Chapter 1 #2
Fine and dry, clinging faintly to the air, coating stone and metal alike. The city beyond was washed in dull gray and black, its colors muted beneath layers of soot and smoke.
Seraphae grimaced immediately.
“Oh, I hate this,” she muttered, nose wrinkling in open displeasure.
Aldric, by contrast, relaxed.
The scent of iron filled his lungs.
Steel.
Heat.
The distant clanging of forges rang out in uneven rhythm, metal striking metal, sparks bursting like brief stars.
It settled something in him.
Grounded him.
Last time he was here he did not take the time to actually look and take in this city.
This settlement made sense.
Kael’durith was placed at the base of the Shadow Mountains, its jagged spires of obsidian and darkened crimson glass twisting into the ashen sky like broken teeth. Blunt and unyielding.
The streets were narrow. The buildings low and practical, scarred by heat and use rather than ornament. Walls bore old fractures, mended again and again with molten seams and rune-welds.
Seraphae glanced around, clearly unimpressed.
“It looks like it hurts to live here.”
Aldric drew in a slow breath, the scent of iron, ash, and steel settling comfortably in his lungs.
“Question of preference.”
He took in the narrow streets as they moved deeper into the city, the close-set buildings looming overhead. The tunic he wore rustled softly with each step, a muted sound that blended easily with the low clatter of distant forges and the hiss of ash underfoot.
Both the armor and Dreyrath were wrapped in thick cloth, bundled together and slung over his shoulder. The weight of them pulled steadily at his back.
He barely noticed it anymore.
Aldric turned into the narrow alley leading toward the workshop.
The forge sat at the very end, flanked by old stone, smaller than the others, quieter.
Smoke drifted lazily from its chimney in a slow, steady breath.
The place was low, squat. Built of reinforced stone, its walls blackened by decades or centuries of heat.
The sigil above the door was cracked and half-melted, warped by fire and time, yet still unmistakable.
The place felt… different.
Inside, the air was dim and warm, lit by the deep orange glow of banked coals and a handful of lanterns swaying gently from the ceiling. There were no racks of polished weapons here. No gleaming armor meant to catch the eye.
This forge was not made to impress.
Only a broad workbench scarred by use, strewn with tools and metal fragments, and an anvil at its center. Ancient and battered, its surface marked by countless blows.
There was no one around.
Just stillness.
Aldric frowned.
“I’ve returned.”
His voice echoed faintly.
No answer.
They moved through the space slowly.
Then Nimble froze.
His head snapped toward the open doorway. A low sound rumbled in his chest before he bolted, claws scraping stone as he shot outside.
“Nimble—!” Aldric shouted.
“I’ll get him!”
Seraphae was already moving.
She darted after him, quick and light on her feet, slipping through the doorway in a blur of motion. Nimble was absurdly fast for a compact mass of muscle and teeth, a streak of black hide and wagging tail disappearing into the alley beyond.
Silence followed.
“Good to see you again, Aldric.”
The voice came from behind him.
Aldric turned on his heel.
Behind the workbench stood the demon blacksmith.
Tall and broad.
Just as he remembered him.
His skin was dark like charred iron, etched with faint lines of old heat. Horns curled back over his head like smoothed onyx, worn by time. His eyes glowed beneath a heavy brow, crimson, then blue, then something in between, as if the color shifted with every subtle movement.
A small smile tugged at his lips. He adjusted the weight on his shoulder.
“That pass under the Shadow Mountains was…”
“I know. I can see what you’ve been through.”
His gaze lingered.
“I’m glad the armor and the sword performed to your liking.”
“They did.”
The demon’s eyes flicked to Aldric’s shoulder, where the crimson, living markings glimmered faintly through the fabric.
“I see you’ve begun your brand,” approval colored his tone.
He stepped forward at last.
“I’ll need to make a few adjustments to the armor and the blade. I will return them to you, when you need them.”
Aldric hesitated for a heartbeat.
Then, reluctantly, he placed the bundled armor and sword upon the bench.
The weight leaving his shoulder felt wrong, like setting down part of himself. He had grown fond of them. Of what they had endured together.
Still, he let them go.
The blacksmith watched him quietly.
“You are more than armor and sword, Aldric.”
“How do you know my name?”
The blacksmith did not answer at once.
“I know many things… I can sense the future, always have.” His gaze drifted briefly, as if toward something far beyond the walls. “And this time, I hope what comes of it leaves a mark on this world that lasts.”
Aldric frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Then, more carefully, “And what is your name?”
The blacksmith’s eyes shifted again, crimson to blue, then settling into something deeper.
“You may call me Varnir.”
A pause settled between them.
Then he spoke again.
“Right now, I see that you and your pair bond will go to the palace.” A breath. “You have done well. She is… a handful.”
A small smile touched his lips.
Aldric returned it.
Yes. She is.
Infuriating. Bubbly. Playful. Dangerous in ways she never fully acknowledged.
“But the path does not end there,” Varnir continued. “You have a far greater role to play in what is coming. Your heritage will start to manifest soon.”
Aldric stilled.
Then demon’s tone changed. Just slightly.
“To see this through you need to walk into what’s coming with your eyes fully open. As a free man. Unburdened. Open.”
Aldric said nothing.
His attention had fixed instead on a marking etched into the stone wall, a rune half-buried beneath soot and age. Something about it tugged at him, familiar in a way that made no sense.
And somewhat… holy.
Varnir watched him closely.
“It will be like the rite of the Inquisitoris. But chosen, not forced.” A pause. “It is… acceptable to be afraid.”
Aldric turned back sharply.
“How do y—”
The words died in his throat.
The workbench stood empty.
The blacksmith was gone.
So were the armor and the sword.
Only the faint warmth of the forge remained, as if someone far greater had just stepped away.
Aldric exhaled slowly and bowed his head, just a fraction.
His jaw tightened.
The rite of the Inquisitoris.
He shook his head.
No.
That was the last thing he had expected to hear.
He did not wish for a swift, almost certain, death.
Aldric stood there, heart pounding, the unasked question burning in his chest.
Then.
“Got him!”
A rush of movement burst into the workshop.
Golden eyes.
Seraphae barreled in, laughing, clutching Nimble with both arms wrapped around its solid middle. The demon dog chirped happily, tail wagging so hard it nearly knocked her off balance.
“The little munchkin wanted to sniff some iron flowers outside a workshop. He’s so sneaky.”
Nimble wiggled in agreement.
Aldric exhaled slowly.
“Come,” he said, voice steady despite the storm still echoing inside him. “Let’s get our things and get going.”
“Where’s your armor and the sword?”
“I’ll explain on the way.”
Moments later, Aldric adjusted the straps of the trunks hovering patiently nearby.
“So,” he said, glancing around, “where’s the nearest Crimson Mirror?”
Seraphae shifted, suddenly very interested in a soot-stained wall to their left.
“We… won’t be doing that.”
He turned toward her.
“What? Why?”
She sighed.
“Because my parents are stubborn. Well… my father, mostly. He refuses to allow any form of magical apparition within the palace grounds or the valley, for that matter. He has ever since he met my mother.” She winced slightly. “So we’re going the ancient way.”
Aldric studied her, uncertain.
“And what exactly does that mean?”
As if summoned by the question, a thunderous roar rolled across the sky above the city, deep and reverberating, rattling loose ash from the rooftops.
Seraphae’s face lit up.
She clapped her hands together.
“Our ride is here!” Then, without missing a beat, she added, “I’m having Nimble on my lap.”
Aldric smirked and reached for the floating trunks, guiding them behind him.
“I’ll take our things, Princess.”
She giggled softly and leaned in to kiss his cheek.
“Such a knight.”
“For you, always. Now let’s see how demons used to travel back in the day.”
She was beaming as she turned toward the rising shadow overhead, excitement written all over her face.
In a burst of ash and a rushing wave of air, Aldric saw it.
Their ride was a beast.
At first glance, he tried to make sense of it.
A lizard?
No.
A griffon?
Also no.
It was a four-legged, heavily scaled creature with a long neck, powerful haunches, and a mouth full of jagged teeth. Spines ran down its back in a serrated line, wings folded tight against its sides.
It looked ancient.
Terrifying.
Technically… a dragon.
Just not one that thought like one.
It watched them with the patient, placid attention of a horse grazing in a field.
Around them, the city barely reacted.
Demons stepped aside without urgency. Merchants continued their work. Guards spared the massive creature little more than a passing glance as it settled into the street, stone groaning softly beneath its weight. No screams or panic.
It was broad daylight.
Aldric stopped short.
“That’s a dragon.”
Seraphae laughed, waving a dismissive hand as if he’d just told a joke.
“Oh, Aldric, you’re such a jester. Of course it’s not a dragon. What is it with you humans and dragons?”
As if personally offended by the denial, the creature lifted its head and roared, fire bursting from its throat in a blazing arc that lit the sky above Kael’durith.
Aldric pointed at it.
“Dragons breathe fire, Rae.”
She laughed harder.
“Oh, Aldric. You’re adorable when you’re scared.”
He stared at her, almost offended.
“Rae,” he said slowly, “that is literally a dragon. And you’re acting like it’s harmless.”