Dawn's first light filtered through the fractured domes of Noctharrow's outer gate as Eira, Lucien, and their companions departed the City Beneath the Bones. Each footstep on the cracked obsidian sent a shiver through Eira's bones. The chill reminded her of the Hourglass of Requiem strapped to her waist—its black dust slipping ever onward. They had minutes, perhaps hours, before its last grain fell.
Lucien rode at her side on his dusk-black steed, the beast's breath misting in the cold air. Ravien and Kairen flanked them on foot; Lyselle rode behind, poring over the codex's faded pages by lantern light. The codex described a hidden forge in the Stormpeak Mountains—an ancient stronghold where the Starsmiths had crafted weapons from fallen meteors. The blade shown to Eira in the mirror, she was convinced, was born there: the Heart of Stars.
Their path led through the scarred remains of what had once been lush woodlands, now twisted into ash‑grey hollows where only the hardest thorns dared grow. The air was thick with the scent of sulfur and magic. Every rustle in the underbrush made their horses rear and their swords flicker. They knew the Voidborn's influence extended even into the living world; creatures twisted by its magic could attack at any moment.
After an hour's journey, they reached the foothills of the Stormpeaks. The mountains loomed like jagged fangs against the sky, their peaks wreathed in silver clouds. This was no normal mountain range—here, reality itself felt thin, as though the realm above and the realm beyond brushed together on the wind.
Lyselle dismounted, placing a hand on a cairn of stones. "This is the entrance. According to the codex, the outer wards are here—ancient Runewards powered by constellations. They only open when the right stars align." She glanced upward; the sky above was still dusk‑dark, though the sun had risen enough to turn the clouds pink.
Eira's gaze flicked to the Hourglass. "We don't have time to wait for stars to align."
Lucien laid a hand on her shoulder. "Then we make them align."
He stepped forward, drawing a small brass astrolabe from his cloak—an heirloom of the vampire kings, finely calibrated to the constellations above Noctharrow. With a few deft movements, he clicked its gears, angling its sights to catch the sliver of morning sun. As he adjusted the final dial, the ground beneath their feet trembled. The runic stones at the foot of the cairn glowed briefly—silver, then pale gold—before sinking into the earth with a deep rumble. One by one, the others retracted, revealing a narrow stair carved into the living rock.
Ravien drew his daggers. "After you, key‑bearer."
Eira swallowed hard and mounted her horse. Lucien nudged his steed forward, and together they descended.
The passage spiraled downward through stone as hard as dragon's bone. Torches lit themselves at every turn, igniting in staccato bursts of pale blue flame that cast dancing shadows. The air grew warmer with each step, scented of hot metal and strange perfumes—spices Eira didn't recognize.
At the bottom, they emerged into a vast forge hall hewn from granite and fused meteorite. The ceiling arched overhead like the hull of a ship, its ribs inlaid with veins of star‑iron that glowed softly. Furnaces roared in the distance, their bellows powered by hidden flame‑spirits bound in crystal vessels. Plumes of silver‑white smoke rose from an array of anvils and worktables, where tools of every shape and purpose lay—hammers etched with runes, tongs of living steel, molds bearing impossible designs.
But half the hall was deserted—abandoned centuries ago, frozen in mid‑work. Dozens of blades and shards of starlight metal lay scattered on tables or half‑finished on anvils, waiting for smiths who would never return.
Eira dismounted, stepping cautiously across the forge floor. Dust motes sparkled like embers in the torchlight. "This place… it's like a dream."
Lyselle bent to scoop a shard of metal from a workbench. It was cold and smooth. "A dream forged in fire," she said. "The Starsmiths poured their magic into their work, binding a piece of the heavens into every blade."
Ravien probed a molten brazier. "If we're looking for the star‑forged weapon, it must be here."
Lucien's eyes scanned the hall. "The codex mentioned a sanctum at the center—where the largest meteor fell. Follow me."
He led them through the labyrinthine forges, past silent bellows and dormant hammers. Kairen kept watch near the entrance, ears alert for any rumble or whisper. The closer they drew to the heart of the forge, the stronger the hum of power became. Eira felt it in her bones—a resonance between her brand and the star‑iron in the walls.
At last, they reached a massive door framed by two immense statues: one of a Starsmith forging a sword from the sky, the other of a woman—Vaelaria—raising a vessel of blood into the heavens. Between them, the door's obsidian surface rippled like liquid night, etched with the sign of the clasped hands and crowned by a single radiant star.
Lucien held up the codex's final page. "This is the seal. We must recite the Invocation of Starsmiths—only then will the forge sanctum open."
He began the chant, voice steady:
"I call upon the guardians of flame and sky,
By the spark of the First Star and the blood of the last bride,
Open your heart of iron, that I might borrow your light…"
As the words fell from his lips, the star‑iron veins in the statues brightened. The door's rune chains glowed, then dissolved in a shimmer of light. With a grinding groan, it swung inward.
Inside, the chamber was circular and bright, lit by a shaft of light that pierced the vaulted ceiling like a celestial spear. At its center stood the Starforge itself—an anvil carved from the meteor's heart, heated by an eternal flame that danced with starfire. Suspended above it, glowing chains held a blade in mid‑air: long, slender, its edge whisper‑sharp. The metal was translucent, as if forged from pure starlight, veins of gold tracing intricate patterns along its length. Eira's breath caught.
"The Heart of Stars," she whispered.
Lucien dismounted and stepped toward it. "It awaits the key."
Eira approached, hands trembling. The sigil on her palm glowed in response. She extended her arm, palm down, the ritual dagger at her belt slack in its sheath. The blade responded—its glow intensifying, as if hungry for her touch.
Lyselle and Ravien stood behind, tense. Kairen padded forward, sniffing the air.
Eira placed her hand upon the blade's hilt. It felt hot — a comforting warmth that pulsed like a heartbeat. Lucien knelt beside her, pressing his blood‑marked palm to the Starforge's side. The flames roared.
She drew the blade free. It slid from its chains with no resistance, humming like a living thing. Its light washed over her, illuminating the chamber in ripples of blue and gold.
Eira lifted the sword, its weight perfect in her grip. She felt the Blade of Starsmiths choose her—its magic resonating with her brand. In that moment, she understood: this was the vessel to feed the Hollow Heart, to reinforce the seal beyond mortal means.
Lucien stood and placed a hand on her shoulder. "With this, we can restore the binding."
She turned the sword in her hands, marveling at its sheen. "And with the Hourglass of Requiem, we can buy more time."
He nodded. "Then let's return before the Voidborn realizes our plan."
But as they turned, the forge chamber trembled, as if awakened by the missing blade. Sparks rained from the ceiling. The walls inlaid with star‑iron flared and cracked.
Lyselle cried out, "The sanctum is collapsing!"
Ravien shouted, "Back to the entrance!"
They bolted, pursuing their earlier path. The tunnel behind them imploded with a thunderous crash—stone and obsidian fracturing, runes shattering. Kairen darted through, slamming a fallen beam to hold the entrance open as they passed.
Eira slipped through last, the Starforge in hand. She looked back once, seeing Lyselle shove the beam into place with Ravien's help. Lucien stayed near her side, eyes blazing with resolve.
"Kairen, secure the seal," Eira ordered.
The half‑wolf nodded, snarling, and slashed at the exposed runes, collapsing the archway as they emerged.
They tumbled onto the hillside outside, breathing hard. The forge collapsed behind them, the sound of falling stone echoing like thunder.
Lucien wrapped an arm around Eira's waist, eyes bright with relief. "You have it."
Eira clutched the Star‑forged blade. Its light pulsed in time with her heart. "We have what we need."
Behind them, the Forge's ruins smoked in the dawn light—its purpose fulfilled by her hand.
Eira raised the sword, its edge glimmering. "Now we return to the Hollow Heart. And finish this."
Lucien smiled, fierce and proud. "Together."
She sheathed the blade at her side. "Together."
And with the promise of starfire in her grasp, they set off to face the final trials, forging destiny in the crucible of bone and blood.