Gaia

Chapter 21: Kaelthar Awakened

The scream tore through the forge.

It was not loud at first—more a thin, keening sound, like metal stretched too far—but it rose fast, twisting into something raw and furious. The stone walls shuddered. Embers flared in their channels, bleeding brighter light into the room.

Shiloh clamped his hands over his ears. “What is that?!”

Corin didn’t flinch—but his face drained of color.

“That,” he said tightly, “is the object.”

“The—what?” Shay demanded, her pulse hammering.

“The thing Master Emberhold is working on,” Corin replied. “Steel doesn’t just bend under heat like that unless it’s fighting back.”

The scream sharpened, becoming almost human—rage and grief tangled together.

“Why is it screaming?” Shiloh asked, voice trembling.

Corin swallowed. “Because it’s being woken. And waking hurts.” He hesitated, then added quietly, “Especially when the steel remembers dying.”

Shiloh stared at the walls. “Is it… alive?”

“In the way storms are,” Corin said. “Or grief.”

Shiloh frowned, then asked the question that had clearly been building. “Then why can you touch things, but we can’t?”

Corin looked at his hands—scarred, burned, marked by old cuts. “Because the forge knows me,” he said simply. “I was bound here before I ever lifted a hammer. Oaths. Blood. Time.” He met Shiloh’s eyes. “Unbound hands make steel nervous.”

The scream faded abruptly—cut off mid-note.

Silence slammed down in its wake.

Corin exhaled slowly. “Come on. Shields next. They’ll steady the air.”

They moved toward the far wall, where shields hung in layered rows—round, kite, tower—iron-braced and wood-backed. One caught Shay’s attention immediately.

Its face was dark steel, but its spine was inlaid with a channel of gemstones, set carefully down the blade-shaped ridge: smoky quartz, pale garnet, shards of moonstone—each seated with painstaking precision. At the center, set into the boss, burned a single crimson ruby, deep and alive, as though lit from within.

“That’s beautiful,” Shay murmured.

Corin nodded. “Defensive wards. The stones drink impact—magic or otherwise—and redirect it. That ruby anchors the spellwork. Keeps the shield from… panicking.”

Shiloh blinked. “Shields panic?”

“Less often than swords,” Corin said dryly.

They turned back toward the main floor—

—and the world lurched.

Damian and Brannik emerged from the inner forge.

Both men looked as though they had walked for days without rest. Brannik’s braids had come loose, soot streaked his face, and his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. Damian’s armor was scorched along the seams, his jaw tight, eyes dark and distant, like someone just returned from a long, unforgiving road.

Before either could speak—

The knife pulsed.

Once. Twice.

The blade Shay had noticed earlier—the one Corin had rehung—began to vibrate against its brackets.

The gemstones along its length flared to life.

Shay’s breath hitched.

The pull struck her all at once—low, deep, undeniable. It seized her chest, wrapped around her heart, and pulled. Not forward.

Homeward.

Her veins lit with heat. Power rushed through her limbs, bright and intoxicating. Her head swam—not with fear, but with certainty. Courage flooded her. Strength. Purpose.

She felt ready.

Ready to slay whatever dared stand in her way.

The ruby in the hilt burned brighter as she stepped closer.

Brannik’s eyes snapped to her.

“Corin,” he said sharply. Before Corin could respond, the blade screamed again—and tore free and fell through the air.

Brannik caught it mid-air without looking, his grip firm, reverent.

At the same instant, Damian was at Shay’s side, hands gripping her shoulders. “Shay—look at me.”

She barely heard him.

The blade whispered.

Not aloud—but inside her bones.

Come home.

Remember them.

Remember the blood.

Images flooded her—fire, screams, her village, her loved ones fallen. Rage sharpened into something clean and lethal.

Shiloh stared, frozen, eyes wide. “Shay…?”

Brannik spoke—to the blade.

“Enough,” he said calmly.

The knife vibrated in his hands, gemstones blazing.

“I hear you,” Brannik continued, voice low and steady. “But not yet.”

The blade’s scream faltered.

Brannik turned his gaze to Shay.

She stood rigid, shoulders squared like a warrior on the brink of battle. Her eyes glowed—brighter than emberlightI—something ancient looking out through them.

“Easy,” Brannik said, every word deliberate, the blade still burning, Brannik wrapped

both of his hands firm around the hilt, boots braced against the stone as the blade fought him. He did not raise his voice.

“I know you,” he said calmly. “I know your grief. But its not time.....”

The blade screamed louder. Shay screaming with it in a battle cry, her eyes turned a golden haze burning from her soul, her hands started to glow a brilliant blue as she lunged forward to take the blade that was calling her. As she moved the forge shook, like an earthquake and the walls breathing with molten color veins pulsing. Corin threw a quick concerned look at Brannik, which Damian saw as he quickly sprung into action. Grabbing Shay around the waist and pulling her back just before her fingers touched the hilt of the blade calling her.

The knights outside burst through the doors as Damian pulled Shay backwards. Damian yelled "Get Shiloh out of here now"! They moved forward and grabbed Shiloh as the blade screamed again this time an ear splitting long blood curdling scream for its new owner. Shays blood starting feeling hot coarsing through her veins, she stepped forward again to grasp the hilt, now speaking in a foreign tongue, her eyes rolling back in her head "

Shay’s blood surged, hot and electric. She stepped forward again, shield strapped to her arm, heart pounding in rhythm with the ruby in the hilt. Her eyes rolled back, burning gold, her hands glowing blue. She spoke in a voice that was not entirely her own, words ancient and alive:

"Kaelthar veyun draesh, orun thalmar siroth! Veyra kulthas, nyrath ulmir!"

The words tore from her, ancient and alive. Kaelthar… the one called… the blade, she realized she knew without thinking. Veyun draesh… hear me… calling… Every syllable vibrated through her chest. Orun thalmar siroth… let power awaken… She could feel the molten veins of the forge thrum with recognition. Veyra kulthas, nyrath ulmir… I am yours… claim me!

The knife screamed with her, vibrating violently on the wall. Gemstones flared along its length, the ruby in its hilt exploding with light. The pulse of the blade slammed into her chest, and she could feel it pulling, dragging at her very soul.

Brannik planted his feet, gripping the hilt with all his strength, straining to hold it back. “Not yet! Stay away!” he shouted, muscles trembling, sweat streaking his face. The blade fought him, shrieking, pulsing, alive with fury.

The forge reacted violently. Molten veins pulsed faster, walls groaned and shimmered with heat. Sparks leapt from the hearths. Dust and embers filled the air. Even the village beyond the forge trembled; roofs rattled, windows shattered, villagers screamed and ran in panic.

Damian roared, straining to shield Shiloh. “Kianna! Grayson! Evacuate the streets! NOW!”

The knights surged forward, pulling Shiloh to safety. As they dragged him outside, the boy’s terrified voice rang out, “Shay! Please!”

Shay felt the separation like a dagger to her chest, feeding her rage. Her scream grew louder, her battle cry ringing through the forge.

Suddenly, Lyra burst into the room, hands glowing with warding sigils. “Shay! Stop! You’ll destroy yourself—and the village!”

Shay barely registered her. The chant continued, louder, a torrent of ancient syllables:

"Kaelthar! Veyun! Draaaesh! Orun! Thalmar! Siroth! Veyra! Kulthas! Nyrath! Ulmir!"

With each word, the blade shrieked, the ruby pulsing like a heartbeat of war. Shay’s veins burned with power. The forge shook violently; molten veins raced like a living heart. Sparks danced, shields trembled, the ceiling creaked. She was a force incarnate, every syllable fueling the weapon that called to her.

Brannik gritted his teeth, struggling to hold the blade. “Calm!” he shouted to it, speaking the words of the chant back as if the steel could understand. “Calm, Kaelthar! Hear her, but do not claim her!”

The fear for her brother pushed her further, rage feeding her chant. Her scream reached a c****x, primal and unstoppable. Walls cracked, the forge trembled as if it might collapse. Outside, the village shook harder, villagers bolted, animals scattered, doors and windows rattling.

Damian’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and urgent, tinged with raw worry: “Kianna! Grayson! Evacuate the streets! NOW! Shay! Come back to me! I need you!”

Lyra’s wards struck the blade, sparks flying as her magic met the ruby’s furious pulse, but it barely slowed Shay’s connection. The forge seemed alive, molten veins racing, breathing, vibrating in response to her fury.

Shay’s scream reached a final, desperate crescendo, a primal battle cry fused with the chant:

"Kaelthar… veyun draesh… orun thalmar siroth… veyra kulthas… nyrath ulmir!"

And then, suddenly, all at once, the fire within her collapsed. Her hands went limp. Her glowing eyes dimmed. Brannik stumbled back, still gripping the hilt, sweat pouring down his face. The forge quieted slowly, molten veins slowing, emberlight softening.

Damian caught her as she fell, cradling her with desperation. “Shay… come back… please… I need you here,” he murmured, worry etched into every word, holding her tightly as the chaos subsided.

Shay struggled to focus, weak and trembling. “Shiloh?”

“He’s safe,” Damian said, voice still tense, guiding her gently. “With the knights. Protected. He’s okay.”

Lyra exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders. Brannik, still holding the blade, nodded once at Shay. “It knows you now. It waits.”

Shay sank onto the bed, exhausted, as the forge itself seemed to watch her—quiet, alive, waiting for what would come next.