The storm had passed, but its echoes lingered in the air—a low, electric hum that set Ethan's teeth on edge. The mythril blade hung at his side, its weight both comforting and oppressive, like a second heartbeat. Lira rode ahead, her bow slung across her back, while Varyn brought up the rear, his stone gauntlets clenched as if expecting an ambush at every turn.
The road to the blacksmith's forge wound through the Frostspire foothills, where the air was thin and the ground crunched with frost. Ethan's breath fogged in the cold, his thoughts a tangled web of the Swordmaster's warnings and the blade's insidious whispers.
"You are not the first. Will you be the last?"
The seed's voice had faded, but the mythril's presence was louder than ever. It pulsed in his grip, a living thing, its hunger gnawing at the edges of his mind.
They stopped at dusk, sheltering in the hollow of a lightning-struck oak. Lira lit a fire, her movements sharp and efficient, while Varyn sat apart, his gaze distant.
"You've been quiet," Ethan said, breaking the silence.
Varyn grunted. "Thinking."
"About what?"
"About how I ended up here," the swordmaster muttered. "About the king. About Cedric."
Ethan hesitated. "You've never talked about them."
"Because it's not a pretty story," Varyn said, his voice low. "But you deserve to know why I chose you."
He leaned back, the firelight casting shadows across his scarred face.
"I was a noble once. House Varyn, sworn to the crown. The king—Aldric—was a good man. Strong. Just. But the war with Vostra broke him. He tried to reignite the Eldertrees, to save Roudnam, but the ritual… it shattered his mind. Left him a hollow shell."
Varyn's fists clenched, stone gauntlets forming instinctively. "Cedric was just a boy then. But he saw his father's weakness as an opportunity. He took the crown, twisted it into a weapon. The thorns—they're not just symbols. They're chains. He used them to siphon aura from the Eldertrees, to control the Swordmasters. Anyone who resisted… disappeared."
"Including you," Lira said, her voice soft.
Varyn nodded. "I refused to kneel. Cedric branded me a traitor, burned my lands, killed my family. I fled to the slums, became a mercenary. But I never forgot what he took from me."
He looked at Ethan, his eyes hard. "You're not just a gutter rat with a sword. You're a spark. A chance to break the cycle. That's why I chose you."
Ethan stared into the fire, the mythril blade humming faintly at his side. "And if I fail?"
"Then we're all damned," Varyn said simply.
The blacksmith's forge stood at the edge of a forgotten village, its chimney jutting from the snow like a broken bone. The building was a relic—its walls blackened by soot, its anvil rusted, its bellows long silent. But the air still carried the faint tang of molten metal, and the ground was littered with shards of mythril.
"This is it," Varyn said, kicking open the door. "Doran's place."
Inside, the forge was a tomb of half-finished weapons and shattered tools. A figure hunched over the anvil, his back to them, hammering a glowing shard of metal.
"Doran," Varyn called.
The blacksmith turned, his face gaunt and lined with age. His eyes, however, burned with a fierce intensity. "Varyn. I wondered when you'd crawl out of the shadows."
"We need your help," Ethan said, stepping forward.
Doran's gaze fell on the mythril blade, and his expression darkened. "Where did you get that?"
"The Frostspire caverns," Ethan said. "It's… alive."
Doran set down his hammer, his hands trembling. "Of course it is. Mythril's not just metal. It's a fragment of the Eldertrees' core. The first Swordmaster forged it to channel lightning, but the cost…"
He trailed off, his eyes distant.
"What cost?" Lira asked.
Doran sighed. "Mythril feeds on aura. Wield it too long, and it consumes you. The first Swordmaster went mad. Killed his own men. Buried the blade to protect the world from it."
Ethan's grip tightened on the hilt. "Then why did the seed lead me to it?"
"Because you're different," Doran said. "The seed chose you. The blade chose you. But that doesn't mean it won't destroy you."
Doran led them to a hidden chamber beneath the forge, its walls lined with Eldertree roots. At its center stood an anvil of mythril, its surface etched with runes.
"This is where the first Swordmaster forged his blade," Doran said. "The runes are a binding spell. They can temper the mythril's hunger—if you're strong enough."
Ethan stepped forward, the blade humming in his hand. "What do I need to do?"
"Strike the anvil," Doran said. "Let the runes judge you."
Ethan raised the blade, his aura flaring—earth, wind, water, sunlight, lightning. The runes glowed as the blade struck the anvil, a shockwave of energy rippling through the chamber.
The roots surged, wrapping around Ethan's arms. The mythril's whispers grew louder, a cacophony of voices—the first Swordmaster, the Eldertrees, the seed.
"The storm is yours. Claim it."
"The crown breaks. The storm rises."
"You are not the first. Will you be the last?"
Ethan screamed, the blade's hunger tearing at his soul. But he held on, channeling his aura into the runes. The mythril's glow dimmed, its whispers fading to a murmur.
When it was over, Ethan collapsed, the blade now a steady, humming presence in his hand.
Doran helped him to his feet. "You've tempered the blade. But the hunger will return. Stronger. You'll need to feed it—aura, lightning, something."
"And if I can't?" Ethan asked.
"Then it will consume you," Doran said. "Like it did the first Swordmaster."
"What did you give up?" Lira asked. Ethan touched his mother's locket—now empty. "A voice," he said. "But I'll make the silence roar."
Varyn stepped forward. "We'll find a way. Together."
Lira nodded, her hand resting on her bow. "We're not losing you to a piece of metal."
Ethan looked at the blade, its surface rippling like liquid lightning. "Then let's finish this."
As they left the forge, the storm returned—a distant rumble of thunder that shook the ground. But this time, the lightning felt different. Sharper. Hungrier.
And in the distance, Valenhold's ruins smoldered, the silhouette of Princess Elara's phoenix banner rising from the ashes.