Chapter 14 #2
The room groaned as massive, invisible magnetic brakes seized the outer shell of the geode. The crushing gravitational pressure eased, slowing their descent until the massive sphere locked into a new set of ancient anchor points with a final, booming thud that rang in their ears.
The mechanical roar died away, leaving the Sanctum in its usual, golden silence.
Riven slowly lifted his hands from the drafting table. He took a deep breath, feeling the ambient aether of Stratum Seven pressing against the walls of the room. It felt older here. Denser. It tasted of ash and raw potential.
"We're here," Riven said quietly.
Vael stood up, retrieving her halberd. She walked over to the drafting table, looking at the man in the heavy leather duster. The broken, terrified sweep she had met in the upper levels was entirely gone.
"You moved a room the size of a courtyard through three miles of solid rock," Vael said, her voice a mixture of disbelief and deep, abiding respect. "Without breaking a sweat."
"The mountain did the heavy lifting," Riven deflected, turning toward the smooth crystal wall that served as the door.
"Don't sell yourself short, Architect," Vael said, stepping into his path.
She looked him dead in the glowing amber eyes.
"You aren't a rat scrambling in the walls anymore.
You're a warlord who hasn't built his army yet.
Start acting like it. The moment we step out of this room, I follow your lead. "
Riven held her gaze. He saw the absolute sincerity in the Vanguard's eyes. She wasn't mocking him. She was pledging her blade to his architecture.
"Understood, Vanguard," Riven said, his voice dropping into a cold, authoritative cadence. "Let's go build our army."
He walked past her and approached the crystalline seal of the geode.
He didn't need to punch the lock this time. He simply raised his right hand, the golden circuitry recognizing the barrier. The massive crystal iris fractured flawlessly along its mathematical lines, spiraling open to reveal the dark.
A blast of incredibly dry, scorching hot air blew into the Sanctum, smelling of scorched iron and cooled slag.
They stepped out of the geode and into the Deep Forge.
The scale of the chamber was an insult to human comprehension.
It made the colosseum above look like a child's sandbox.
The cavern was so vast that its ceiling was entirely lost in the oppressive, smoky darkness.
The floor was a sprawling, jagged landscape of hardened, black magma flows, crisscrossed by massive trenches of glowing, sluggishly moving molten rock that cast a harsh, hellish red under-light across the sector.
Towering into the gloom were dozens of colossal, silent machines.
Massive drop-forges the size of watchtowers.
Anvils carved from singular blocks of meteoritic iron that were larger than noble estates.
Enormous, rusted chains dangled from the unseen ceiling, holding crucibles that could have melted down an entire city block.
It was a factory built for gods, abandoned and left to rot in the silent dark.
"It's breathtaking," Carys whispered, stepping out onto a ledge of cooled black rock, her glasses reflecting the distant, dull red glow of the magma trenches. "The thermodynamic engineering alone... they are using the planet's core as a perpetual heat source."
Riven didn't look at the ceiling or the distant walls. The golden wireframe of the Lexicon guided his eyes directly to the center of the massive cavern.
Sitting on a raised, circular dais of flawless white marble—starkly contrasting the black rock surrounding it—was the central crucible.
It was a massive, bowl-shaped forge made of a dark, star-flecked metal that absorbed the ambient light.
Above it hovered a massive, dormant aether-hammer, locked in place by thick, rusted gears.
"That's the heart," Riven said, pointing toward the white dais. "The primary aether-forge. If we can wake it up, it will power the smaller manufacturing bays."
They moved cautiously across the treacherous, uneven terrain of the cooled magma. Vael kept her halberd unlit, her eyes scanning the deep shadows between the towering machines. There were no Gloom-Hounds here. There were no Inquisitors. The Deep Forge was completely, utterly dead.
They reached the base of the white marble dais.
Riven climbed the wide, shallow steps, approaching the lip of the massive, dark metal bowl. The inside of the forge was perfectly smooth, completely devoid of ash or slag. It was waiting for a master.
Engraved into the rim of the bowl were a series of massive Eldric runes.
"It requires an ignition sequence," Carys said, climbing the steps behind him and peering at the ancient text. "The ambient magma isn't enough to melt aether-tar. The forge requires a direct injection of kinetic friction. It needs a spark of raw, unfiltered Lexicon energy."
Riven looked at his right arm. The golden circuitry was pulsing steadily. He had healed his broken collarbone. He had moved the Sanctum. He was beginning to understand the deep, terrible reservoir of power he now commanded.
"Stand back," Riven ordered.
Vael and Carys retreated to the bottom of the marble steps, giving him a wide berth.