The deeper they traveled, the more oppressive the heat became.
Soon Edison was shrugging off his leather jacket and tying it around his waist, his tank top already sticking to his back with sweat.
"Are we walking into a volcano?" he grumbled, swiping at his forehead.
"Possibly," Guide mused. "Freljord's volcanic activity is concentrated near—"
"Thump."
Something soft but insistent bumped against Edison's backside. He turned to find the little poro blinking up at him innocently—or what would be innocent if not for the way its eyes kept darting downward toward his waist.
"Ah," Guide said. "It appears your coat is obstructing the Poro-Snax pouch."
The poro's little beard like face fur trembled, its enormous eyes welling with crystalline tears that reflected the dim glow of the dying torch with devastating effectiveness.
Edison clutched his chest.
"Ugh—that's cheating!"
But his hands were already moving, fishing out a treat.
The poro's despair vanished instantly as it snatched the offering with a happy prrt, tail nub wagging furiously.
Thud.
This time the impact nearly knocked him forward. Edison whirled around—
—and found himself staring down at the hammer-wielding poro.
Though slightly larger than the little poro, even with its spiraled horn it barely reached Edison's thigh.
Yet those obsidian eyes held terrifying depth, like staring into a well of ancient grudges condensed into a comically small package.
Edison instinctively took a half-step back. "Uh..."
The poro's mustache twitched. Up this close, he could see it's lush facial fur, each iron ring at the end etched with tiny runes that glowed faintly under the torch's faint light.
Silence stretched.
"The Poro-Snax..." Guide whispered like a hostage negotiator.
"Oh! Right!" Edison fumbled for another treat, nearly dropping it in his haste.
The hammer poro sniffed delicately before accepting the offering with surprising grace.
One nibble. Then—
"...Hnn."
Its brows relaxed marginally. A slow blink. Another nibble.
Then, with the solemnity of a wine connoisseur, it gave a single approving nod before giving Edison's thigh one firm smack that almost sent Edison stumbling to the wall.
Edison rubbed his throbbing thigh, staring at the surprisingly powerful creature.
The hammer poro continued nibbling its treat with refined precision, every chew radiating quiet dignity completely at odds with its grumpy eyebrows.
As he watched, something tickled at the back of Edison's memory.
Those iron-ringed mustache... The hammer... The darkened fur...
"The Fabled Poro..." Edison muttered.
The Fabled Poro.
The legendary figure said to bestow magical gifts upon worthy porokind. A blacksmith among fluffballs.
Edison's breath hitched as the pieces snapped together—the unnatural heat coiling through the tunnels, the indestructible dark stone, and now the Fabled Poro padding ahead of him with its hammer. His mouth went dry.
"Guide," he whispered. "That heat... it's not geothermal, is it?"
"...No." Sensing Edison's inner thoughts, Guide responded with infuriating calm. "My guess is as good as yours."
The tunnel beyond the crack was different—wider, smoother, as if it had been deliberately carved rather than naturally formed. The metallic veins in the stone were thicker here, pulsing faintly with a dull, ruddy glow, like embers beneath ash.
The grumpy poro led the way without looking back, its hammer resting on one shoulder.
Edison exhaled, forcing his nerves down. No point overthinking it now.
He picked up his speed.
After several minutes of winding descent, the tunnel opened into a vast cavern
The walls were lined with intricate carvings, their edges worn smooth by time. Strange glowing stones were embedded in the rock, casting a dim, flickering light across the cavern. The space looked more like a storage room than a natural cave—stacks of crates filled with those unnaturally durable dark ores were piled against the walls, and tools of all shapes and sizes hung from hooks, their metal gleaming faintly in the low light.
At the far end of the chamber stood a heavy stone double door, slightly ajar. Heat radiated from beyond it in waves.
"The forge," Guide said, confirming what Edison already knew.
There was no doubt left in his mind now.
He knew exactly where he was.
Edison sighed deeply.
Then he heard it.
"Clang, Clang, Clang..."
It was faint, but the rhythmic sound of hammer on metal echoed.
Stepping past crates of mysterious ore and walls hung with different tools, Edison emerged into a colossal hallway that dwarfed the storage room.
The passage stretched before him - twenty feet tall, ten feet wide - with multiple heavy doors lining either side.
Then, a nudge at his side made him glance down.
The Fabled Poro stood there, its dark, serious eyes locked onto him before gesturing firmly toward the massive stone door at the end of the hall.
Right. Of course.
He was an uninvited intruder. The least he could do was announce himself.
Edison walked towards the door that might as well be a gate.
The door is etched with runes that pulsed faintly, stretched nearly as wide and tall as the hallway itself.
A sliver of blinding light spilled from the slighty opened gap between the doors, outshining the dim glow of the cavern's embedded stones. The hammer's rhythm grew louder, clearer, each strike ringing like a bell through the hall.
Edison's throat went dry.
"Remember to choose your words carefully," Guide murmured, its usual sarcasm absent. The gravity in its tone sent a chill down Edison's spine.
Steeling himself, he stepped forward.
The heat hit him like a living thing as he crossed the threshold, so intense it stole his breath.
His eyes burned, watering against the dry, scorching air—but when they cleared, the sight before him froze him in place.
The cavern was massive.
The entire space burned red, lit by rivers of molten lava below. Flames licked upward in great arcs, spitting embers into the air before plunging back into the fire below.
Stone platforms, broad and unyielding, hung suspended above the inferno, anchored by chains thicker than ancient oaks—chains that dug deep into the cavern's walls and ceiling like roots. Bridges of carved rock connected them, forming a labyrinth of pathways all leading toward one central platform.
And there, in the heart of it all, stood a figure.
A silhouette, distorted by the rippling heat, yet unmistakable in its enormity. Broad-shouldered, crowned by great curling horns, its arm rose and fell with the steady, unrelenting rhythm of a smith lost in his craft.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
Edison's pulse roared in his ears. His mouth moved before he could stop it, the name slipping out in a whisper of awe.
"Ornn..."