Chapter 7 — The Age of Forging
1500 Words
When Eirena opened her eyes, she thought at first that the stars had fallen.
They hung low in the sky huge, molten spheres burning with every hue of silver and violet, close enough that she could feel the warmth against her skin. The air was alive with whispers, soft and eternal, as if the constellations themselves were breathing.
Kael stood beside her on the cliff, his expression half awe, half disbelief.
“Tell me that’s not what I think it is,” he said quietly.
Eirena’s voice came out reverent.
“It is. The age of the Star-Forger.”
Below them stretched a valley made of light and stone, carved by rivers that glowed like veins of mercury. Giant towers of crystal rose from the plain, some half-formed, others shattered in midair as if the act of creation had simply… paused. The world shimmered like a half-finished dream.
Kael knelt, touching the ground. It thrummed beneath his fingers.
“Feels alive.”
“It is,” she murmured. “In this time, magic hasn’t been tamed yet. It still breathes.”
The realization struck her hard: she was walking inside a memory that predated the fae, before the first Crown, before her mother’s dominion. And somewhere in this time, the original power that shaped her lineage waited.
They descended the slope toward the valley, following a path etched in soft light. Each step they took resonated faintly, like notes in a song older than time.
Kael glanced at her.
“You’ve been quiet.”
Eirena smiled faintly. “I’m trying to listen. The air here hums with creation. Every breath carries a word of the first language.”
“First language?”
“The one the gods used to shape reality,” she explained. “They spoke, and the stars obeyed.”
Kael gave a low whistle. “I’ll stick to cursing in mine, thanks.”
Her smile widened. For a moment, the exhaustion that had shadowed her since the Mirror Coast eased. But it didn’t last long. Ahead, the air shimmered, and a figure stepped out from the light.
He was tall, robed in flowing silver, his hair white as frost, his eyes like twin stars. Yet when he looked at Eirena, something flickered there recognition.
“You carry the thorns,” he said.
Eirena froze. “Who are you?”
“The first Forger,” the figure said, his voice resonating like the ring of crystal. “I shaped the Crown that your mother wields.”
Kael instinctively moved closer to her.
“Then you’re the reason all this started.”
The Forger’s expression didn’t change. “Am I? Or did she twist what was meant to free the heavens into what now binds them?”
Eirena stepped forward. “Tell me the truth, then. Why was the Crown made?”
He regarded her quietly, then turned and gestured for them to follow.
“Walk with me.”
They crossed a bridge made of starlight, spanning a chasm filled with swirling nebulae. Below, shapes drifted—ghosts of nascent constellations, half-born and radiant. The Forger’s voice carried easily over the wind.
“In the beginning,” he said, “there was the Breath. The first current of creation. It moved through the void, calling stars to life. But the Breath was wild—chaos as much as beauty. Every age, a mortal or immortal rose to try and contain it. I was one of them.”
He paused, watching the river of light flow beneath them.
“I shaped the Crown not to rule the stars, but to anchor them—to keep the worlds from unraveling under their pulse. But to give something shape is also to give it limit. And in that limit, darkness was born.”
Eirena’s heart pounded.
“My mother said the Crown was her inheritance.”
The Forger’s gaze softened.
“It is, in a way. Each bearer inherits not the Crown’s power, but its burden. They carry the Breath and are consumed by it, piece by piece. Your mother simply stopped fighting that consumption.”
Kael scowled. “So you made a trap and called it a gift.”
“A necessary one,” the Forger said calmly. “Without it, the stars would have devoured the realms long ago.”
Eirena’s fingers brushed the thorns embedded in her skin, their faint light pulsing against her heartbeat.
“If that’s true, then destroying the Crown could undo everything.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “But so could keeping it intact.”
Kael sighed. “Great. So no good choices.”
The Forger turned toward Eirena.
“There is one choice that remains. The thorns you’ve gathered are fragments of the Crown’s first shape. Reunite them, and you may forge anew. Not destroy. Not bind. Remake.”
“Remake the Crown?” she repeated.
“No,” he said softly. “Remake the balance.”
They reached the heart of the valley a forge unlike any Kael had ever seen. It was not built of stone or metal but of light. Rings of energy floated above a molten core, its radiance both beautiful and terrible. Suspended within it was a single chain, each link carved from starfire.
“This is where the Crown was born,” the Forger said. “And where it can be remade.”
Eirena took a slow step forward. The air vibrated around her, responding to the thorns in her chest. The light bent toward her, as if recognizing blood long lost.
Kael’s voice was low. “Eirena, careful.”
But she barely heard him. The energy thrummed in her bones, whispering in the First Language words she didn’t understand but somehow knew were hers. Fragments of creation danced at the edge of her mind.
The Forger watched silently.
“The Breath remembers its vessel.”
“What happens if she finishes it?” Kael asked, jaw tight.
“She will become what the Breath desires,” the Forger said. “A living star.”
“Meaning she dies?”
“Meaning she transcends,” he corrected. “But mortals seldom see the difference.”
Kael moved to stand between Eirena and the forge. “Not happening. Not like this.”
The Forger raised a hand, calm but firm.
“Would you deny her what she was born to be?”
Kael glared at him. “If it means she lives yes.”
Eirena turned, eyes glowing faintly.
“Kael. I can hear them. The stars they’re crying. They want release.”
He took her hands, grounding her. “And maybe you can free them without losing yourself. But not by letting that thing consume you.”
The Forger’s expression flickered something between sorrow and understanding.
“You love her. That is your flaw. And your gift.”
Then he touched the air before him, and the forge’s light dimmed, revealing a vast mural of moving constellations. Within it glimmered a path a spiral of stars leading upward, vanishing into darkness.
“The thorns will guide you to the remaining fragments,” he said. “But be warned: each one will test what you fear most. The Mirror showed you reflection. The next will show you loss.”
Eirena steadied herself.
“Where do we find it?”
“In the Valley of Echoes, where memory dies hardest,” the Forger said. “Follow the river when it turns to glass.”
He began to fade, light scattering from his form like dust. But before he vanished completely, his voice reached them one last time.
“Remember, daughter of light: the Breath does not choose lightly. And when it comes for you again, do not run.”
Silence fell.
Only the forge remained, pulsing gently like a heart. Eirena looked at it one last time, then turned away, exhaustion written across her features.
Kael walked beside her as they left the valley, the air growing colder with every step.
“So,” he said, voice rough, “you could become a star. That supposed to make me feel better?”
She laughed weakly. “You’d have to start worshipping me.”
“Not my style.”
“Then don’t start now.”
She stopped at the ridge, watching the dawn spread across the half-made world.
“You heard him. The thorns can remake the balance. Maybe… maybe we can end it without destroying everything.”
Kael leaned on his sword, watching her.
“You sound like someone who almost believes that.”
“I want to.”
He nodded slowly.
“Then I’ll believe it for you.”
She smiled, small and tired but real.
“Thank you, Kael.”
The wind shifted, carrying with it a faint hum the echo of the Forger’s forge, fading into memory. The world around them shimmered once, then bled back into the color of their own time. The past dissolved, leaving them once more in the wilderness between realms.
- Writer
