CHAPTER 10: FORGED IN STEEL
The walk to the armory was silent. Every footstep echoed against the iron ribs of the fortress, a slow drum of anticipation. The walls themselves seemed to lean inward, pressing the children forward as if the mountain wanted to swallow them whole.
John led his squad, shoulders straight, eyes scanning, every sense alert. He could feel the tension radiating from them — Nico's restless energy, Amara's simmering impatience, Thomas's nervous breaths. Even Sylas's vines twitched faintly, brushing against the stone as if tasting the air. Today, they would be wielders of steel.
The Armory
The chamber was unlike anything John had ever seen.
Black stone walls rose high, carved with runes that seemed to crawl when unobserved. Shafts of violet light slanted through narrow slits in the ceiling, glinting off racks of weapons that hummed faintly, as if alive. Every sword, every spear, every bow pulsed with a heartbeat of its own, waiting for the hand that could command it — or reject the unworthy.
At the heart of the room, Varric waited, arms folded, his right eye pulsing with a faint mechanical glow. The air around him felt heavy, as if pressed by iron. He studied them in silence, the way a craftsman studies raw ore, deciding which pieces could be reforged… and which were bound for the scrap heap.
"Line up," he barked, his voice reverberating through the chamber, rattling in the rafters and pressing down on every ear.
"Step forward only when ordered. The weapon will choose you."
His gaze sharpened.
"If you touch a weapon before it acknowledges you… you will—"
A boy from another squad stumbled. His hand shook as he tried to steady himself — and brushed against the hilt of a sword.
A single heartbeat.
Light erupted, white hot and violent. The weapon hurled him backward. His body cracked against the wall.
Silence collapsed over the hall.
John's jaw tightened. No cry. No twitch. No one moved to help. A whisper of fear slithered through the children.
Varric didn't even look at the corpse.
"…die." He continued, voice iron.
He pointed directly at John.
"You, Step forward."
John inhaled slowly, unshaken. Mistakes were fatal here. Hesitation or arrogance could be punished in an instant.
One by one, they stepped forward into the armory's glow.
John's hands closed around the sword. It vibrated warmly, the hum sinking into his chest until it felt less like a weapon and more like a heartbeat. He exhaled, steady, the weight of steel settling into him as if it had always been his.
Beside him, Nico swaggered forward, grin stretched wide though his hands betrayed a tremor. The scythe coiled up his arm like a living shadow, whispering against his skin. His grin faltered into awe. "Guess it likes me," he muttered, voice thin.
Malric followed, every step deliberate. The spear that answered him pulsed silver, steady and sure, as if it had only been waiting for his touch. He didn't smile, didn't nod — only accepted, as though the weapon had confirmed what he already knew.
Elowen's wings folded tight as she moved lightly across the floor. A bow strung itself in her hands, taut and alive. When she drew the string, the note it sang widened her eyes. "It feels… right," she whispered, almost afraid to break the sound.
Thomas hesitated, shoulders hunched, but when the staff thrummed in his grip, energy slid into his veins. His breath steadied. His back straightened. For the first time, John saw determination flicker in his eyes.
Amara didn't wait for ceremony. Her clawed armor snapped free with a vicious hiss, locking onto her arms. She flexed, lips curling into a wolfish grin. "Finally."
The twins moved as one, daggers flashing in mirrored arcs. Lucian smirked while Orion gave a curt nod, their blades reflecting each other perfectly, as if forged for symmetry.
Thalia reached for a wand. It buzzed, then shot into her chest and vanished. She gasped, clutching at her ribs. "What—what's happening?" Panic rippled through her voice.
Varric's reply cut like iron. "Unless it is racial, you cannot wield magic until awakening. That wand will not serve you." He pressed a short sword into her hands. The blade bit at her palms until she accepted it with a grimace, her eyes burning with quiet resentment.
Liora's rapier shimmered, elegant and precise, answering every flick of her wrist. She tested it once, and the blade moved like thought itself.
Sylas remained still. His vines lashed and coiled around him, restless, alive. He met Varric's gaze. "I don't need other weapons." Varric gave a curt nod.
Nyra drifted forward last. Gauntlets pulsed faintly with numen light, settling onto her arms like sleeping beasts. They thrummed with patient power, waiting for her awakening.
And then Kaelen's group advanced, the armory erupting in resonance. Spears, swords, axes — each weapon claimed its wielder. The air vibrated with raw potential, the chamber alive with the sound of destiny choosing its hosts.
Finally, Daren stepped forward. A massive hammer stirred. He grinned as he swung it experimentally; the floor quaked beneath the blow. Sparks flew. He turned to John, smirk sharp. "I can't wait to use this … on you."
John met his eyes, calm and cold. "You won't get the chance."
Daren's grin faltered for a heartbeat.
Varric's mechanical fist slammed against the wall, the sound reverberating through the chamber like cannon fire. His mechanical eye glowed faintly as he barked, voice clipped and iron hard:
"You have your weapons. Good. We will start training today."
The children followed him into the training hall — a cavernous space of scarred metal floors and walls etched with the marks of years of combat. Shafts of violet light cut through high windows, dust motes drifting like stars in the gloom.
Varric's voice carried like steel.
"Combat is a union of many aspects. Offense. Defense. Footwork. Awareness. Resilience both mental and physical. Tactics. You trained each individually under Rauk. With me, you will learn to make them one. Combat is not just attacking wildly— it is masterful combination of what I listed and more."
Silence hung heavy. Then his voice cut through it.
"Do you understand?"
The children swallowed hard, voices rising in nervous unison.
"Yes, sir!"
"Good. Let's begin."
The doors along the walls hissed open. From the shadows, constructs emerged — humanoid machines scarred from years of drills, some wielding wooden weapons, others bare handed. Their steps echoed like drums as they filled the chamber.
Nico tilted his head, confusion flickering.
"I thought we were going to train how to wield weapons—"
Amara snorted.
"Those are the training dummies, idiot."
Nico gritted his teeth.
"I knew that. Tsk. I was Just making sure."
Amara smirked, dripping sarcasm.
"Yeah, right."
Nico's face flushed red.
"What do you mean by that!?"
The last dummy stepped into place. Varric's gaze swept across the children, then turned to the machines.
"…Attack."
The word dropped like a blade.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Then the dummies surged forward.
Nico's protest died in his throat as a scythe whistled toward his head. He ducked purely on instinct, eyes wide with horror as chaos erupted around him. Everywhere, the constructs swung, stabbed, and struck.
Panic tore through the group. Weapons clashed against wood and steel, cries of shock echoing. Some froze, others lashed out wildly.
Daren roared, grabbing another boy by the collar and hurling him into a dummy. The construct staggered, and Daren smashed it down with his hammer, laughing.
"Ha! Easy!"
But his triumph lasted seconds. Two more dummies advanced, striking him from both sides. He blocked once, twice, then faltered. The hammer slipped, blows rained down, and his laughter turned into a grunt of pain as he was beaten back.
John's sword rang against iron, each strike jarring his arms. The dummy pressed him hard, blows relentless. He blocked, staggered, took a hit to the ribs, another to the shoulder. Pain flared, but he forced himself to calm down, to observe — the dummy's rhythm, its stance, the way it shifted weight before each strike. Even as he was battered, he learned. His blade began to move with more certainty, his feet adjusting, his blocks timed tighter.
Around him, the others struggled.
Nico swung wildly, barely keeping the scythe between himself and the dummy.
Amara slashed with claws, feral but sloppy, her grin fading as two constructs pressed her into retreat.
Malric's spear thrusts were sharp, but his footwork faltered, and the dummies drove him back step by step.
Elowen loosed arrows, each shot precise, but the constructs closed distance too quickly, forcing her to scramble.
Thomas spun his staff, deflecting one strike, only to take another across his ribs.
The twins fought in mirrored rhythm, daggers flashing, but their symmetry broke under pressure. Lucian cursed, Orion gritted his teeth, both driven back in desperate unison.
Thalia's short sword jarred her arms with every block. She panicked, strikes clumsy, until her eyes narrowed. Instead of brute force, she shifted — sidestepping, feinting, forcing the dummy to overextend. Her blade darted in, precise, exploiting openings. She gasped, exhilarated, as the construct fell.
Liora's rapier danced elegantly, flicking aside strikes, but even her precision faltered under the relentless rhythm of two dummies pressing her at once. Sylas's vines lashed, crushing one dummy's arm until it splintered, but more came, forcing him into retreat. Nyra's gauntlets absorbed a blow that could have shattered bone, numen light pulsing faintly, her fists ringing against steel as she staggered under the assault.
The hall became a storm of chaos — blades clashing, claws screeching, arrows thudding, vines snapping. Children staggered, beaten down one by one, yet none fell lifeless. Bruises bloomed, sweat poured, exhaustion carved into every face.
Through it all, Varric strode among them, mechanical eye tracking every motion, voice cutting like a drill sergeant's whip:
"I believe Training in the fight is the most effective method. Defeat one puppet, more will come. Defeat those, stronger ones follow. This is not even a fraction of what true battle is like— but it is a start."
John, battered but unyielding, raised his sword again. His grip tightened, his stance steadied. The dummy lunged — and this time, he was ready… or maybe not.
By the time Varric dismissed them, twilight pressed against the fortress walls. The children staggered, weapons heavy in their hands, bodies aching, bruised, bloodied.
"Report to your next instructor." after saying those words varric left all the kids alone
Nico groaned, voice cracking with fatigue and pain.
"I feel like all the bones in my body are broken."
Thomas said leaning on his staff, trembling.
"Same here."
Amara snarled, her voice hoarse.
"Stop whining." though she was one of the worst beaten one's.
Orion shot back.
"What did you just say? Are you a masochist or something? How are you even still standing?"
Amara's lips curled, ready to retort — but John cut her off. He forced himself upright from where he had dropped, sword still in hand.
"Cut it out, it is still not over."
Nico groaned again, but no one argued. After five minutes one supervisor came and told them all to follow him.
They were led down another corridor, darker and narrower.
They had survived combat training's beginning. Barely.
Next would challenge something different…
maybe deeper.
At the end of the corridor, a door slid open.
Inside —
There was light — sharp, sterile beams that cut through the chamber like blades. Holograms shimmered faintly in the air, their edges flickering with ghostly precision. The scent was strange, layered: the dry musk of old parchment mingled with something sharper, clinical, almost anesthetic. It was as if the room itself was caught between two worlds — the past of ink and paper, and the future of steel and glass.
At the center stood a man with calculating eyes, his gaze steady and unyielding, as though he could peel back the layers of their minds with a glance. He smiled too calmly, a smile that carried no warmth, only intent.
"Welcome," Damen said, his voice smooth but edged with authority, "to the class that determines whether you rise into legend… or die as forgotten footnotes."
Beside him, was a women who remained silent, her tablet already active, fingers poised with mechanical precision. Damen gestured toward the rows of seats, and the children obeyed. John lowered himself into one, his sword resting against his leg. His heart still raced from the trials before, his mind restless, knowing that what came next would not only shape how he fought but perhaps answer the questions that had haunted him since he came to this world.
The classroom lights brightened to full white, sterile in their glare. Iron and glass walls reflected the glow, while the faint smell of parchment lingered, grounding the futuristic space in something older, almost sacred. The atmosphere was heavy, pressing down on them with expectation.
Damen stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid and commanding. His voice carried across the room with the weight of steel.
"You survived a lot to reach this stage. A small success. But do not become proud."
Nico leaned sideways, muttering under his breath, "Not even a little proud?" John elbowed him gently, silencing the remark before Damen's gaze could cut him down.
Elsa tapped her tablet, and a holographic map bloomed into existence above them. Three massive continents rotated slowly, their surfaces etched with valleys, mountains, and rivers that glowed faintly in the projection.
"The world," Damen said, his tone measured, "is vast. And most of you will never see more than a fraction of it."
He pointed to each continent in turn, his words painting them with vivid detail.
Solara: A continent of wide plains and fertile valleys, its long mountain passes forming natural crossroads. Trade routes crisscross its lands, cultures blending until Solara became known as the continent of convergence.
Nethkar: Rugged and harsh, its jagged mountains and volcanic fields scarred by ash. Mineral-rich but unforgiving, Nethkar's terrain forged its people into survivors hardened by fire and stone.
Aetheris: Strikingly beautiful, its tall spires rising above clear lakes, skies often lit by auroras. Aetheris carried a serenity unlike the others, its landscapes tied to strong spiritual traditions.
"Each continent holds different races inside it, some more than others."
The projection zoomed outward, stars scattering like dust across the void. Elsa shifted the hologram, revealing new images — realms beyond the continents, places reserved for the extraordinary.
"In addition, there are more special places," Damen said. "Race realms like the Maltherion's Velthyryn, or the Lumari's Luminaria, the floating island. Places reserved just for specific races."
The hologram shifted again, silhouettes of humanoid forms appearing, each distinct in shape and aura. Damen's voice deepened, carrying the weight of knowledge.
"This is surface level geography almost everybody knows. Let's continue to another area. As you already know, different races each have their own way of channeling magic. In fact, every individual's path is unique. No two ascensions are ever identical."
John frowned, his sword heavy against his leg. 'If no one walks the same path, he thought, then how can anyone learn from another's journey?'
Damen's gaze swept the room, sharp enough to feel like it pierced thought itself. His reply came as though he had heard John's silent question.
"Even so, there are general steps that all must follow. Ascension is not chaos — it is a ladder. There are nine stages in total. At the fourth stage, paths begin to diverge into five broad types. You will learn what each entails in due time."
The hologram shifted again, showing races in detail. Damen's tone remained even, clinical.
"Your race is one factor that determines your path. Bestiars, for example, carry bloodlines that strengthen their ascent, granting instincts and resilience others cannot mimic. Lumari channel the divine bonds they share with their gods. Numen, as beings of the elements, find that their power flows more easily in elemental domains they are also the one of the few races who can use magic before awakening. Each race carries its own inheritance."
The children listened, their reactions varied. Some sat in awe, eyes wide at the revelations. Others looked confused, struggling to keep pace. Nico scratched his head, already lost. Thomas leaned forward, eager to absorb every word. Thalia's eyes sharpened, memorizing details with precision. Nyra tilted her head, humming softly, as if she saw something beyond the hologram, something only she could perceive.
Damen's voice cut through their thoughts, crisp and final.
"After awakening, you will learn the different types of magical energies and their properties, as well as the paths that open after your awakening. For now, this is preparation. Focus on the points that concern you."
Time stretched, the lecture dragging on until it felt like a century had passed. The sterile light weighed on their eyes, the endless stream of knowledge pressing into their minds until exhaustion dulled their focus.
At last, Damen folded his hands behind his back, his expression unchanged.
"As we conclude, remember this: every session will end with an assignment. This time, you are to memorize the major geographical locations and the history of the world. Tomorrow you will be tested. Fail, and there will be consequences. As much as I dislike it… those consequences will be physical."
The hologram flickered out, plunging the room into silence. The squad rose slowly, their bodies aching, their minds frayed. Yet the weight of Damen's words pressed heavier than any weapon drill.