An stood at the entrance to the cave. Before him stretched a descent like the mountain’s mouth opening on an exhale - cool, dusty, silent. The stone beneath his feet had been rounded by time; drops of moisture slid zily from the ceiling, leaving gleaming trails behind them. There was nothing ominous inside - only silence, the scent of moss, and echoes. A perfectly ordinary cave.

  That was exactly what was unsettling.

  Step by step, he moved deeper inside. The walls narrowed; the ceiling rose, then sagged low over his head. Moss glimmered faintly in the cracks of the stone. It smelled of damp earth and something else… like heated metal. There was no sense of purpose to the work. No pull, no signs. And An simply walked. Just him, the rod at his belt - and an indistinct, oppressive feeling in his chest.

  Suddenly, he caught the smell of burning.

  And… blood.

  Beyond a bend in the stone passage, the space opened abruptly. Before him y a vast, almost semicircur cavern with a high ceiling. A rock formation rose in the center - rough, grim, blotched like charred stone. But it wasn’t that which caught An’s eye.

  Bodies y scattered across the floor, along the walls, on ledges.

  A couple dozen.

  Bck fur. Horns. Hooves. Horrific, impossible, fantastical beings that the mind refused to comprehend in detail. Shiny hides and scorched wings. Obsidian-sharp cws, fingers twisted in agony. A heavy stench of meat and iron. Crushed ribcages. Broken necks. Torn apart, as after a battle.

  Some among them were still moaning. Wounded. Someone tried to crawl. Someone writhed, scraping the ground with cws.

  And by the rock stood a man.

  Nearly naked, barefoot, his torso drenched in blood. A body like an ancient statue carved from muscle, sweat, and fury. Skin marked with scars, abrasions, fresh blows. Lips clenched in stubborn defiance. Hair tangled. Chains hung from his arms - but one still bound his wrist to a forged ring set into the rock. From his violent tugs it sagged, nearly torn free.

  The man’s face was battered. One eye swollen shut. But he stood with squared shoulders. He was breathing. And in his hand he held a length of chain, like a fil.

  He slowly turned, looking straight at An.

  “You’re not a demon?” the man by the rock barked. His voice was hoarse, dry, like scraping metal. “Not another one of their tricks?”

  An stepped closer. The rod found its way into his hand on its own.

  “I’m… An. I walked a long way to get here. And I think this is yours.”

  He held out the rod.

  The man flinched. His hand rose cautiously; bloodied fingers closed around the rod. It fred for an instant with golden fire, and An felt life-giving warmth wash over him. The athlete swung the hilt. A bde of gleaming metal materialized for a heartbeat and shattered the chain pulling his arm to the rock. A cry at the very edge of hearing - as if an army were charging - brushed An’s ears. A moment ter, the bde vanished.

  An exhaled softly, recalling his own nearly transparent outline of a bde made of stars. It seemed he would have to part with the rod.

  The freed man stared for a long time at the object resting in his palm.

  “A part… of mine,” he breathed. “You brought it. You…”

  He didn’t finish. With a decisive motion he clenched his fist and shook his hair back.

  “Come on. There’s a long road ahead. We need to get to the Forge.”

  An wanted to ask - where, why, who he was, what all of this meant. But his mouth remained closed. He simply nodded.

  Together, they stepped into one of the dark passages behind the rock, leading toward the surface.

  And the cave was left behind. And the bodies. And the moans.

  Ahead y the road to the Forge.