A blast of invisible magma struck head-on.
My knees hit the ground, heavily.
To my right, Lysara also fell, harder. She didn’t move, her shoulders tense, her face contorted. Her body was trembling.
I felt her breathing shorten.
I looked up. The most dangerous mont was here.
The hard mont... I thought.
I forced my breath, kept my head down.
— Could you please have everyone leave this room... everyone you don’t trust completely.
His gaze changed. Unyielding. Curious.
He scrutinized . At length.
Then, in an authoritative, almost lazy murmur:
— Everyone out.
The four powerful figures, the guards, even the mages at the back of the hall... They all obeyed without question.
A single word, and the room was empty.
Silence beca total. And the lava above us resud its soft song.
He looked at again.
— I’m listening, little vampire.
I forced my muscles. Slowly, I lifted my head. My breathing was still short, but my will held firm.
— You’re coming back from a eting with the other Lords, aren’t you?
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
— That’s right. And?
— It’s probably related to the twelve chosen of the gods... and the mini-worlds.
The change was imdiate.
His aura cut off completely, like soone had just switched off the sun with a wave of the hand.
He looked at , for the first ti, with surprise.
— You’re not supposed to know that... unless...
— That’s right, I said.
My voice was lower, firr. My gaze locked onto his, unflinching.
— I am the Thirteenth.
Silence.
He, the Lord of the Furnace, was staring at . And I felt that, for the first ti, he no longer saw as a madman, an extravagant buyer, or a slightly tough insect.
He saw .
I didn’t smile. My tone remained calm. But every word I spoke was an oath.
— Give a few years... and I will make you the Sovereign of the demonic continent.
A beat.
Then he burst out.
A laugh. A brutal, enormous, volcanic laugh.
He leaned forward, his hand gripping the armrest of his throne.
An uncontrollable, fierce outburst, echoing off the walls of the forge.
— Ahahahahah!
— You’ve got guts, vampire. I like you. Really.
He straightened up, his gaze even more intense than before, but this ti, filled with amusent, curiosity... and a hint of respect.
— What’s your na?
I stared straight into his eyes.
— Anthony, my Lord. But here... I go by Lukaris.
— Then, Lukaris... he said, slowly sitting back on his throne, it’s a deal.
I watched him, attentive, ready for the next move.
— I’ll offer you ten percent.
I didn’t answer right away.
My gaze stayed on his, a bit harder, more anchored.
— Thirty, I said calmly.
He growled.
A guttural, ancient, almost animal rumble.
— Fifteen... and I’ll forge you an artifact myself.
I paused for a mont, seemingly reflecting.
But deep down, my decision was already made.
I knew nothing of the subtleties of haggling among the powerful, but the guild had sent a rough estimate: twenty percent commission was a good deal in a "normal" world.
But this wasn’t a normal world. And this wasn’t a normal man.
Xagros’s knowledge, his forges, his access to materials, his creative power... were well worth the five percent loss.
— It’s a deal, I said, inclining my head slightly.
I straightened up. Stepped forward. My gaze steady, dignified, anchored in the reality of the mont.
Then I held out my hand.
He took it.
His palm was enormous, rough, burning like a forge, and his strength was such that my hand cracked softly in his.
Without even forcing.
Just his nature.
But I didn’t flinch.
Because it was settled.
Because that handshake, in the silence of the do, was more than an agreent.
It was a promise.
And in his red eyes, he knew it.
I stepped back, my hand still warm from his.
— I promise to do my best.
He burst into a brief, resonant laugh, almost sincere.
— I hope so, vampire. I like you.
His tone changed. Deeper. Slower.
— Do your best... I won’t tell anyone your secret. But if, in a few years, I judge that you’re not worth it...
He leaned forward, his incandescent eyes locked onto mine.
— Then I will co kill you myself.
His voice didn’t waver. He wasn’t bluffing.
I held his gaze.
— I understand, my Lord.
He nodded.
Then his voice thundered in the Do.
— YAKTOR!
A burning breath passed over my neck.
I turned around.
The one who had unleashed his aura on earlier was already there, in front of the throne.
Yaktor.
Always upright. Always heavy with power. But this ti, he remained silent.
— Redeem your offense, Xagros said without even looking at him. Go with an elite group. Find the cave. And bring back what’s left.
Yaktor bowed slowly, fist to chest.
I took a breath and launched into it.
I described in detail the path taken from the mountains: the twisted forests, the volcanic cliffs, the rocky ridges, the breath of ashen wind, the markers I had left...
Then I spoke of the creature. Its flight. Its size. Its nest, perched on a forgotten peak, carved into a molten mountain. And the cavern, filled with Malacite.
And the egg, too.
I left nothing out.
Not to impress them. But because every detail mattered.
Xagros didn’t interrupt .
He listened.
Like a blacksmith engraving a blueprint in his mind.
And I knew that now, the hunt would begin. Not against . Not yet. But against what I had left behind.
Xagros didn’t even turn his head toward him. His voice snapped, deep, commanding:
— You heard. Go. Now. And since it’s probably a Sky-Burner, take Gareth with you, in addition to the elite group.
Yaktor didn’t answer. He listened.
— I authorize you to draw from the Reserve, take the necessary magical containers for transport. You have two months. Not one more.
— Yes, my Lord.
Without waiting, Yaktor stepped back, bowed briefly, then disappeared.
No more words. No glance for .
Just a heavy presence fading like a blade into the shadows.
But I knew he had heard every word. And that out there, in the secondary forges, preparations were already beginning.
— Back to you, vampire. Follow .
His voice was calm, almost weary. But no doubt was allowed in his tone. It was an order, not an invitation.
I followed him, Lysara right behind , still silent.
With every corridor crossed, every platform passed, the guards prostrated themselves. No words. No requests. As soon as they saw his silhouette, they knelt as if their spine gave way on its own. So bowed their heads to the ground. Others froze mid-movent, as if frozen in ti.
He didn’t need to speak. His re presence was enough.
We descended slowly, crossing an older section of the complex. The walls beca rougher, darker. Forgotten runes appeared, carved into the stones themselves, still breathing ancient heat. The stairs grew narrower, the doors thicker. A heavy tallic sll floated in the air, mixed with volcanic dust and weapon oil.
Finally, he stopped in front of a hand-carved obsidian door, without a handle, marked with the seal: an inverted phoenix.
He placed his hand on it. The stone opened with a sigh.
We entered.
Xagros’s Personal Forge.
A sanctuary. A vast, round room, as if carved from the heart of a volcano.
The ceiling was so high it disappeared into a haze of heat and ash.
The floor was a single slab of black rock, streaked with channeled lava streams, slowly snaking like incandescent veins.
Around, dozens of tal workbenches. So were cold, still. Others... still warm, as if they had been used an hour earlier. Each workbench had a precise function, I could feel it.
At the back, Xagros’s personal anvil sat enthroned, made of a block of reinforced star-stone, set at the center of a rune circle that pulsed gently, alive. Next to it, a massive hamr, pure black, rested suspended in the air by magic, without stand or chain.
The walls were covered with racks of unfinished weapons, heavy chests sealed by unstable seals, sketches engraved directly into the tal, and fragnts of broken artifacts whose aura had never dissipated.
In the center of the room, a pit of pure lava glowed slowly, contained by a pulsating magical field, circular, slightly unstable. The sll there was strange—not just fire, but dried blood, the world, mory.
I said nothing. Even Lysara, usually so stoic, looked around with palpable attention.
This place... it wasn’t a forge. It was a temple of creation.
Xagros stepped up to the anvil, placed both hands on the edge, and glanced at over his shoulder.
— This is where I shape what others don’t even dare to dream of. And this is where... I will forge for you.
Xagros had turned to , arms crossed in front of his forge, his fiery eyes fixed on like two molten steel cores.
— So, what do you want, vampire?
I took a brief breath.
— I would like armor... please.
A silence followed.
— Not for . For her.
At my side, Lysara turned her head toward , startled. Her eyes widened slightly. She didn’t understand.
I didn’t look at her right away.
— She’s like my daughter now. And she will follow , in what I’m preparing. In what I’m going to unleash. I need solid allies, living ones. Beings I can trust completely.
I finally turned my head toward her. She stared at , silent. Shaken. Not by the request, but by its aning.
Xagros observed for a mont.
Then, placing his hands on the anvil:
— I understand. You, he said, looking at Lysara, show your Shapeshifter skills.
As I suspected, he could see through the disguise sohow, just like the guild master.
She hesitated. She looked at , almost as if asking for permission.
I nodded slowly.
— Go ahead. You can show him everything.
She nodded. Stepped back slightly. And, in the warm glow of the forge, transford.
Her skin beca denser, then translucent. Limbs extended, folded back. She hardened areas, thickened them, contracted them. Extensions of her body were born, moved, acting under her direct will. Her arms briefly covered in carapaces, supple spikes, before returning to their normal state. Her face never changed. But her entire body expressed adaptability, tactics, mutation.
Xagros watched without a word.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
— A vampire... and a shapeshifter, huh?
A brief smile crossed his fire-cracked lips.
— Very well. I will craft the best armor you could hope for this young girl.
I bowed slightly, sincerely.
— Thank you, my Lord.
He turned around, grabbed a tool from a shelf at the workbench, and said without turning back:
— Co back tomorrow night. It will be ready.
— May the heat warm your heart, I said with a small head nod.
Xagros froze for half a second.
— What are you talking about? he said, raising a glowing eyebrow.
I shrugged.
— I don’t know. I was trying a cool phrase. Like... fitting the mont.
He stared at for a mont, then a deep chuckle escaped his throat.
I laughed too. A real laugh. No tension. No restraint.
For a mont, we were not a Lord of Fire and a vampire enemy of the gods themselves. Just two survivors, two builders, who had t at the crossroads of a world ready to burn.
Then, in a suddenly more formal tone, he straightened up and shouted:
— NORDA!
A red light pulsed in one of the wall runes, and a female figure appeared, stepping quickly through the threshold.
She was a demoness with dark skin streaked with glowing lines, her hair tied in a high ponytail, dressed in a flexible armor robe adorned with the Furnace’s seal.
She imdiately knelt, fist to the ground.
— My Lord?
— Escort them. You will take them to Olfred. Tell him to serve them during their stay in Zagnaroth. Full access.
— I understand, Lord.
She raised her head, her gaze sliding to , then to Lysara.
No judgnt. No fear.
Just precision.
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