The forge burned through the morning chill, throwing heat into the grey light as Riku adjusted the conduit valves. Sparks hissed where molten metal met obsidian casing, and the familiar hum of energy filled the hall. For a moment, the world outside was distant, quieted beneath the pulse of the forge's heart.
Kael wiped his brow, stepping back from the southern valve array. "Output's stabilizing, finally. We won't melt the west trench every time we power the glaives now."
Riku gave a faint nod, his gaze fixed on the energy readouts. The recent salvages from the Hollow Ruins had given them enough refined relay cores to stabilize the forge's conduits—but just barely. If another volcanic tremor hit, the whole grid might crack again.
"Divert five percent to the eastern spike line," Riku said, voice low but clear. "The Miststalkers won't wait for us to finish upgrading before they try again."
Kael hesitated, then adjusted the levers. "You think they're watching?"
"I think everything is watching."
By midday, Sira returned from the northern ridge, her expression unreadable. She knelt beside the forge's map table and rolled out a cloth marked with soot-smudged symbols.
"Two monarch forces clashed beyond the crater edge," she reported. "Nightforge's banners against another sovereign. Couldn't catch the name, but the ruins are scorched clean. Looked recent."
Riku leaned over the map, tracing the area Sira marked. "They're closer than we thought."
"Close enough to smell the ash." Sira met his eyes, steady. "But still not close enough to find us. Not yet."
He exhaled quietly. The Blood Moon was thinning, but the real threats were just beginning to wake.
He turned back toward the forge. "Double the heat shield layers on the outer walls. If Nightforge is picking fights this far out, they'll circle around eventually."
The work continued into dusk.
Riku descended to the forge chamber, where the resonance conduits glowed faintly in the dim light. He adjusted the core stabilizers, each plate groaning as it accepted the increased energy flow. Sweat ran down his back beneath the forge apron, but he didn't stop.
One mistake, and the next power surge would fracture their only advantage.
The conduit casing flashed once—then steadied.
It worked.
The forge hummed quieter now, smoother, almost like a living thing breathing at ease.
Above, the camp settled into a rare moment of calm. Spearmen ran through formation drills by torchlight, their glaives casting long shadows against the outer walls.
The Pale Flame emissary watched from the shadows, silent as ever, their face hidden beneath the ember-glass mask.
"Your fire grows clearer," the emissary said softly, barely audible beneath the forge hum.
Riku didn't turn from the controls. "So do the shadows."
The emissary's voice held a faint ripple of humor. "Balance, then. One feeds the other."
Before leaving, they offered a quiet warning.
"Deep in the crater, something old stirs. You've touched the ruins; now they will reach back."
Riku wiped his hands clean on a cloth, staring at the forge's pulse one last time. "Let them come."
The Pale Flame left without a word.
That night, before rest could claim him, Riku walked the perimeter. The walls stood silent beneath the stars, the upgraded conduits pulsing gently along their edges, casting faint veins of light through the mist.
Nothing stirred beyond the ridge. But he knew better than to trust the quiet.
Far beyond Blackridge, other monarchs gathered strength. Some forging alliances. Some sharpening blades.
And Nightforge had already drawn first blood against someone else. Their silence in the global chats spoke louder than any boast.
Riku glanced west, where the horizon glowed faintly beneath the cloud cover.
They hadn't found Blackridge yet.
But they would.
And when they did, they would meet a forge ready to burn them alive.
He rested his hand against the obsidian wall, feeling the pulse beneath his palm.
The world was still watching.
And AshEdge's flame was only just beginning to rise.