The staircase rose through the darkness like a spine of black stone.
Drake climbed it two steps at a time.
Each footfall echoed through the narrow passage.
His injured back burned with every movement, and the muscles in his arms trembled from the battles below, but he barely noticed.
Only one thought occupied his mind.
Grandfather.
Ember clung to his shoulder, its tiny claws gripping his coat.
The golden Heart Rune beneath its crimson scales pulsed in rhythm with Drake’s heartbeat.
Fear passed through their bond.
Not Ember’s.
His.
Drake tightened his hold on the Origin Hammer.
“How far?” he shouted.
Vulcan’s voice followed from somewhere behind him.
“Surface access: one hundred and twelve steps.” Drake looked upward.
The staircase seemed endless.
He forced himself faster.
“Can you tell what they’re doing?” “Surface detection remains incomplete.” “That means no.” “Correct.” Drake’s jaw tightened.
Every second felt like a blade pressed against his throat.
Twenty-three armed people.
Beast signatures.
The crest of the royal Beast Guild.
None of it made sense.
The Ashford workshop had no wealth.
No enchanted weapons.
No valuable beast cores.
Only rusted tools, old stories, and one dying blacksmith.
Unless they knew about the forge.
Drake’s grip tightened around the hammer.
If they knew— The mark on his hand suddenly burned.
A faint ripple passed through the staircase walls.
For one instant, Drake saw the stone around him differently.
Thin golden lines moved through it like veins, revealing old mechanisms hidden beneath the surface.
The inheritance mark was reacting to the passage.
He reached the final turn.
A circular stone hatch waited above.
No handle.
No visible lock.
Only the emblem of the anvil wrapped in a dragon’s tail.
Drake placed his marked hand against it.
The stone shuddered.
Ancient gears turned.
The hatch opened silently.
Cold air rushed down.
Drake pulled himself into the darkness of the abandoned storage room beneath the workshop.
The broken floorboards from his fall still lay scattered nearby.
Rain dripped through the damaged roof.
Then he heard voices.
“…searched the lower shelves.” “Nothing but scrap.” “Check the walls.” A man laughed.
“Do you really believe the old cripple hid something valuable here?” Another voice answered.
“The captain doesn’t pay us to believe.
He pays us to search.” Drake froze beneath the edge of the ruined floor.
They were already inside.
Ember’s body tensed.
A growl rose in its chest.
Drake placed one finger against its snout.
“Quiet.” Through their bond came immediate irritation.
He ignored it.
A pair of boots crossed the storage room only a few feet away.
Drake remained still.
His breathing slowed.
Years in the forge had taught him how to work without wasting motion.
How to listen through the roar of flame.
How to recognize the rhythm of footsteps before someone entered the workshop.
The intruder moved heavily.
Armored boots.
A slight metallic scrape near the right ankle.
Likely a short sword or chained weapon.
The footsteps stopped near the hole.
Drake looked upward.
A shadow leaned over the opening.
He moved before the man could react.
Drake seized the intruder’s wrist and pulled.
The man shouted.
His balance vanished.
He fell through the broken floor.
Drake stepped aside.
The intruder struck the stone shoulder-first.
Before he could rise, Drake pressed the Origin Hammer against his throat.
The man stared up at him.
He wore dark leather armor beneath a rain-soaked cloak.
A silver insignia shaped like a wolf’s head had been fastened near his collar.
Royal Beast Guild.
No mistake.
The man reached for a dagger.
Ember jumped from Drake’s shoulder and landed on his chest.
Blue flame gathered between the hatchling’s teeth.
The intruder froze.
Drake leaned closer.
“Where is my grandfather?” The man’s gaze flickered toward Ember.
Confusion replaced pain.
“What kind of beast is that?” Drake pressed the hammer harder.
“Wrong answer.” The intruder swallowed.
“Upstairs.” “How many with him?” “Go to hell.” Ember’s flame brightened.
The man’s eyes widened.
Drake felt the hatchling’s anger through their bond.
It was eager to burn him.
Drake did not know whether the thought disturbed or reassured him.
“Last chance,” Drake said.
“Three.” The answer came quickly.
“Captain Veller.
Two handlers.” “And the others?” “Searching the village.” “For what?” The man hesitated.
Drake lowered the hammer slightly.
Then struck the stone beside his head.
The Origin Hammer cracked the floor.
Dust burst into the intruder’s face.
He flinched.
“A mana disturbance,” he said.
“The guild detected it during the storm.” Drake’s stomach tightened.
The forge awakening.
“Who sent you?” “The regional guild office.” “Does the guild know what caused the disturbance?” “No.” The man’s expression shifted.
A faint smile appeared.
“But judging from that creature, I think the captain is about to find out.” Drake struck him across the temple with the hammer’s handle.
The man went limp.
Ember looked down at the unconscious body.
A disappointed feeling entered Drake’s mind.
“No.” Ember chirped questioningly.
“We’re not setting him on fire.” The hatchling seemed unconvinced.
Drake climbed through the broken floor.
The storage room had been destroyed.
Crates overturned.
Shelves torn away.
Tools scattered across the floor.
Someone had ripped open the old wall cabinets and smashed every locked box they found.
Anger spread through Drake’s chest.
This place had never been much.
But it was theirs.
Every shelf had been built by Gareth.
Every tool carried memories of his hands.
The Guild had treated it all like rubbish.
A floorboard creaked outside the storage-room door.
Drake moved behind it.
The door opened.
Another guild member entered.
A woman this time.
She held a curved blade in one hand and a leash in the other.
At the leash’s end walked a creature resembling a hairless dog with an oversized nose and long ears.
Pale green runes glowed across its skin.
A tracking beast.
It sniffed once.
Its head turned immediately toward Drake.
The woman’s eyes narrowed.
“Found—” Drake shoved the door.
The wood struck her wrist.
Her blade fell.
Ember launched from his shoulder.
The tracking beast snapped at it.
Ember twisted in the air and spat blue flame into its face.
The creature yelped and recoiled.
Drake caught the woman’s arm, turned, and drove his shoulder into her chest.
She hit the wall.
Her free hand reached for a whistle hanging around her neck.
Drake seized it first and tore it away.
The woman kicked at his knee.
He stepped aside.
She was faster than the first intruder.
Better trained.
She drew a second blade from behind her back.
Drake barely raised the Origin Hammer in time.
Steel struck black metal.
Sparks flew.
The impact numbed her wrist.
Her expression changed.
She had expected an ordinary blacksmith’s tool.
Drake moved before she recovered.
He hooked the hammer beneath her blade and twisted.
The weapon flew from her hand.
She tried to retreat.
Ember landed behind her and growled.
Blue fire lit the narrow room.
The woman froze between them.
Drake pointed the hammer at her.
“Call off your beast.” She glanced toward the tracker.
It crouched nearby, its burned face twisted in rage.
“Down, Sniffer.” The beast reluctantly lowered itself.
Drake looked at her guild insignia.
“Where is Gareth Ashford?” The woman said nothing.
Drake heard footsteps above.
Several people moving through the main workshop.
A chair scraped.
Then a voice he knew.
Weak.
Tired.
But unmistakable.
“You will find nothing here.” Gareth.
Alive.
Relief struck Drake so strongly that his knees nearly weakened.
Then another voice answered.
Smooth and amused.
“We have not yet searched everything.” A heavy thud followed.
Drake’s relief became fury.
He looked at the woman.
“What is Captain Veller doing?” Her lips tightened.
“He only wants answers.” “That thud sounded like a question?” “You don’t understand who you’re dealing with.” “No.” Drake’s eyes hardened.
“You don’t.” A shout came from upstairs.
“Handler Merra!” The woman in front of him stiffened.
“Report!” Drake stepped closer.
The Origin Hammer rested near her throat.
“Answer him.” She stared at him.
Ember’s flames rose.
Merra raised her voice.
“Nothing in the lower room!” A pause.
Then the man upstairs replied.
“Bring the scent hound.
The old man is hiding something.” Drake looked toward the tracking beast.
Its damaged nose twitched.
A thread of pale green light appeared in the air.
The creature had caught a scent.
Not Drake’s.
Ember’s.
The glowing thread led directly toward the broken floor.
Toward the secret forge.
Merra saw it too.
Her eyes widened.
Drake struck the wall beside her head.
“Break the trail.” “I can’t.” “Then make it lose the scent.” “It has already marked it.” Drake looked at the beast.
The pale thread brightened.
Below them, the stone hatch remained open.
If the tracker followed the trail, it would expose everything.
Ember’s anxiety passed through the bond.
Drake made a decision.
He released Merra and grabbed the beast’s leash.
She stared at him.
“What are you doing?” “Saving your animal.” He pulled the tracker toward a barrel in the corner.
Old lamp oil.
He kicked it over.
The liquid spread across the floor.
Then Drake took a pouch of powdered coal and threw it into the oil.
The air filled with soot and sharp fumes.
The tracking beast sneezed violently.
The pale scent thread flickered.
Drake tore open several sacks of herbs Gareth used in metal treatments—bitterroot, sulfur moss, ashvine powder.
He scattered all of it across the floor.
The creature whined.
Its glowing runes dimmed.
The scent trail vanished.
Merra blinked.
“You knew how to confuse a scent beast?” “I know how smells behave around a forge.” The woman looked at him differently now.
Less like a village boy.
More like a problem.
Drake pointed toward the unconscious guild member below.
“Stay here.” “You think you can order me?” “No.” He nodded toward Ember.
“But it can burn faster than you can reach your blade.” The hatchling bared its fangs.
Merra stayed still.
Drake moved toward the stairs.
Every step upward made the voices clearer.
The main workshop had been torn apart.
Tools crashed against the floor.
Drawers opened.
Wood splintered.
Drake reached the top of the staircase and stopped behind the half-open door.
Through the gap, he saw the forge room.
It barely resembled home.
The long worktable had been overturned.
Finished blades lay scattered across the ground.
The furnace had been extinguished.
Rain blew through a broken window.
Three men stood near Gareth’s chair.
Two wore guild armor and held chained beasts beside them.
One beast resembled a broad-shouldered ape covered in stone plates.
The other was a long-bodied lizard with transparent skin and glowing veins.
The third man wore no helmet.
Captain Veller.
He was tall, lean, and perhaps thirty-five.
His ash-blond hair had been tied neatly behind his head.
A dark blue cloak hung from his shoulders, fastened with a golden version of the wolf insignia.
A scar ran from beneath his left eye to the corner of his mouth.
He stood directly in front of Gareth.
The old blacksmith remained seated.
One side of his face was bruised.
Blood marked his lower lip.
Drake’s vision narrowed.
Ember felt it.
A wave of fire ran through their bond.
Veller held an old metal pendant between two fingers.
Drake recognized it.
Gareth always wore it beneath his shirt.
A blacksmith’s emblem.
An anvil inside a ring of flame.
Similar to the mark of the Origin Forge, but not identical.
“Where did you get this?” Veller asked.
Gareth looked toward the dead furnace.
“Made it.” Veller smiled.
“No, you didn’t.” “I have been a blacksmith for sixty years.” “And I have spent fifteen years hunting illegal relics.” The captain turned the pendant.
Tiny letters had been carved along its edge.
“Old Imperial script.” “So?” “So this language has not been used in nearly eight hundred years.” Gareth coughed.
“Then perhaps I am older than I look.” One of the handlers laughed.
Veller did not.
He leaned closer.
“Last night, every detection tower within fifty miles recorded a mana eruption from beneath Blackstone Mountain.” Gareth’s expression did not change.
“The mountain has storms.” “This was not lightning.” “Then ask the mountain.” Veller’s smile faded.
The stone ape beside him growled.
The captain pulled a chair across the floor and sat opposite Gareth.
“I admire loyalty.” He spoke softly now.
“It is rare.” Gareth looked at him.
“But loyalty becomes foolishness when the person you protect cannot protect you.” Drake’s hand tightened around the hammer.
Veller continued.
“We found fresh blood near the storage room.” Drake glanced at his own cuts.
His blood.
“The lower floor has been disturbed,” Veller said.
“Someone moved through it recently.” Gareth remained silent.
The captain studied him.
“Your grandson?” For the first time, Gareth’s expression shifted.
Only slightly.
But Veller noticed.
His smile returned.
“Drake Ashford,” he said.
“Eighteen years old.
Unawakened mana channels.
Failed the royal beast resonance test at twelve.
No guild registration.
No military record.” Drake felt Ember’s confusion.
The hatchling did not understand the words.
But it understood the contempt in Veller’s voice.
“An ordinary boy,” the captain continued.
“At least, that is what the records say.” Gareth leaned back.
“He is a blacksmith.” “In this kingdom, that is nearly the same thing.” The insult struck deeper than Drake expected.
Not because it mocked him.
Because it mocked Gareth.
All the years.
All the skill.
All the discipline.
Dismissed by a man whose power came from a beast chained at his side.
Veller stood.
“Where is he?” Gareth said nothing.
The captain nodded toward the transparent lizard.
Its handler loosened the chain.
The beast crawled forward.
Its tongue extended.
A faint glow passed through its body.
Drake felt the mark on his hand burn.
The creature was detecting mana.
It turned toward the staircase.
Toward Drake.
Captain Veller followed its gaze.
Silence filled the workshop.
Drake knew hiding was over.
He pushed open the door.
Every head turned.
Gareth’s eyes widened.
“Drake.” Relief.
Then fear.
The old man saw Ember on his shoulder.
Saw the Origin Hammer in his hand.
And for one brief moment, Gareth looked not surprised— But heartbroken.
As though a fate he had feared for years had finally arrived.
Captain Veller stood slowly.
His eyes settled on Ember.
The smile disappeared from his face.
“What is that?” Drake entered the workshop.
Rainwater ran across the floor near the shattered window.
The Origin Hammer hung at his side.
“My family.” Ember raised its head.
The blue flames within its eyes burned brighter.
Veller stared at the creature.
His gaze moved over its crimson scales, the Dawnsteel fins, and the faint Heart Rune glowing beneath its chest.
The captain’s expression became unreadable.
Then he looked at the mark on Drake’s hand.
For the first time, genuine fear entered his eyes.
Only for a second.
But Drake saw it.
Veller recovered quickly.
“Seize him.” The stone ape roared.
Its handler released the chain.
The beast charged.
Gareth shouted.
Drake stepped forward.
Ember leapt from his shoulder.
The tiny dragon opened its mouth.
Blue fire gathered.
The stone ape swung one massive fist.
Drake raised the Origin Hammer.
And for the first time above the hidden forge, Beast Blacksmith and forged beast entered battle together.
To be continued…