Lucian felt the sharp bite of the cold wind as it cut through the streets. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and with the Tower's light dimming, the encroaching darkness seemed to swallow the city whole. He pulled his old coat tighter around his body, trying to stave off the chill. The once-bustling streets were now eerily deserted. The lively energy of earlier hours had been swept away, leaving only the cold wind and scraps of old posters tumbling across the cobblestones.
Faint light flickered behind the cracks of tightly sealed doors and windows, but no one in the outer districts was willing to share their light. Here, the dark was something everyone faced alone. Lucian quickened his pace, the sense of isolation deepening as the Tower's light faded further. Finally, he reached his home just as the last of the light disappeared.
He lit the lamps inside, their dull glow barely cutting through the gloom, and shut the window against the howling wind before collapsing onto his bed. Exhaustion settled over him like a heavy blanket. Too much had happened, too fast. His mind churned with unanswered questions, doubts, and the gnawing sense that he had stepped into something far larger and far darker than he could have imagined.
And now, in the dim solitude of his small room, Lucian wasn't sure what to do next.
Then, a memory resurfaced. A few months ago, on his birthday, his father had come by—an unexpected visit, given how estranged they had become. He had brought a package. Lucian hadn't opened it, unwilling to confront the complex emotions tied to his father, and had tucked it away, forgotten.
Now, driven by a growing sense of unease, Lucian got up, retrieved the package, and tore it open. Inside, there was a letter, a crystal, and a metallic book. His gaze immediately locked onto the crystal. It felt familiar, though he couldn't place why. Hesitant but curious, he reached out and touched it.
Suddenly, a voice whispered through his mind:
A soul for a soul, untouched by blight,
With power to cheat the darkest might.
The price of power, the soul must pay,
Speak the name, summon, and it will obey.
Lucian recoiled, throwing the crystal across the room in fear. It was magical—and all magic came with a price. His heart raced as he stared at the crystal lying on the floor. He prodded it away with a stick, not wanting to touch it again just yet.
Shaking off the lingering fear, he turned his attention to the rest of the contents. The metallic book caught his eye—an heirloom of the family. He had seen it many times before, always in his father's possession. Every time Lucian had tried to touch it, his father had adamantly refused, guarding it like a precious secret. But now, it was his.
He unfolded the letter.
Dear Lucian,
I'm sorry for everything that has happened. Happy birthday. Now that you've reached adulthood, and the final stone in my heart has dropped, I am free to investigate your mother's death. Our family has always been smiths, and we too have magic. The price of that magic is great, but necessary if I am to uncover the truth of what happened that night. What I'm doing is dangerous, and I don't know if I will survive it.
Perhaps it's time for you to know the truth, and to make your own choices. You are special, Lucian. You always have been. On the day you were born, a comet fell from the sky. You know this, which is why we named you Lucian—an ancient name tied to the stars. But what you don't know is that you were born holding a star—a crystal. It is powerful magic, great magic. But as you know, all magic has a price. The greater the magic, the greater the cost. We never told you because you were young, and we feared what you might do. But now you're grown, and it's your choice to make, as it should be.
I've also left you our family's magic. The book, it is a journal of my great, great, great grandfather and our line's exploration of magic.
Love you always,
Dad
Lucian sat in stunned silence as the weight of his father's words sank in. The crystal had been with him since birth—he had been born holding it. Magic. Great magic. And with it, a great price. His father had kept the truth hidden for so long, out of fear of what Lucian might do.
His eyes flickered back to the crystal, lying across the room, glowing faintly in the dim light. A soul for a soul? This doesn't seem to be a price he can pay.
Lucian turned his attention to the strange book. Unlike any book he had seen before, it was made entirely of metal. He hesitated for a moment, then opened it, revealing pages etched with writing. It appeared to be a diary of sorts, its metallic pages cold beneath his fingers.
The 31st day of the Month of Life, Year 19281 of the New Age
I had the dream again. Perhaps writing it down will help. It's clearer this time—so vivid. A forge made of flesh and steel, where countless smiths labor, forging weapons and tools. But they don't use metal or ores in their craft. No, they use living creatures. With each hammer's strike, weak flesh and brittle bone are transformed into the strongest metal. I'm terrified. This is the power of the taint, the curse that turns people into Fell. It's evil—terrible. The screams of those encased in metal haunt me. Yet… why do I find myself drawn to it?
The 38th day of the Month of Life, Year 19281 of the New Age
I entered the forge today. They showed me wonders beyond my wildest imagination. They promised me eternal life, a body made of unbreakable metal. I would no longer age. I would be invincible. But no… no! This is temptation, the whispering of Fell magic. I must resist.
The 41st day of the Month of Life, Year 19281 of the New Age
A name. He gave me his name—Smith of Flesh, Demon of the Red Forge, Transmuter of Life. I feel it… if I say his name aloud, I will be given knowledge, magic beyond comprehension.
The 1st day of the Month of Creation, Year 19282 of the New Age
It's been half a year since the last dream. He's waiting for me to speak the name. I want to say it—I can't help it. The urge to know, to see what power lies within, gnaws at me.
The 12th day of the Month of Eternity, Year 19281 of the New Age
I said it. He spoke to me and revealed a ritual—a way to transcend the weakness of flesh. If I forge myself as steel while invoking his name, I will gain the strength of metal.
The 13th day of the Month of Eternity, Year 19281 of the New Age
My bones are broken, my skin is scorched… but I can feel it—magic, surging through me. My arm… it feels like metal.
The 21st day of the Month of Eternity, Year 19281 of the New Age
I feel invincible. I beat a street thief today—my strength was overwhelming. I can reach into the furnace without burning. I can lift things I never could before. I've become one of the Cursed.
The 24th day of the Month of Eternity, Year 19281 of the New Age
I now understand the price of this magic. Part of my arm has permanently turned to metal, and my body is rejecting it. The pain is unbearable.
Lucian's eyes scanned the following pages, which chronicled his ancestor's descent into using the magic more frequently. The handwriting grew shakier and more erratic as time went on, a reflection of the toll the magic took on his body and mind.
He taught me another magic—how to craft powerful magical items. Anything with magic can be combined with the metal of my flesh to create objects of immense power.
The handwriting suddenly changed, becoming more structured but colder in tone.
My father died today. I always knew he was Cursed, but I didn't expect this. He was consumed by the magic, controlled by it. I've read that those with an affinity for magic can connect with greater powers, but they are influenced by them, shaped by the magic. But that won't happen to me. I don't even like smithing.
This magic… it's powerful, though. With it, I could move our family into the inner district. We could become a noble house. I need to study this carefully and learn to control it.
Clearly, his ambition failed. The remainder of the book transitioned into a journal of experiments, detailing the son's obsessive pursuit of the magic. The notes grew increasingly clinical and detached, documenting each discovery until finally, the last entries were almost incomprehensible. It seemed that the son, too, had met a terrible fate—his brain slowly turning to steel. His work was sealed away by his son until it was used by a further descendent.
Lucian closed the book, his heart pounding. The legacy of his family's magic lay before him, written in cold metal.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, none of Lucian's other forebears had been able to establish a connection with the entity known as the Smith of Flesh after the first recorded encounter. The book, however, meticulously detailed two separate rituals associated with this dark power.
The first was the Ritual Flesh to Steel — a gruesome process that allowed the user to channel the power of the Smith of Flesh. Lucian couldn't help but grimace as he read about it.
The ritual required the participant to consume over 100 grams of iron, 1 gram of coal, and then place a body part—typically a hand, arm, or even a toe—into a furnace, hammering it to transform the flesh. Detailed notes filled the pages, documenting the exact ratios of materials needed to maximise magic while minimising the damage done to the body. However, the experiments had their limits. Only so many volunteers had performed the ritual on themselves—after all, each person had only a finite number of hands, arms, and toes to sacrifice. Of course, there many ways to regrow limbs with magic but they all come with their prices.
The results were clear: the process had to be voluntary. When the ritual was performed on unwilling subjects, the outcomes were horrific. One such attempt nearly led the family to collapse. They had tried to use an unwilling victim in the ritual, and the results were catastrophic. Every person in the forge died that day, and the city's guards sealed off the area, confiscating everything inside.
The "optimal" method described in the book involved swallowing 200 grams of iron in small round balls and 3 grams of charcoal, followed by the hammering of a toe in the furnace. This method could generate two units of magic per ritual. One unit was defined as enough magic to grant the body the strength and resilience of steel for one second. Alternatively, the magic could be focused on specific parts of the body, costing less energy. But the real price was far more dire: for each unit of magic used, roughly 100 grams of the user's flesh would be transformed into living metal.
The second ritual described was the Ritual of Forging. This ritual allowed the smith to create powerful magical items using the living metal harvested from their own body, combined with other magical materials. However, the cost was severe: once a body part had been used to extract living metal, it would never regenerate. The sacrifice was permanent.