The Ironworks Plaza was shrouded in an oppressive stillness. Hundreds of eyes, from seasoned smiths to miners hardened by years of toil, were fixed on the Augury standing at the center. His words, sharp and deliberate, sliced through the heavy silence:
"Tomorrow, at the ninth hour of the day, the Season of Fire will begin."
A collective shiver seemed to run through the crowd. For a moment, no one moved, no one spoke. The weight of the announcement hung in the air like an anvil poised to drop. Then, slowly, murmurs spread, first in hesitant whispers and then in rising waves of discussion and alarm.
Kalem stood among the crowd, his expression unreadable. Around him, the buzz of voices swelled as miners and smiths exchanged anxious glances. Even the hardened mercenaries and stoic knights betrayed signs of unease.
Vornar stepped forward, his booming voice silencing the crowd. "Enough chatter! You've all had time to prepare for this. Now, steel yourselves for what's coming. We don't have the luxury of panic."
His words cut through the growing unrest, and the crowd began to disperse, each individual returning to their duties or retreating to gather their thoughts. Kalem stayed rooted in place, watching the Augury leave the stage with the same air of mysterious calm that always surrounded him.
Tharic appeared at Kalem's side, his grizzled face grim but resolute. "No turning back now, lad. The next few days will test everyone here."
"I'm ready," Kalem said, though a knot tightened in his stomach.
As evening fell, the Ironworks prepared a grand communal meal, a tradition observed before every major trial. Massive tables were set up in the plaza, laden with roasted meats, steaming vegetables, and freshly baked bread. Even in the face of impending chaos, the aroma of food brought a semblance of normalcy.
Kalem found himself seated between Tharic and a group of smiths, their faces alight with laughter and camaraderie despite the looming danger. He listened as they exchanged stories, tales of previous Seasons of Fire and the lessons learned from those turbulent times.
"It's not just about surviving," one smith said, his voice thick with ale. "It's about proving you've got what it takes to endure the worst and still come out stronger."
Tharic grunted in agreement. "Aye, but don't underestimate what's coming. You think you've seen chaos? This will make all that seem like child's play."
Kalem remained quiet, his thoughts racing as he toyed with a piece of bread. For all his preparations, there was no telling what the Season of Fire would truly bring.
After the feast, the plaza cleared as people retired to their quarters or lingered in small groups, sharing quiet conversations. Kalem, unable to sleep, wandered the Ironworks, his mind restless.
He passed the forges, now dormant, their fires banked in anticipation of the coming turmoil. The tools and weapons he had crafted sat neatly arranged, ready for whatever battles lay ahead.
Eventually, he found himself at the edge of the valley, staring out at the peaks silhouetted against the starry sky. The tremors had grown more frequent, and the faint glow of magma was visible in the distance, a harbinger of the chaos to come.
Vornar's voice broke the silence. "Can't sleep, eh?"
Kalem turned to see the old smith approaching, his hands tucked into his coat.
"Just thinking," Kalem admitted. "About what's coming."
Vornar nodded, his gaze fixed on the glowing peaks. "You're not alone in that. Everyone's feeling it, whether they admit it or not. But fear's not the enemy here, Kalem. It's letting that fear stop you from acting that'll get you killed."
Kalem absorbed the words, his resolve hardening. "I'll be ready."
Vornar smiled faintly. "You'd better be. Tomorrow, the fire comes for us all."
The two stood in silence for a while longer, the faint rumble of distant tremors serving as a reminder that their time was running out.
As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, the Ironworks stirred to life. Workers, warriors, and craftsmen prepared for the day with a mix of determination and trepidation. Kalem stood among them, his weapons strapped to his back, his focus core glowing faintly against his chest.
The ninth hour loomed ever closer, and with it, the Season of Fire.