The hollowed ground trembled beneath Riku's feet long before the Leviathan arrived.
They'd left nothing but scorched soil and silent vents when they stepped into the magma fissure zone. This deep conduit was meant to channel Earth's fury outward in controlled bursts—a safety valve. But on this day, every vent furnace hissed as though sharing secrets.
Kael knelt beside the fissure lip, hand pressed to the heated rock. "Pressure's rising. Faster than expected." His face was tight, adrenaline humming through his veins despite the dawn chill.
Riku nodded, then turned to the strike team."Positions stand." His voice was calm, unwavering. The five fighting elites braced—dark-clad silhouettes against molten veins.
A horn sounded. Not high‑pitched, not rallying—just low and urgent.
And it came from below.
At first, they heard nothing. Then the scale stitching of rock; then heat‑skinned flesh.
The Leviathan emerged.
It towered. Five meters tall at least. Its skin looked molten but solidified—like cracked charcoal with ember veins pulsing beneath a surface crust. Every breath it exhaled sparked ash into the air. Its head loomed over the fissure, eyes blazing not gold, but deep magma red.
It strode forward, ignoring spearmen laid in pincer formation. Each step quaked.
Riku advanced, leading Kasrin and two others on either flank, staying just out of spear‑glint reach. They carried fast spears, hardened obsidian tip. The rest held fire‑glass shields angled wide. They were bait, and they knew it.
The Leviathan did not charge.
It walked.
With measured purpose.
Kasrin jabbed at its flank. Steel rang against ember‑hide—with no effect. As the blade carved into its side, a line of hot spark‑root bloomed outward from the cut—a branching miniature ventrite twisting like flame. But before the team could dart back, that ventroot snapped shut. The wound mended in half a second, slowly weld‑sealed back into hardened shell.
Riku whistled through teeth. "Kael, that variant glaive—now!"
The blacksmith knight, sprinting from support, thrust the prototype glaive like a fiery strike. It met the beast's shoulder plate with a cry—then, twice more with brutal force.
Each strike emitted a flaring vent‑ring that cracked about the blade's edge. Ventroroots sprouted rapidly—tiny embers winding around the shaft, illuminating Kael's forearm with thin flame. The roots pulsed, living extensions woven into the alloy. With each strike Kael felt a deja-vu pulse as though the weapon remembered victories before being forged.
Pain shot through Kasrin across the checkpoint. The blaze shield had tipped, and she saw twisted metal fibers grow around the beast's side, sealing the wound once more. The Leviathan flared—hot breath splitting ash into the sky.
Riku whirled his glaive, ducked low.
The Leviathan readjusted. Not fighting—but syncing. It reared up, breathing flame. When it exhaled, it … waited. Not hostile. Patient. As if expecting the strike.
Riku jabbed low. The blade cut across knee plate. Gleed bark flared outward. The beast stumbled—then knelt. But not submissively.
It knelt and watched.
And then dropped something.
A seedling.
Not like all others.
This one glowed faintly with ember‑heat and bore the shape of Kael's forge emblem—his sigil—the spiral mark drawn into his first vent‑glaive.
It lay at Kael's feet. Kael stared.
Riku lowered his glaive. "Collect it."
Kael knelt swiftly, picking the seedling with gloved fingers. Its bark still throbbed with warmth—not flame, but promise.
The Leviathan rose.
It didn't run.
It vanished backwards. Into the fissure. Into the heat that birthed it.
A silence rippled through the team.
Kasrin said slowly: "Is it dead?"
Kael touched his thigh. "No."
Riku lowered his glaive."They carry memory now—tools, beasts—even terrain. Nothing dies unused."
They backed from the fissure. The heat receded, vents calmed. Logs around the ring cooled. No creature emerged again.
Kael stared deeply at the seedling, then up at Riku.
"What does this mean?"
"It means," Riku said quietly, "whatever it was, it came from us. And left a calling."