Chapter 488 - The Reforging

Hope you like the chapter! Also Book 2 of Der Heckenmagier came out today for germans. Got hit with an early 2 star if anyone with a german amazon account could bolster the ranks a little with a rating/review.

The carriage came to a halt before the temle steps. Hump and the others stiffened. “What do you mean the world is collapsing?”

Princess Urella’s smile was sad. “You must not speak of this. Very few outside of the inner circle of the Temple are informed. Not even Prince Marcoff, I believe. The maker’s craft holds the islands together, but it is not perfect. The bindings are failing. The land drifts farther apart with each passing year, and more and more of our outer islands are vanishing into the Beyond.”

“The Beyond?” Hump asked.

“The dark abyss that surrounds us. We do not know what lies amongst the stars, but I have seen entire villages disappear into it never to return. Whole communities swallowed up. Eventually, even the Maker’s craft will fail, and when that happens…” she exhaled slowly.” Everything ends.”

“And you think we can stop it?” Bud asked, frowning.

“The Maker has foretold it. Long has he been silent, but he has declared that the five of you are the answer. High Priest Jerard will tell you more inside, but I wanted to see for myself the kind of people you are.”

Before they could speak more, the sound of footsteps broke the moment. Prince Marcoff opened the carriage door, Acalin and the rest of his party at his side. The air thickened once more with tension, but Urella’s face fell back into practiced serenity.

“Let us not keep High Priest Jerard waiting,” Urella said. “Acalin, you must wait outside.”

“Of course, Urella,” Acalin said.

“In which case, I will return to the university,” Karo said discretely. “I’ve delayed long enough. When you have time, come find me Hump and Dylan. I’ll show you around.”

Tamira, Meli, and Yoltze spoke briefly before Meli said, “We will go too.”

“Are you coming, Acalin?” Tamira asked.

“I’ll wait outside,” Acalin said.

“Thank you, Acalin,” Bud said. “We will see you shortly. And everyone, let us meet again once we’ve rested.”

Meli gave them a smile.

“Meli, I’d like to try some of the food you’ve told us about,” Emilia said.

“Me too,” Celaine added.

With a final exchange of goodbyes, they parted ways. Hump felt the wind in his cloak as he stepped from the carriage and made his way up the steps to the temple doors. They had travelled far, and now finally they could take a step toward returning home.

As they walked, Hump couldn’t help but feel like they’d been caught up in some kind of plot. Why would the world suddenly fall apart now when it had held together for so long? And why didn’t Loften tell them when they met before?

It wasn’t adding up, but there was nothing to be done for now. He’d hear them out, and do his best to gather more information to make an informed decision.

The doors of the Temple of the Maker parted silently, giant stone panels moving with such precision and smoothness that the mechanism itself was astonishing to Hump. Golden light spilled into the entrance hall, not from any natural sun, but from a high arched ceiling glowing with its own light—the same light as the beacon at the very peak. The structure was vast beyond reason, dwarfing the group as they stepped inside, as if it were built for giants rather than mortals.

White and gold stone vaulted overhead in layered arches, every surface carved with runework and paintings. While Hump had expected the temple to the crafter god himself to be grand, he had not quite expected such a difference to the temples of Elenvine. Loften’s Chosen had always been the greatest crafters in Alveron, but the people here… they took it to an entirely new level. The air was thick with the sanctity of a deep, ancient power that pressed down on Hump’s chest like an invisible armour. He felt his soul withdrawn—not supressed exactly, but no longer at full strength. If he called upon it, he thought he could overwhelm this force, but it would be impossible to hide from it.

Without a doubt, Loften knew they were there, and he knew all that took place within these walls.

Temple attends filled the vast halls. They were towering figures to Hump, as with all the altari, and they drifted like spirits in their robes, their movement slow and deliberate. Unlike Hump and the others whose footsteps were like drumbeats across the marble floor, other than Celaine who was as silent as always. Some watched with open curiosity as Hump and his companions were led inside, while others whispered among themselves in voices too soft to carry. The echoes of their murmurs laced through the air like ghostly whispers, bouncing off the high-vaulted ceiling.

Stained glass windows filtered the beacon’s golden light into brilliant patterns farther in, casting halos of crimson, sapphire, and emerald across their path.

It was there they met the high priest once more. “Welcome to the Foundry. Do feel at ease. There is no place in the world safer than here for those that follow the Maker. Within these walls, we are blessed by His gaze, no evil may take root, and no curse may endure.”

“Thank you, High Priest,” Bud said. “Loften’s temple is even more remarkable than I anticipated. We have Chosen of Loften at home, but I do not know of a place that could match this.”

“Your words are kind,” High Priest Jerard said.

“I have come as you demanded,” Prince Marcoff said. “We are here now, Jerard, so let us move this along.”

“Calm yourself, Marcoff,” Urella said. “You are always so quick to anger. This is a good day.”

“Perhaps, but I will not be so quick to make my judgement,” Marcoff’s eyes ran over Hump and his party. Hump didn’t like the way he stared down at them, judging them. “It is—”

Hump stopped listening as a sudden surge of emotion pulsed through his bond with Nisha. He turned in time to see her eyes wide, mouth hangining open. She let out a sudden, powerful roar the reverberated through the chamber like the cry of a great beast in a stone canyon. Her tail lashed back and forth, paws tapping with excitement, and she opened her jaws again.

“Stop!” Hump snapped, stepping in front of her. “Nisha! What are you doing? Quiet!”

She grumbled, sitting down heavily on her hunches, blinking at him innocently.

Hump looked around the temple to find everyone had stopped. The attendants stared, shocked and silent at the sudden noise. He turned back to the others, cheeks burning. “Sorry,” he muttered. “She wanted to hear the echo.”

Celaine burst out laughing, followed quickly by the others.

“Not for a thousand years has such noise been heard in here,” Urella said quietly. “Even the Maker will have heard her.”

The prince frowned.

Jerard only smiled, the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes deepening. “Prince Marcoff is right. There is much to discuss. Others are already waiting in the Forgeheart. Come.”

As they continued, Hump glared at Nisha beside him. “Don’t get any ideas.”

The Forgeheart was the inner sanctum, sealed within a great gaze of bronze and stone, scenes of colossal beings kneeling in reverence before a figure with a hammer on his shoulder, and light at his back. Loften, Hump assumed. The deep chamber opened before them, circular and colossal, the domed ceiling lost in shadow. Five towering statues of long dead holy ones and priests lined the walls, each even taller than the usual altari, clad in the battle regalia of hardened warriors, their faces hidden behind sealed helmets. Beside each of the statues was a priest.

At the centre of the room was a giant anvil, and it was there that High Priest Jerard went to stand. Hump followed Princess Urella and Prince Marcoff farther into the room, coming to a stop on the other side of the anvil. He looked up at the shadowy dome above, all of it coming together to form a downward cone that pointed at the anvil. From the centre, he saw the glimmer of light in the thousands of runes that covered it, and the faint red glow coming from the very tip.

“Why here?” Prince Marcoff asked. “Why are they so important?”

“It is time, Prince,” said High Priest Jerard. Though his voice was soft, it carried the force of prophecy. A tremor of restrained ecstasy shivered through each word. “The Reforging draws near. The Maker’s voice echoes once more, and in His will, I have seen the hour.”

“What are you saying?” Marcoff asked. “Why now? Why them?”

“The stars of fate have aligned,” Jerard said. “The Outerworlders have come as foretold. They shall descend into the hollow depths—into the place of unmaking. There, they shall shatter the final chains. In His awakening, the world shall be made anew. As it was before the Sundering.”

And there it is, Hump thought. Fanaticism. The blind, fervent worship that turned men into instruments. The kind that welcomed annihilation, so long as it came from a god’s hand. All of a sudden, the High Priest reminded him of home.

“Why has no one freed Lord Loften before?” Emilia asked.

“His prison is constructed in such a way as to restrict the numbers of those that enter,” Princess Urella said. “There have been attempts in the past, but all that enter have perished without question. We do not know what lies in wait inside, only that nobody has returned from it.”

“Loften told us to come here for aid,” Hump said. “If none of you have ever returned, what help can you offer us?”

“We shall mend the Druid’s wounds,” High Priest Jerard said, looking to Dylan. “Our forges will shape him a new limb—wrought of the Maker’s flame and runecraft. We shall arm you with relics of the First Age. Provide potions, constructs, transportation—whatever your quest demands. We shall escort you to the edge of the dungeon, but beyond that—”

“—Beyond is for you alone,” came a booming voice. Not spoken, but carried on essence, vibrating in Hump’s bones just as it reverberated in his mind. Hump searched for the source, his eyes coming to a stop on the central statue, the eyes now shining with blue essence.

“Greetings, Blood of Kings. Guests of the Maker. Know us and be unafraid.”

Marcoff recoiled a step, his words stolen by either awe or fear. Hump couldn’t tell. Princess Urella dropped to her knees and bowed.

Hump sensed the power in each of them, but he didn’t understand it. They felt like… people, but he saw no break in their armour. Runes covered every part of them, shining brighter as they woke. He activated Spirit Sight and saw a spiral of light pouring from their chests. Sensed the soul within them—sealed within the statues. They were neither alive nor dead, but something inbetween.

“We are the Herald’s of Iron,” said the first. “We have slept, but the hour has come. The chains will break. The Maker shall rise in strength and reforge the world anew.”

A second Herarld rumbled. “The fire has returned. You walk in His wake. You are the key that turns the lock, and the will that answers prophecy. The time of waiting is ended.”

And then the third spoke, its voice like the tolling of a bell. “The Iron bears witness. The world shall be whole again.”

Hump looked between the High Priest and the towering statues, taken aback by their words as they continued reverberating through the chamber. He fought to keep his face steady, to not betray the unease crawling through his chest.

Loften had never said any of this to them.

There had been no mention of reforging the world. No declaration of prophecy. No talk of divine destiny. Just a shattered map of floating lands and a prison buried deep within an ancient dungeon. Loften had spoken of exile, of betrayal by his fellow gods, of being stripped of his spark and cast aside. What the Heralds called Reforging, Loften had framed as simple survival. Escape. Revenge.

So why did these this High Priest and these living statues speak of foretelling? Were they being misled? Or was he? The thought twisted in his gut, but he at least pretended to take their words seriously. Once they were out of this place, they could talk freely, but here in the temple, Loften could likely hear everything.