The forge of Astradan was unlike anything Aldric had ever seen.
Set deep within the Solari quarter, it radiated divine power, its very foundation infused with the resonance of past creations. The heat was immense, but it did not burn—the warmth was controlled, purposeful, as if the flames themselves obeyed the will of those who worked them.
This was no mere workshop. This was a sacred space, where the divine and the mortal met in steel and scripture.
At its center stood Soluna, the master blacksmith of the Solari. Her scarred hands rested on her hips, her golden eyes sharp with assessment. Around her, other artisans moved in quiet efficiency, their work precise, their reverence apparent.
To her side stood Sight-Rider, the Lunari Future-Seer who had foretold Aldric and Lysara's arrival. She watched them with her large, silvered eyes, unreadable yet knowing, as if she had already witnessed this moment before it even began.
Soluna finally spoke, her voice steady, powerful.
"Sight-Rider has asked that I craft a divine artifact for you." Her gaze flickered between them, then down to their satchels, their hands, the way they carried themselves. "She assures me you have the materials to make something worthy of the gods. Let's see them."
Aldric and Lysara set their packs down and began laying out the sacred components.
First, the ores—raw and unshaped, but brimming with potential.
Aldric's ore: A dense, gleaming metal, its weight a testament to its durability—a perfect core for a shield.
Lysara's ore: A dark, reflective alloy, its surface shifting in the forge light—suited for a sacred symbol, a conduit of divine will.
Next, the fragments of the Holy Tree's bark, still pulsing faintly with divine essence. Soluna's eyebrows lifted slightly as she picked up a piece. She turned it over in her hand, assessing, calculating.
"A young tree," she murmured. "Not yet at full maturity, but still potent. This will do."
Then came the scriptures, carefully selected from the recovered texts.
Soluna's expression hardened slightly as she ran her fingers over the delicate pages, her eyes flickering with understanding. She traced the faded ink, the sacrifices that had gone into preserving these words.
"You paid a cost for these," she said. It was not a question.
Aldric only nodded.
Finally, they presented the canticle—a passage thought lost to time, its verses meant to complete the missing fragments of the scripture, carrying the weight of a god's decree.
Soluna's brows furrowed. She carefully unrolled it, her fingers steady but her expression shifting.
She stared at the words for a long moment before finally speaking.
"These shouldn't exist. They were lost to time," she said quietly.
Lysara stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Sight-Rider answered instead, her voice soft but certain. "They were stolen from the Divine Cradle."
Lysara's scales darkened instantly. "You're telling me the Keepers looted the Prime temple?"
Sight-Rider tilted her head. "Not all Keepers. But those of Vadore? Yes."
Lysara's hands curled into fists. "I should have taken everything," she muttered. "Every last scripture, every relic. We were too merciful."
Aldric exhaled slowly. He had suspected as much—the way the Keeper had hoarded knowledge, the hunger in his eyes when he spoke of the sacred texts. But to have it confirmed... it left a sour taste in his mouth.
Soluna gave a short, approving nod. "Well, you've reclaimed them now. And they'll be used for something greater than greed."
Then she reached for the final component—the vial of ink.
She picked it up carefully, tilting it slightly, watching the shimmer of light trapped within.
She frowned. Then, she turned to them, studying them both. "There's blood in this."
Aldric nodded. "Ours."
Lysara crossed her arms. "The Keeper suggested it. Said it would make the ink stronger."
Soluna was silent for a long moment, rolling the vial between her fingers.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
"Well," she said, "for once, he wasn't wrong.
She set the ink down, her expression considering. "This should strengthen the final result. If you've mixed your blood with scripture, with divine essence, then the item created from it will be bonded to you in ways few artifacts are."
Her smile deepened. "You may even find that it allows for something… more."
Aldric and Lysara exchanged a look.
The blacksmith, Soluna, inspected the materials once more—the ores, the holy tree bark, the scripture, the canticle, and the shimmering ink that carried Aldric and Lysara's own blood. Each piece was laid out with reverence, their significance undeniable. These were not just components. They were offerings.
She ran her scarred hands over the ore and bark, nodding with satisfaction. "This will make a fine shield and a holy symbol—but there is one more decision to make."
Her gaze flickered to the canticles.
"Your guardian deities have already blessed you," she said, voice measured. "But in order for these artifacts to hold true power, you must choose a canticle from another god—one that will make you stronger."
Aldric frowned. He hadn't expected this. He wanted to use a protection prayer from Tellik.
Lysara, however, saw the logic immediately.
"This would let us use prayers we wouldn't normally have access to," she reasoned, crossing her arms. "A chance to draw on power outside our own faiths."
Aldric exhaled, turning to the sacred texts, the canticles etched onto parchment, written in the divine script of gods long before their time.
They poured over them, weighing the choices carefully. This wasn't just about strength—it was about what would shape them moving forward.
"The Star Gods make the most sense," Lysara murmured. "We're in their domain. Their favour is our best chance of success."
Aldric nodded slowly. The logic was sound.
And then, he found it.
Canticle of the Oathbound.
He read the words, feeling their meaning settle into his chest like a vow already spoken. He understood what it meant. He could use the Canticle to bind his fate to one ally. If the ally would take mortal harm, Aldric takes part of the damage instead. While within range of his bond, he would receive the ability to become unmovable when intercepting attacks.
"A vow spoken beneath the stars is a vow written in the heavens….. The Oathbound shall never break, nor shall those who stand beside them."
His grip tightened on the parchment. It fit. It fits too well.
Aldric had spent his life following a code of service, of duty, of unwavering protection. Now, standing at the precipice of something greater than himself, he knew. He also knew who he wanted to protect. He looked over at Lysara.
"I choose Oathbound," he said, voice steady.
Soluna nodded approvingly. "A fine choice."
Lysara scanned the remaining canticles, considering.
She needed something that would make her more than a healer. More than a support. She needed something that would let her control the battlefield.
Her eyes landed on Canticle of the Binding Light.
"The sun does not ask; it commands.... The unworthy kneel before its radiance."
A smirk tugged at her lips. Perfect. She understood, with this Canticle, she could control the battlefield. The Canticle would root enemies in place—forcing them to kneel or falter, breaking momentum-based attacks and if resisted their movements are still slowed.
"I'll take Binding Light," she said.
Soluna studied them both, then smiled—a slow, knowing smile. "Then let's begin."
She met their gazes, her golden eyes sharp with focus. "But before we begin, you need to understand the process."
Aldric and Lysara listened intently.
Soluna gestured toward the sacred materials laid out before them.
"The Holy Tree bark and the scripture you've chosen will be fused into a single entity—a divine parchment capable of holding the words of a god," she explained. "This is no ordinary process. It is not just craftsmanship."
"With the aid of the forge and the gods' blessing, I will use ritual prayer to merge the scripture and the Holy Bark, binding them together into a parchment infused with divine essence."
Lysara's silver eyes narrowed slightly. "And then?"
"Then comes the real challenge."
Soluna gestured toward the canticles they had chosen—Oathbound for Aldric, Binding Light for Lysara.
"You will take the parchment, and with a vial of your sacred ink, you will travel into divine space—a place connected to the god."
Aldric's jaw tightened. "Divine space?" He had never heard of such a place.
Soluna nodded. "A pocket of the divine realm. It is where the gods can see you fully—not as flesh, but as faith. There, you will write your canticle onto the parchment while reciting it aloud. This will be the true test."
Sight-Rider chose this moment to speak. "Astradan was built around this divine realm; it has a direct link to the Veil. This will be your hardest task. My advice is to be honest with the gods from whom you seek a boon."
Lysara crossed her arms. "What happens if we fail?"
Soluna's smirk faded. "If the god you seek does not approve of you wielding their words… the parchment will remain unblessed. The ritual will fail. The resources will be wasted"
Aldric knew what this meant. They weren't just borrowing a god's prayer. They were asking for it directly—and if the god refused them, there would be no second chance.
Soluna exhaled, crossing her arms. "While you do this, I will work the forge. I will craft your shield and holy symbol, shaping them into the weapons they are meant to be." She pointed toward the raw ores they had gathered in the mountain. "The metal you chose will carry the power you bring back."
She picked up one of the vials of shimmering ink, rolling it between her fingers. "Once you return with the blessed parchment, we will merge it with the item. This final step will allow the artifact to store divine power, so you may call upon the canticle without speaking the words."
Lysara raised an eyebrow. "You're saying that once we succeed, the artifact will hold the canticle like a prayer ready to be unleashed?"
Soluna nodded. "Yes. The scripture you write will become part of the item itself. A divine vessel—one that will store holy energy and activate the canticle's power without reciting it each time."
Aldric clenched his fist, his resolve solidifying. If he succeeded, his shield would carry the might of the Oathbound vow—allowing him to protect beyond his own limits.
Lysara exhaled, glancing at the parchment. Binding Light—a commandment of radiance, control, and divine presence, she would wield this power in her own way.
Soluna's sharp eyes swept over them one last time.
"This will be no small task," she said. "Once you step into the divine space, you will be seen—fully seen. If your conviction is weak, if your words falter, the gods will know."
She let the words settle, then smirked. "So I suggest you don't fail."
The forge roared to life, flames surging upward, their golden tongues licking at the darkened ceiling. The air vibrated with the resonance of something ancient—a craft beyond mortal hands.
At the center of it all, Soluna knelt, placing the Holy Tree bark upon the altar of the forge. Her scarred hands pressed against the roughened surface, and she whispered a prayer in the old tongue, her voice steady, unwavering.
The moment the words left her lips, a pulse of golden energy surged outward, spreading through the chamber like ripples on water.
Aldric watched in awe as the bark began to shift, its texture softening, its veins of divine essence glowing like molten light. It twisted, reshaping itself, merging into something more than bark, more than scripture—until it settled into the form of parchment, imbued with divine power.
This was no ordinary craft.
The scripture and the holy tree's power had been woven together, creating something greater than either alone.
Lysara took a steadying breath beside him, her silver eyes narrowed, her shoulders tense but ready. She was not just preparing for this step—she was bracing for what came next.
Soluna rose to her feet, her eyes burning with the reflection of the forge flames.
"You already know what comes next," she said simply, glancing at the two of them. "You succeed, or you do not. There is no in-between."
Then, with a small nod, she turned away, heading toward the workbench where the raw ore waited. She would begin crafting the shield and holy symbol while they sought the gods' blessing.
Aldric tightened his grip on the parchment. They wouldn't fail.
Sight-Rider stepped forward, her large, otherworldly eyes meeting theirs.
"It is time," she said. "But you must not know where we are going."
Aldric and Lysara did not argue.
She blindfolded them, tying thick cloth over their eyes. Next, she plugged their ears, muffling the sound of the forge and the wind. Astradan's greatest secret was the location of its divine gate. To be allowed through was an honour—but knowing how to reach it was a privilege they were not granted.
They walked in silence, guided only by Sight-Rider's firm hand on their shoulders.
Aldric tried to track the direction, tried to count his steps, but the moment he focused, he felt a strange pull, like the ground itself had shifted beneath him. He no longer knew which way was forward.
He exhaled sharply.
Then, they stopped.
The bindings over their eyes were removed, and their ears unblocked.
The world was not the same.
They stood upon a vast, endless expanse of nothingness, a space that felt too large and too small at once. The ground beneath them was solid, but it had no colour, no texture—it was merely there.
Above them, the sky twisted, shifting between a sunlit gold and a deep, starless black, the two extremes fighting for dominance.
Lysara's scales flashed white instantly, her body instinctively shifting into battle-readiness. Aldric felt it too—the hostility in the air, the weight of divine judgment pressing down upon them.
Then, they appeared.
Two beings—or apparitions of them.
One stood bright as the sun, its form towering, unyielding, radiating heat and raw power. It was not a man, nor a beast, but something in between, its outline blurred by the radiance it exuded.
The other was sleek and dark, shifting like shadow given form, its presence calm but dangerous, its movements too smooth, too knowing. Its eyes gleamed like twin slits of moonlight, its grin sharp.
The shadow spoke first, its voice like silk woven with steel.
"So, Mother's Chosen have decided to see the Void."
The radiant figure finally spoke, its voice like rolling thunder.
"So, you have come to request a boon?"
The words echoed, settling over them.
Aldric inhaled deeply, gripping the parchment and ink tightly.
They had come here seeking the favour of the gods.
And now, they would find out if the gods found them worthy.