Chapter 76: Metal's Song
POV: Adam
Thorek's forge occupied a natural cavern deep within Mahakam's heart, where magma channels provided eternal heat and centuries of smoke had blackened the ceiling into abstract art. The master smith stood before his anvil like a priest before an altar, reverence evident in every controlled movement.
"Metal is earth's blood." His voice carried the rasp of decades breathing forge-smoke. "Refined by fire, purified by hammer, transformed from base ore to sacred steel." He lifted a raw iron ingot—rough, pitted, unremarkable. "Tell me what you sense."
I took the metal, closed my eyes, extended earthbending perception. The iron felt... different. Stone hummed low and steady, patient as mountains. But this—this vibrated at higher frequency, almost alive in a way rock never achieved.
"It's singing." The words emerged before thought could filter them. "Quiet, but there. Like... like a string pulled tight, waiting to resonate."
Thorek's expression shifted—surprise bleeding into something approaching awe. "First day, and you hear the song. Took me thirty years to perceive what you describe."
"What does it mean?"
"It means you might be ready for the next lesson." He retrieved the ingot, placed it on the anvil. "Earthbenders move stone. Master earthbenders shape stone. But the legends—the true masters from ages past—they bent metal itself. Convinced iron to flow like water, steel to reshape without forge or hammer."
My pulse quickened. "Is that possible?"
"For you?" He studied me with eyes that had evaluated metal quality for longer than most humans lived. "Only one way to know."
—Scene Break—
POV: Ciri
She found Adam in the practice chamber three hours later, surrounded by bent iron scraps and wearing an expression of frustrated concentration.
"Progress?"
"Sort of." He held up a twisted rod that might have been a bar before his attempts. "I can feel the metal's structure. See the grain, like with stone. But making it move..." He dropped the rod with a clang. "It's like trying to convince a cat to take a bath. Technically possible, but fighting every instinct."
"Maybe you're still thinking like an earthbender." She settled beside him, picking up one of the discarded scraps. "Stone wants to stay still. You have to convince it to move. But metal—Thorek said it sings. Maybe it wants something different."
Adam went quiet, processing. She'd learned to recognize that look—the moment when external advice connected with internal understanding, producing something new.
"You might be right." He took the scrap from her hands, closed his eyes. "Metal's already been refined. Already been changed. Maybe it doesn't need convincing to transform. Maybe it needs... permission?"
The iron rippled.
Not dramatically—a subtle shift in surface texture, edges softening slightly. But undeniably, impossibly, the metal had responded.
[ NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: Metal Sensing (Passive) ]
[ Detect metal objects through earth contact ]
[ Sense quality, impurities, structural integrity ]
[ Range: 100 feet (increases with skill) ]
"I can feel it," Adam breathed. "Not just this piece—all of it. The ore in the walls, the tools in the next chamber, the weapons on the guards three corridors over." His eyes snapped open, wild with discovery. "Ciri, do you understand what this means?"
"You can sense every sword, every armor plate, every metal object within range." The tactical implications crystallized instantly. "You'd know exactly how many armed enemies were approaching. What weapons they carried. Where their armor was weakest."
"More than that." He lifted the iron scrap, and this time his effort produced visible results—the bar bending slowly, reluctantly, but bending nonetheless. "If I can move metal, even a little... I can disarm opponents. Deflect arrows. Maybe even manipulate someone's armor against them."
[ NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: Metal Manipulation (Active) ]
[ Bend and shape metal through focused will ]
[ Cost: High MP per use ]
[ Difficulty: Scales with metal purity and mass ]
The door burst open. Thorek stood there, face pale beneath forge-tan, chest heaving from evident running.
"You need to come. Now." His voice carried urgency that transformed the moment from triumph to tension. "Council chamber. Scouts returned."
"What scouts?"
"The ones we sent to watch the mountain passes." Thorek's expression darkened. "They found Nilfgaardian troops. Hundreds of them. Heading directly toward Mahakam."
—Scene Break—
POV: Geralt
The council chamber buzzed with barely contained panic.
Five elders sat their stone thrones, but their usual composure had cracked. Maps spread across the central table, marked with troop positions that told an ugly story: Nilfgaardian forces massing at three approach routes, too many for coincidence, too coordinated for random patrol.
"They know we're here." Geralt kept his voice level despite the cold settling in his gut. "Someone talked."
"Not dwarves." Brouver Hoog's denial came sharp and immediate. "My people don't betray guests."
"Didn't say they did. But information flows through many channels. Merchants. Travelers. Anyone who saw us enter and had reason to profit from that knowledge."
"Does it matter how they know?" Lambert's pragmatism cut through the discussion. "Point is, they're coming. Question is, what do we do about it?"
"We could fight." A younger elder—Morvran, Geralt recalled—leaned forward. "Mahakam has never fallen to siege."
"Against normal armies. But if Nilfgaard's here for us specifically..." Adam trailed off, letting implications speak for themselves.
Ciri stood rigid beside him, disguise abandoned in the crisis. If Nilfgaard knew their location, maintaining cover served no purpose.
"They won't attack directly." Geralt studied the maps, reading terrain with tactician's eye. "Too expensive, too public. Brouver, has Nilfgaard made diplomatic overtures? Requests for access? Anything that might serve as pretext?"
"Nothing formal. But—" The elder hesitated. "Trade agreements come up for renewal next month. They could use that as leverage."
"They will." Certainty settled over Geralt like familiar armor. "Pressure you to expel us rather than risk economic retaliation. Easier than siege, and it puts the choice—and the blame—on you."
Silence stretched. The dwarves exchanged glances heavy with unspoken communication.
"One month," Brouver finally said. "We gave you one month's sanctuary. That time expires in three days regardless."
"Then we leave in two." Adam's voice carried steel that hadn't existed months ago. "I won't ask you to risk your people for us. You've given more than enough already."
"Where will you go?" Yarpen asked. "Nilfgaard's watching the passes. You'll walk right into their arms."
"Not if we go through the mountains instead of around them." Adam pressed his palm to the table, and the stone surface rippled—a map forming in miniature, showing tunnel networks that extended beyond Mahakam's official boundaries. "The old passages. The ones you don't use anymore. They lead west, toward the coast. Even Nilfgaard can't watch underground routes they don't know exist."
Brouver studied the stone map with grudging respect. "Dangerous paths. Unstable sections. Things sleeping in the deep places."
"I can handle unstable stone. And things that sleep can stay sleeping if we're quiet enough."
The elder considered for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Three days. We'll prepare supplies, provide guides to the old passage entrances. After that..." He spread his hands. "You're on your own."
"We always have been." But Adam smiled slightly as he said it—a joke that wasn't entirely a joke, acknowledging the temporary family they'd found and would soon leave.
—Scene Break—
POV: Adam
Night found me in the practice forge, bending iron by moonlight that filtered through crystal skylights.
The metal responded easier now—still difficult, still draining, but no longer impossible. I'd created a crude knife from raw ore, misshapen but functional. A proof of concept that would develop into something far more dangerous with practice.
[ Earthbending Element XP: +250 ]
[ Element Level: 7 ]
[ Metal Manipulation: Available ]
Ciri found me there, as she always did when thoughts grew too heavy for sleep.
"We're leaving again." Not a question.
"We're always leaving." The knife trembled in my grip—exhaustion and emotion combining into unsteady hands. "Sometimes I wonder if we'll ever stop running."
"We will." She moved closer, her presence a warmth that no forge could match. "When we're strong enough. When we have a place that's truly ours."
"You believe that?"
"I believe in you." Simple words that carried weight beyond their simplicity. "Every element you master, every skill you gain—it brings us closer to the day when we stop running and start choosing."
I set the knife aside, pulled her into an embrace that conveyed what words couldn't. Through our bond, I felt her fear, her hope, her absolute certainty that somehow, impossibly, we would survive this.
"Three days. Then we run again. But at least we run together."
Outside the forge, Mahakam's eternal flames burned on, indifferent to the small human dramas playing out within its ancient halls. And somewhere in the darkness beyond the mountains, enemies gathered, plans formed, and the next page of our endless flight prepared to begin.
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