Chapter 173: Departure!

Time ticked by, and the day of the group’s departure from the HeartForge had arrived. It had been 2 days since Albedo had his breakthrough, and he’d spent the last 48 hours consolidating his foundation and mastering his new level of strength.

The HeartForge had continued its endless rhythm in that time, the forge fires roaring and dimming in a cycle that was almost alive. The Infernus Smiths had returned to their routines, the clang of their hammers echoing through molten caverns, the scent of metal and flame forever hanging in the air.

However, something had changed, but it seemed to be only Albedo who truly noticed it.

The faint tremor in the air whenever he walked near the molten rivers, the way the forgefire seemed to bow inward toward him. There was now a very small but noticeable flame authority radiating off of Albedo.

It allowed him to manipulate already burning flames, without even using that much mana, most likely due to his improvement in strength. However, he didn’t test this extensively.

As for the others, they had also spent the previous day making their final preparations. The students had continued refining the weapons and artifacts they had claimed.

Zeus testing his reforged gauntlets until they gleamed like captured suns, Lira meditating beside her Talisman as spectral beasts of molten light prowled around her in lazy circles, and Lucian quietly adjusting the new enchantments on his blade.

Now it was time for them to leave, all the various students stood at the forge’s edge that morning, watching as the great rivers of fire flowed beneath the bridges.

The group had gathered near the colossal gate that served as the HeartForge’s entrance, an obsidian arch carved with ancient runes that glowed faintly in the dawn.

Branthor waited there, his massive hammer slung across his back, his soot-streaked beard still carrying the scent of cinders. The old smith looked tired from the strange melancholy that came with partings.

The air was warm, alive with the forge’s breath. The faint shimmer of light from the molten rivers painted everyone in shades of gold and red.

“Well,” Branthor said at last, voice booming across the chamber, “it’s been one hell of a time, hasn’t it?”

Zeus grinned, cracking his neck, “That’s one way to put it. I thought I was going to die the first day.”

“You almost did,” Lira muttered, smiling faintly. Her red hair shimmered in the glow, and her talisman flickered with ember-like light, “You really need to learn to regulate your inter~”

Zeus raised his hands defensively to cut Lira off from finishing her sentence, “Yeah, yeah, lesson learned, no need to keep focusing on that,”

Branthor laughed heartily, the sound like an anvil’s strike, “Aye, lesson learned indeed. The HeartForge has a way of humbling the proud and testing the stubborn, but it also tempers those who endure it,”

The remaining students, led by Lilian and Ysvara finally arrived to leave, and seeing that everyone was here, Branthor spoke, “Well,” the Infernus Smith said, his voice softening, “wherever your path takes you next, may your flame never dim.”

He turned toward the others. “That goes for all of you. The HeartForge was your trial by fire, and you’ve come through it alive. Whatever comes next, remember what this place gave you. Your weapons, your strength, but most of all, your resolve. That’s what the forge tempers best.”

Lira bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Master Branthor. We’ll remember.”

Zeus raised his fist with a grin, “Yeah! Next time we come back, I’ll be a Holy Rank myself!”

Branthor chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “Hah! If you live that long, boy. Don’t mistake it, after a certain level, it’ll take years upon years to improve even just a minor rank, unless you’re incredibly special of course.”

The group shared quiet laughter, a rare moment of ease after so much heat and trial.

Then came the farewells. The Infernus Smiths lined the great causeway leading out of the forge, their hammers raised in salute, molten runes gleaming on their arms and faces. The air shimmered with pride and reverence, a tradition as old as the forge itself.

As the group began to enter the carriages led by the Spectral Horses, Branthor raised his hammer high, “May your flames burn brighter than your fears!” he roared.

The smiths echoed the call, their voices booming like thunder, “Burn brighter than fear!”

The words shook the carriages, echoing deep across the environment. The carriages continued moving forward, and soon, the air grew cooler and less suffocating, though the faint scent of smoke and iron still clung to everything.

Across from him sat Lira, her crimson hair faintly illuminated by the glowstones lining the carriage walls. She had her legs folded beneath her and her talisman resting on her lap, its surface pulsing with the lazy heartbeat of an ember beast.

She broke the weird silence as she turned to Ysvara, “Soo..where exactly are we heading next?”

Ysvara looked up from the silver tablet she’d been examining. The glow from the rune-screen reflected off her lenses, briefly lighting her sharp green eyes. “Ah, yes. The next site we’ll be visiting…” she paused, letting the words hang for a moment, “is the Sunken City of Vorago.”

Zeus cracked an eye open with a raised eyebrow, “Sunken city? Sounds like a beach trip gone wrong.”

Ysvara’s expression didn’t change, “If you tried to swim there, it would go wrong. Very quickly.”

Elara glanced up from the book she was reading, frowning slightly, “Vorago… I’ve heard of that place before. Isn’t it somewhere in the Demonic Sea?”

“On its outer rim,” Ysvara confirmed, “The Sunken City of Vorago was once the second great Demonic City ever built, a bastion of demonkind before the Abyssal War. During the ancient times, when the Abyss emerged, it was dragged beneath the earth by the will of something far greater. Some scholars believe it was the Abyss itself that swallowed it. Others say it was sealed deliberately… by the Demon Gods.”

The interior of the carriage dimmed slightly as the lightstones flickered. Even the thought of Demon Gods carried an almost tangible weight.

Lira leaned forward, curiosity sparkling in her crimson eyes. “And it’s still there? After all this time?”

“Oh yes,” Ysvara replied, voice soft but unwaverin, . “It lies far beneath the Demonic Sea, encased in stone and water. A drowned labyrinth of cyclopean ruins and alien spires, where even the light bends strangely. The demons call it the city that breathes beneath death.”

Zeus whistled low, “Sounds like a cheerful place.”

“Not in the slightest,” Ysvara said. “The abyssal influence there is… heavy. The waters that flood Vorago are tainted, some say they remember the screams of its citizens even now. Abyssal leviathans roam its boulevards, while specters of the drowned still walk its halls.”

Lira sighed, though her lips curved into a half-grin, “Wonderful. Just another day in the life.”

Zeus chuckled, “You could’ve at least told us to pack swim gear.”

Ysvara arched a brow. “You will be provided enchanted suits by the Archeological Division of the Demon Kingdom’s maritime corps. Without them, you’d last less than ten seconds in the blackwater.”

“Comforting,” Albedo murmured quietly, his voice calm but edged with that dry amusement that came naturally to him.

Lira turned her gaze toward him. “What do you think, Albedo? You’ve been quiet since we left.”

He glanced at her, blue eyes reflecting faint traces of gold in the dim carriage light. “Just thinking,” he said simply. “Vorago sounds very cool, I can’t wait to see what’s waiting down there,”

Zeus leaned his head back against the seat, “I don’t know how yall are so positive about this. It’s a haunted and drowning city littered with the Abyss, explain to me why this place didn’t just get bombed?”

“Because,” Ysvara said quietly, “It is a key place in Demon History, to destroy them would be to erase crucial history that make us who we are. Remembering the past will help us to work for the future,”

That silenced them again. The rhythmic clatter of wheels filled the quiet, mingling with the faint hum of the magic conduits that powered the carriages.

Outside, the tunnels gradually widened. The last traces of molten light faded behind them as they emerged into the cool, mineral-scented air of the mountain’s surface. A sky of dark clouds loomed overhead, fractured by streaks of crimson light from the sinking suns.

The landscape beyond was rugged and vast, jagged black cliffs, scattered ruins, and distant rivers of mist that flowed like silver veins across the earth.

Far ahead, they could see the desert they arrived from that led back to the Shadow Isles.

The carriages slowed as the terrain evened out, wheels gliding over obsidian plains that reflected the twilight and before long, the group quickly arrived back in the Desert, and far ahead, the faint silhouette of the Shadow Isles could be seen across the horizon.

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