A deep, resonant chant rumbled from Karrion's throat.
His voice carried an ancestral Dwarven forging hymn, each syllable striking the cavern's scorching air like a mighty hammer upon anvil.
With burly fingers, he traced the intricate runes etched into the stone floor—the design they had prepared in meticulous detail.
White powder he'd scattered along the lines began to glow faintly, its light modest but unmistakably potent.
"Khazad dum'amon, Gabilgathol zâram!" he intoned, invoking the old tongue of his people.
The hymn's tempo quickened, carrying a solemn, primeval rhythm.
One by one, the runes around the platform ignited, their glow creeping inward in concentric circles.
The light intensified, shifting from gentle white to the deep crimson and molten gold of subterranean energy.
Beneath their feet, the stone began to tremble softly.
The tremors grew stronger, as though a long-slumbering titan below awoke with a disgruntled low roar.
Tiny flakes of rock rained from the cavern's ceiling, crackling briefly as they plunged into the roiling magma lake below.
The geomantic forces swirled, guided and funneled by the glowing runes.
The air warped violently, waves of heat lashing out as though to scorch any living flesh.
The rumble swelled into a deafening roar—no longer a distant growl but a cataclysmic bellow.
The entire cavern quaked, as if its walls might collapse at any moment.
Karrion's chant reached its zenith, his powerful voice soaring above the furious drumming of the earth.
"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" he thundered, proclaiming the ancient vow.
At the final syllable, the runes at the platform's heart flared in blinding brilliance, coalescing into a swirling vortex of light and heat.
The dwarf staggered back, sweat soaking the edges of his breastplate.
He turned to Raine, his gaze as sharp as a freshly honed axe.
"Now, boy!" he barked.
Raine drew a shuddering breath; the searing air scorched his lungs.
He spared a glance at Thalia, slumped against a distant stalagmite, her face as pale as parchment, eyes hidden yet brimming with unreadable emotion.
Then, unwavering, he stepped toward the platform's center.
Each footfall felt like treading upon scorching iron.
The vortex loomed ahead, emanating a pulse that quickened his heartbeat.
He reached the marked spot—the very heart of the runic circle.
Karrion handed him an unusual dagger, its hilt carved from obsidian.
The handle was obsidian—cold, weighty—while the blade glimmered with faint starlight, razor-sharp.
It was the dwarf-forged instrument specially crafted for drawing a Starblood sacrifice.
Raine gripped the dagger; its frigid touch steadied his trembling fingers.
He raised his left wrist—pale skin stretched taut over blue-green veins.
Without hesitation, he slashed the blade across his flesh.
A searing agony followed.
Crimson blood gushed forth, trailing down his wrist.
The moment the first drop touched the runic core…
"ROAR—!"
A thunderous boom.
Blinding white light burst forth, instantly devouring every ember of red and gold within the cavern.
Raine felt cast into a furnace of pure white fire.
Beneath that white, the crimson of the magma lake churned more violently.
Light and heat wove together a scene both magnificent and catastrophic.
Blood continued to drip, integrating into the veined runes.
The white blaze intensified as the roar of power peaked.
Then, chaos erupted.
An unimaginable force of scorching intensity—wild, elemental, volcanic—surged along his bleeding wrist, ripping into his flesh!
"Argh—!"
Raine let out a tortured cry as his body convulsed violently.
It was more than heat alight upon his skin.
It was the earth's raw geomantic fury colliding with the pure, though faint, Starblood in his veins—two incompatible elements forced to merge.
His veins felt like molten rivers; every fiber of muscle seemed to tear and ignite.
Terrifying still was the onslaught upon his mind.
His vision was violently rent apart.
Shattered visions, like shards of glass, flooded his mind.
The blood-soaked night of his family's massacre: flames towering skyward, blood-curdling screams echoing endlessly.
His sister Lillian dragged into shadow—her eyes hollow with despair and fear, locked upon him.
In the depths of the fallen Star-City, Malkor stood before a pulsating core of dark power, a grotesque grin of triumph upon his face.
"Light will fade, and only the Void endures…" a frigid whisper resounded within his soul.
And the final tableau of dying stars in apocalyptic descent.
Familiar stars dimmed and died, plummeting into the boundless dark.
The entire land of Aethyria devoured by shadow, transformed into a silent wasteland.
Agony.
Endless agony.
Flesh aflame, mind torn apart.
Raine felt his soul crushed inch by inch, his consciousness buffeted by savage energy and despairing visions, on the brink of utter dissolution.
His legs wavered, nearly giving way beneath him.
Yet he could not fall.
In his ears, Karrion's voice echoed, warped by the surrounding tumult.
"Hold fast, boy! Keep the blood flowing—don't let it stop!"
Yes—the blood.
The rite demanded a continuous flow of Starblood as its catalyst.
Should it cease, not only would the forging collapse, but the unleashed geomantic and star-forces could unleash catastrophic destruction.
The platform, the cavern—and all three of them—might be annihilated in an instant.
Will.
He must lash himself to resolve.
Resist the body's agony, defy the mind's relentless siege.
He clenched his teeth so fiercely that the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth.
He forced his eyes wide against the blinding white blaze and the phantasmagoria.
He pressed his cut wrist harder, ensuring the steady crimson flow into the runic core.
Each second stretched into an eternity.
Sweat and blood mingled upon his brow, dripping onto the scorching rock with a whispering sizzle.
His breath came ragged, like an ancient bellows at its last gasp.
His vision flickered in and out of clarity, torn between agony and illusion.
At the cavern's mouth, shadows began to stir.
That immense beacon of power—like a lighthouse in blackness—drew forth creatures warped by shadow.
Hisses, scuttles, guttural roars emanated from the darkness.
Corrupted beasts.
They surged toward the platform as sharks to blood, drawn by that paradoxical mix of pure starlight and raw fury.
Thalia stood at the platform's edge, her back to Raine and Karrion.
Her cloak billowed in the swirling currents of power.
She felt Raine's torment as keenly as if it scorched her own heart.
Each stifled groan from him tightened her grip upon her staff, knuckles whitening with strain.
Her mind wrestled with itself.
She yearned to plunge forward, to share his burden, to shield him.
But she could not.
Karrion had warned well: any external interference might jeopardize the rite—or doom them all.
Her sole task was clear: defend this ground.
Hold back the drawn beasts—buy time for Raine, for Karrion—and for the Starfire Blade of hope.
The first corrupted shadow clambered over the platform's edge.
A grotesque, multi-limbed crawler with compound eyes burning a predatory red.
Thalia's eyes narrowed to ice.
She lashed out with her staff; a whip of shadow energy snapped forth, striking the creature with pinpoint precision.
The monster wailed, its form dissolving into a black ooze under the corrosive shadow strands.
More shadows surged from the passage, converging hungrily on the platform.
Thalia drew a steadying breath, tamping down her worry and panic.
She faced the oncoming darkness without flinching.
Lit by the runes' glow and the lava's crimson sheen, her silhouette was lonely and resolute.
Protect.
It was the only thing she could—and must—do now.
Behind her, at the platform's heart, Raine endured the ultimate trial of will in that blood-and-starlight rite.
The white blaze was relentless, the roar deafening.
And the ritual pressed on.