The night was still.
Only the distant hum of crickets and the whisper of leaves filled the silence.
Torya stood by the entrance of the tribe's wall, staring up at the two moons one pale silver, the other faintly blue. Their twin light washed over the clearing, bathing the cave's wooden gate and the wall in an ethereal glow. Smoke from the dying fires coiled slowly into the air, curling toward the heavens like incense.
He felt peace, but only for a fleeting moment.
As his gaze lingered on the stars, a voice echoed quietly within his mind cold, calm, and familiar.
"Reminder: Unclaimed reward detected. Would the Host like to redeem the mission reward—ten fist-sized bronze ores?"
Torya stiffened, his heartbeat quickening. Nova's sudden whisper startled him; even after hearing it several times before, the voice always seemed to pierce directly into his thoughts.
He looked around instinctively no one was near. Everyone else was asleep inside the caves.
He exhaled and muttered softly, "Redeem."
In front of him, the air shimmered. A faint vibration hummed through the ground. Then, without warning, ten glowing bronze ores materialized before him solid, dense, and radiant under the moonlight. They hit the earth with soft, metallic thuds, each one gleaming faintly with a reddish tint.
Torya crouched, picking one up. It was warm to the touch smooth yet alive, like the ore itself breathed faint heat. He turned it over, studying its glint. It looked almost identical to the ones he traded with the Lapinfolk days ago.
He whispered to himself, "Same ore… same pattern. But these… they feel different."
"Oi, Torya!"
The voice broke his focus. He turned to see Yoren, one of the tribe's most cheerful men, walking toward him with a lopsided grin and half-tied hair.
"What are you doing out here alone again?" Yoren said lightly. But when his eyes caught the faintly glowing ores scattered on the ground, his words faltered. "By the flame… are those...?"
He stopped himself, his expression shifting from curiosity to barely contained surprise.
Torya met his gaze silently. Yoren cleared his throat and forced a casual tone. "So… what's your plan with those things?"
Torya looked down at the ores again. For a moment, he wasn't sure. He only knew the weight of them felt important. Then, as his fingers brushed over one, an odd sensation welled within him an urge, deep and instinctive.
"I want to make something," he murmured.
Yoren blinked. "Make something? Now? It's past midnight."
Torya's eyes glowed faintly under the moonlight. "Yes. A dagger."
Yoren stared, but the seriousness in Torya's voice left no room for argument. He nodded slowly. "Alright then. Who do you need?"
"Call Rahn, Tir, and Old Varin," Torya said. "Tell them to meet me at the forge."
The forge was nothing grand just a shallow pit of stones near the cave entrance, where embers from the night's fire still burned faintly. The night air was cool, but the heat from the coals cast an orange halo around them.
Yoren arrived first, panting slightly, with Rahn, Tir, and Varin close behind. The old blacksmith rubbed his eyes, squinting in disbelief when he saw the pile of bronze ores beside Torya.
"By the Titans… where did you get this?" Varin whispered.
Torya only smiled faintly. "It doesn't matter. Let's begin."
Old Varin hesitated, but then nodded. The others prepared the tools...tongs, a crude hammer, and a small bellows that wheezed with every press.
As the fire roared back to life, Torya took one of the ores and placed it atop the blackened anvil. The bronze shimmered in the firelight like a living ember.
The old man watched closely. "Bronze takes patience, boy," he warned. "Too much heat, and it'll warp. Too little, and it'll refuse the hammer."
Torya nodded, focused. "I'll remember."
He picked up the hammer. The weight of it felt perfect in his grip.
Then he struck.
Clang.
The sound rang clear and deep, echoing through the still night.
Sparks danced from the ore, trailing like fireflies into the darkness. Each strike seemed to carry something more than mere strength...resonance, as if the rhythm of the forge beat in time with Torya's pulse.
The others watched in awe as his movements grew faster, more fluid. His breathing synchronized with the hammer's descent.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The embers responded. With every strike, small flecks of flame burst outward, swirling around Torya like living motes of light. His skin began to shimmer faintly lines of red forming beneath the surface, crawling up from his palms toward his arms.
Rahn took a step back, eyes wide. "What's happening to him?"
Yoren looked ready to move forward, but Old Varin raised a hand, his eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. "Don't interfere," he said softly, his voice trembling. "Can't you feel it? The flame… it's answering him."
Torya felt heat building within him not pain, but energy. It surged through his veins, burning yet alive. The red lines across his arms pulsed, glowing brighter until they resembled rivers of molten light.
The others could see it clearly now his veins had turned into fiery threads, crawling up to his shoulders in beautiful, flame-like patterns. His entire form seemed to merge with the forge itself.
Torya's hammer fell again, and the embers spiraled upward in a dazzling shower. His focus sharpened beyond human awareness. The air felt thicker, each sound distant except for the song of metal under his hand.
He hammered again Clang! and the dagger began to take shape.
The blade glowed crimson, veins of energy slithering through it like molten serpents. Even the bronze itself seemed to hum softly, responding to his heartbeat.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The world around him blurred. Torya's eyes burned faintly red, his breath steady but deep. The others could feel a presence a heavy, divine aura pressing down on them, yet strangely comforting.
Yoren swallowed hard. "He's… changing."
Varin's old hands trembled. "No… he's awakening."
Then, with one final swing, the hammer struck the blade's core.
A blinding flare of light burst forth, engulfing the forge. Embers shot into the air like a storm of fireflies. The others shielded their eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.
When the light dimmed, the dagger lay on the anvil its blade gleaming with red and gold. Serpentine patterns coiled along its edge, glowing faintly before fading into the bronze surface. It pulsed once, softly, as if alive.
Torya stood still, breathing heavily. His arms were still glowing red patterns flowing from his fingertips to his forearms like tattoos of flame. The forge around him was silent, save for the faint hiss of cooling metal.
Yoren stepped forward cautiously. "Torya… are you..."
Before he could finish, Torya's knees almost buckled. The heat within him swelled, then burst outward in a wave of energy that rippled through the clearing. Sparks ignited around his feet, and his chest glowed faintly for a moment before the energy slowly calmed.
Old Varin caught his breath. His voice trembled with disbelief. "He… he did it."
Torya slowly opened his eyes. They gleamed like molten iron calm, focused, and powerful. He looked at his hands, tracing the faintly glowing lines etched into his skin.
"I feel… lighter," he murmured. "Like chains have been broken."
Varin stepped forward, eyes moist, his voice shaking. "How do you feel, boy?"
Torya smiled faintly. "Okay… but stronger. Much stronger."
The old man's eye fell to the patterns on Torya's arms, then to the dagger, which still emitted a faint glow. "You've done something I've never seen before."
Then Nova's voice came again, clear and resonant within Torya's mind:
("Congratulations to the Host for breaking through mortality. Advancement achieved: Ascendant Tier.")
The words echoed like thunder in his thoughts.
"Ascendant…" Torya whispered aloud without meaning to.
Old Varin's eye widened. His lips parted in disbelief before trembling into a joyous smile.
"Ascendant? You said Ascendant?!" he exclaimed, voice cracking with emotion. His body shook, and tears welled in his aged one eye. "Finally… after generations… it's not just myth!"
He stumbled forward, gripping the edge of the forge for balance. His voice dropped to a whisper, repeating to himself, "Finally… finally over…"
Yoren and Rahn exchanged bewildered glances, unsure what the old man meant, but none of them dared to interrupt his tears.