The Master Smith was not a man, but a mountain of scarred flesh and obsidian-encrusted bone. Ignifer sat at the heart of the forge, his eyes two glowing coals set deep within a face that looked as though it had been hammered into shape from raw iron. He did not speak as he took the Star-Iron from Lyra’s trembling hands; he simply grunted, the sound vibrating through the floor and into the soles of their boots.
"The Star-Iron is a mirror," Ignifer’s voice was a tectonic grind. "It does not just cut flesh. It cuts the soul. To bind it, the vessel and the fire must become one. It requires the Tithe of Life."
Valerius stepped forward, his silver scar pulsing. "We know the price. Take what you need."
Ignifer gestured to a shallow stone basin set into the anvil. It was etched with runes from
