The chains' rasp echoed like a second heartbeat in Kaden's ears.
His grip on the blade tightened until his knuckles whitened, the metal humming against his palm as if it shared his unease.
Serena's whimper sharpened into a gasp, her fingers clawing at his sleeve—cold, colder than the cellar's chill.
"Stay behind me," he muttered, though his voice came out rougher than intended.
His eyes darted between the shadowed corners of the cellar, where the light of his lantern faltered.
The message carved into the stone—You have roused it—burned in his periphery.
Vera's body, laid to rest two days prior, was gone.
Stolen, he thought, or worse.
The smell of old blood lingered, cloying, as if the stone itself had sweated it.
Serena's breath hitched.
When he glanced down, her face was paler than usual, the red veins in her eyes spreading like cracks in ice.
The rune from his palm flickered again in her irises, a mirror of his own mark—a mark he'd thought only his.
Connected, he realized, with a spike of dread.
Whatever had taken Vera, it had touched her too.
The chains dragged closer.
Kaden's jaw clenched.
He stepped forward, the blade leading the way, its edge glowing faintly now.
The system, dormant since he'd inherited the forge, suddenly pinged in his mind—a warning?
A prompt?
Seal it, it urged.
The blade, he realized, was the soul weapon he'd forged for Vera's brother.
Its thrum wasn't just reaction; it was hunger.
He spun, yanking Serena back by the arm.
"Upstairs. Now."
She resisted, signing frantically: You can't face it alone.
"Now," he repeated, more forcefully.
His free hand pushed her toward the stairs, his eyes never leaving the darkness.
When she finally obeyed, her footsteps echoing up the stone steps, he turned back to the cellar.
The chains had stopped.
Silence pressed in, thicker than the damp air.
Kaden exhaled, steadying himself.
The blade's glow intensified, and he understood—this was why the system had urged him to forge with soul.
The weapon wasn't just metal; it was a bridge.
To what?
The Forged God's Remnant Soul? The thing in the dark?
He sheathed the blade, but the hum persisted.
No, he thought.
It needed to be sealed.
Not in a sheath, but in the forge.
By the time he reached the smithy, Serena was waiting by the anvil, her arms wrapped tight around herself.
Her eyes were back to their usual pale hue, the rune gone, but her hands shook as she signed: It's still hungry.
Kaden didn't reply.
He lit the forge, its flames roaring to life, and drew the blade again.
The metal hissed as he submerged it into the coals, the system interface flickering in his vision: Soul Weapon Re-seal: 30% Complete… Fifty percent... The hum faded, replaced by a low, mournful wail that seemed to emanate from the very stones of the shop.
Serena clapped her hands over her ears, her eyes wide.
When the blade emerged, blackened and dull, the system pinged again: Seal intact.
Threat level reduced.
Kaden set it aside, his mind racing.
The message in the cellar, Serena's dream—they all pointed to the mine.
The abandoned mine pit in Zhen Nan, where three blacksmiths had vanished in as many months. Barlow Graybeard, the last to go, had left a half-finished sword in his shop, its metal twisted like a snake.
"Get your coat," he said to Serena.
"We're going to the mine."
She froze, then nodded, her fingers brushing the pendant around her neck—a small iron hammer, a gift from his master.
As they stepped outside, the town's perpetual fog clung to their clothes, the air thick with the stench of rotting seaweed.
The system interface flared: Basic Detection Unlocked.
A faint map appeared in his vision, highlighting a pulsing red dot to the south.
Contaminated Metal, it read.
The mine's entrance gaped like a toothless maw, its wooden supports sagging.
Kaden's lantern cast a flickering light over the ground—abandoned tongs, a cracked anvil, and a rusty nameplate. He knelt, brushing dust off the metal: Barlow Graybeard.
Serena lingered at the edge, her eyes darting to the shadows.
When he glanced back, she was drawing in the dirt with a stick—runes, ancient and angular, glowing faintly where she traced them.
"Seal words," Kaden muttered, recognizing them from a book his master had hidden.
The notebook he had found in the mine collapse - Barlow's - had mentioned them: "The fog speaks. It wants to wake the lost souls." Seal it with the old tongue, but beware—they're listening."
He pulled the notebook from his coat, its pages water-stained.
"Dark Iron Council," it read, "seeks the Blood Key. The one who can wake the Furnace." They took my hands first, then my mind. Don't answer the call."
Serena's drawing stopped.
She looked up, her eyes wide with terror, and signed: I hear it too.
By the time they returned to the shop, the system was buzzing.
Shop Level Up: Shabby Workshop. New Forge Unlocked: Soul Precision.
Kaden barely registered it.
He spread Barlow's notebook on the workbench, the system scanning it—Hidden Message Detected.
A line glowed red: "If you hear the call, do not answer. They hunt the 'Blood Key.'"
His