.


    We sat in silence while the dwarves around us buzzed with drunken merriment—laughter echoing through the Broken Helm, tankards slamming on tables, the fight''s shouts fading into the clamor. None of it mattered—not to us—our table an island in the storm.


    I met Alythiel''s gaze across the table—her eyes steady, piercing through the haze. She didn''t hesitate. "What really happened down there?" she asked—voice steady but sharp underneath, a blade probing for truth. "You sprouted wings. And those runes... they burned through your skin brighter than anything I''ve ever seen."


    Torglel let out a heavy sigh—rubbing a hand down his face, ash smudging his beard. "Aye, brother," he said—tone low and serious, no trace of his usual grin. "She''s right. What''s going on with you?" His face was set—determined, eyes locked on mine—I''d never seen him like this, all levity stripped away.


    I stared down at the scarred wood of the table for a long moment—tracing a gouge with my thumb—before I spoke. "Look," I said—voice rough, halting—"I don''t even understand it myself." I exhaled slow—breath shaky, chest tight. "I know I have demonic heritage. And that power—it manifests against my will sometimes. But this?" I shook my head—hair falling into my eyes. "I don''t know what this was."


    Alythiel''s hand closed over mine before I realized she was reaching for it—warm, steady, grounding me in the chaos. "You can rely on us," she said quietly—meeting my eyes, her grip tightening just a little, a lifeline in her touch. "We''ll help you figure it out." Her voice softened—firm but gentle. "Your burden isn''t yours alone to bear... not when you''re surrounded by friends."


    Torglel reached across and clapped me on the shoulder—the slap familiar but heavier this time, weighted with something deeper. "Aye," he said—voice gruff, resolute. "As long as you''ve got us, we''ll tackle anything. Head on. Together."


    I took a breath—the weight in my chest didn''t vanish, but it eased—a knot loosening under their words. "Thanks," I said—voice low, raw. "Both of you. Truly." I gave Alythiel''s hand a gentle squeeze—gratitude pulsing through—then reached for my mug and lifted it high—foam sloshing faintly. "If we die before we wake, may we be reunited in the afterlife." I gave them both a small grin—tired but real. "And if we live, the day is ours. So let''s drink and laugh until the morning sun."


    Torglel let out a bark of laughter—slamming his mug against mine with enough force to make it slosh, ale spilling over the rim—and Alythiel''s smile was faint but real—raising her mug to meet ours, a quiet spark in her eyes.


    We drank—deep, gulps cutting through the day''s ash with warmth and a bite. We swapped stories late into the night—Torglel''s wild tales, Alythiel''s dry quips—laughter rising over the din. And for a little while, we let the world fall away—I was truly grateful for moments like this, a tether in the storm. I didn''t realize how much... until later—just how much until later, when the quiet broke.


    I stumbled into my room—legs heavy, head buzzing—and collapsed onto the bed, too drained to bother undressing—boots dangling off the edge, armor creaking. I closed my eyes—waiting for sleep to take me, darkness pulling at the edges.


    When it did, I found myself back in that same room—walls made of pure darkness, unnaturally circular, a void swallowing light. The air hung heavy—silent—like the world itself was holding its breath, thick with a stillness that pressed against my chest. And there he was—sitting in an elegant red chair, one leg crossed over the other like a noble at court—was... me. My darker self—black wings folded lazy, a shadow of my own face staring back.


    His eyes gleamed like smoldering coals—red-orange flickers in the dark—and that same infuriating, smug smile curled across his lips—sharp, knowing. "I''ve told you time and time again," he said smoothly—voice silk over steel, cutting through the quiet. "But do you listen? No." He gestured lazily with one hand—as if addressing a child, fingers trailing shadow. "You thrash about, struggling needlessly, when all you have to do is tap into your power. Instead, you wait until you''re staring death in the face to force it out of you."


    He leaned forward slightly—the chair creaking under him, a low groan in the void. "Wouldn''t you rather have permanent wings? To soar whenever you choose? Just accept it. Accept who you are. You can''t keep denying it."


    His smile widened—teeth gleaming, fangs catching faint light—he always smiled like he knew something I didn''t, a secret dangling just out of reach. And I hated that—hated the smug certainty, the pull of his words. "I''m not a monster like you," I said—forcing my voice steady, fists clenching at my sides. "Tapping into that power means becoming like you. And I will never be like you." I took a breath—chest tight, defiance burning. "I''d rather die than become a monster."


    His laugh cracked the silence—sharp, jagged, like glass breaking under pressure. "You will accept it one day," he said—voice low now, almost gentle, a whisper that sank into my bones. "And that day draws closer with every breath you take."


    The room darkened—his gleaming, pointed smile the last thing I saw—bright against the void—before—


    I woke—breath ragged, heart pounding in my chest—sheets tangled, sweat cold on my skin. The dim lighting of torches reflected the dark chill I felt inside, a shadow lingering in my pulse.


    That smile was burned in my mind—haunting, infuriating—a taunt I couldn''t unsee, a promise I couldn''t unhear.