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The Forge of the First Smiths glowed at dusk, nestled in a crater rim carved centuries ago by seismic fire. Watchtowers manned by Crimson Drake soldiers and allied guild envoys stood vigilant around its perimeter, torches burning steady against the cooling air.
AshenZero, wearing a cloak that masked his rune-gilded armor, approached the entrance alongside Riven and Lady Seraphine. The Forge's massive door—a labyrinth of embossed runes and molten seams—seemed to pulse as though breathing. A chill ran down his spine.
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Council Oversight
Inside the council room, High Archanist Kelthiran waited, flanked by two scribe-apprentices. He eyed AshenZero with both curiosity and suspicion.
"Welcome," Kelthiran said, voice echoing off basalt walls. "I've come with the Council's request: to study the binding and extract rune samples. For posterity—and progress."
AshenZero's gaze hardened. "You mean expropriate." He shifted uneasily. "The Codex-class changes aren't to be taken lightly."
Kelthiran sighed. "We only ask for a shard or two. We mean no harm—and we will compensate."
Seraphine withheld her glare at her ex-colleague. "We will discuss this." She motioned to ushers. "We don't appreciate surprise demands."
Despite the politeness, AshenZero felt a squall brewing—an omen that the Council's interest might conceal deeper motives.
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Rune Brokers Strike
By moonrise, trouble surfaced along the northern watchtower. Guards reported unusual rune signatures on the perimeter alarms. Riven, AshenZero, and Seraphine responded swiftly, galloping along the rim.
They arrived to find the tower ablaze—siege bombs carved with rune-seals had been planted against the stone. Jagged rune arcs fizzed amid sparks.
Lady Wynne Blackflame's agents—mercenaries in black gear and inked with brokering sigils—stood waiting. The lead one smirked. "You guarders of devils' forges. Time to let the free market rule."
Riven charged forward, shield ablaze, as Seraphine called guards to flank. AshenZero leaped ahead—mystic runic flames dancing around his fingertips.
"Begone," he commanded deeply. With a sweep of iron-fire energy from his palm, he disarmed the ambushers, singeing their weapons. They fled into the night, defeated but defiant.
Riven surveyed the damage. The oil moat had been tainted with volatile additives—had the attack succeeded, the Forge would be lost. "It's her," he spat at Seraphine. She nodded grimly—only she understood Blackflame's vendetta.
At AshenZero's side, Riven whispered: "We needed proof. They're out for power."
AshenZero nodded, his flame-inscribed armor glowing red with resolve.
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Mael's Warning
Later, at the center of the Forge's inner chamber, battered guards held watch. AshenZero stood alone, gazing upward at the Ember Arch—featureless stone arch etched with ancestral glyphs.
A crack of stone echoed in the vaulted hall. Mael Stormhand stepped from the shadows, face lined with ancient gravity.
"AshenZero," he said softly. "Time moves too quickly."
AshenZero bowed. "Mael. How did you—?"
Mael raised a hand. "The Forge's runes called me. They sense imbalance." He extended a hand, revealing a half-glowing orb—cracked, ember-core flickering.
"These are Phoenix Seeds," he said. "Fragments of cosmic flame, seeds of renewal—or extinction. They are growing inside the forge. If we do not collect them… the Forge will transform."
AshenZero trembled. "You mean… it could become something else. Something dangerous."
Mael nodded slowly. "The seeds will either bind the Forge further—or explode its purpose. It is your fate to decide which."
As Mael vanished into the rune-lit gloom, the orb's ember-fire pulsed in AshenZero's hand. Too large to hide, too unstable to ignore.
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Tension at Dawn
The next morning, Riven and Seraphine stood before AshenZero in the Forge's outer courtyard, torches low and smoldering from the night's strike. The orb lay on a rune-carved stone plinth.
Riven spoke first: "You saved the Forge—but now we need to choose. Do we harness the Phoenix Seeds—or burn them?"
Seraphine's eyes were fearful. "If it fails… everything falls."
AshenZero placed a finger gently on the orb's surface. "These aren't casual tools. If we harvest them… properly—they could stabilize the Forge and bind the Codex's class power to us all." His voice grew firm. "It's time we move forward."
A hush fell. The Forge, once a weapon of survival, had become a crucible for cosmic choice.
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Chapter 12 closes on a pivotal moment: With the Forge repaired, the characters face unexpected threats—internal and external—and a portentous new power. Their choices here could remake Meras—or destroy it.
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