Fifty-Five: Forged in Shadow

Alviss Mountain,

Hyades City, Exterior Ward

Spring Court, Hidden World

Terra, Gaea Solar system

Milky Way Galaxy,

Neutral Free Zone

March 27th 2019

Alviss Mountain, the site where Sophia had arranged to meet with Golden Dawn, was a place steeped in history and legend. According to ancient tales, the mountain itself was formed as a result of an epic battle between a Dwarf and a Giant. Dwarves, small but sturdy creatures, were known for their affinity with mountains and the molten depths of the Earth. Living in such harsh environments, they evolved to possess an extraordinarily strong constitution, far surpassing that of humans. Their bond with Earth and its elemental forces granted them a natural aptitude for Forgemastery, the ancient art of crafting Enchanted and mystical technologies that were revered throughout the universe. It was the Dwarves who created most of the powerful and magical tools used across galaxies, their hands guided by their intimate connection to the Earth itself.

In stark contrast, the Giants were a legendary and fearsome race, known for their wild, untamed nature and insatiable lust for battle. Their enormous size and ferocious strength made them natural warriors, but their relentless thirst for conflict led to their gradual decline across the universe. Like the Dwarves, Giants also shared a bond with the Earth, but where the Dwarves used their connection for creation and craftsmanship, the Giants wielded it as a means to amplify their physical power, leaving destruction in their wake as they ravaged world after world. This difference in how they wielded the Earth's forces—one for creation, the other for annihilation—fueled a bitter rivalry between the two races, with the Dwarves detesting the Giants' brute violence and the Giants loathing the Dwarves' perceived weakness due to their smaller size. The battle that shaped Alviss Mountain was not just a clash of individuals but a symbolic struggle between creation and destruction, a struggle that would leave a lasting mark on the land.

At Alviss Mountain, Sam found herself waiting for the ship that would take them to Stella. She stood between Leon and Rex, each of them clad in their battle attire—armor straps tightly secured across their bodies, ready for whatever lay ahead. Rosa stood nearby, her gaze distant as she seemed lost in thought. Sam was dressed for battle also, her outfit similar to Leon's and Rex's but distinct with its green hues. Rosa's armor retained its familiar brown color, while Leon wore black and gold, and Rex was adorned in crimson red—each outfit reflecting their styles and readiness for the coming conflict. Days had passed since her mother had given her additional spells to learn, and Sam had swiftly mastered the tier five spells with ease. She now carried an arsenal of magical abilities greater than before, ready to face whatever challenges awaited. Even the seal Sophia had placed on Avis, Sam's familiar, had been lifted, granting the creature full freedom for the battle ahead. Yet, despite her newfound power and preparation, Sam couldn't shake the nervousness settling in her stomach.

She was about to face the entity responsible for so much devastation—the force behind her father's death, the horrors that had plagued Cedar Lake, and the abduction of her aunt. The weight of it all pressed heavily on her, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead gnawed at her thoughts. As she stood there, surrounded by her allies, she steeled herself for what was to come, but a part of her still struggled with the enormity of the task at hand. Leon flexed his arm, his eyes drawn to the band wrapped securely around his wrist. It was a Pocket Band, a piece of advanced tech that Sophia had given them for their upcoming battle against the Abominations. While its primary function was to aid in the fight, Leon knew its true purpose was more personal—designed to help counter his increasingly fragile health.

Pocket Bands were a variant of Dimensional Bands, devices capable of storing objects or weapons within an alternate dimension. However, unlike typical Dimensional Bands, these bands didn't store physical items—they contained an immense reserve of mana, effectively providing a constant source of energy. The technology was revolutionary, conceived by a member of the human race who sought to compensate for humanity's comparative weakness when it came to awakening their latent powers. Such a remarkable invention came at a cost, however. The Federation, recognizing the power Pocket Bands bestowed upon their users, had deemed them a forbidden technology, outlawing their use. It was said that the bands gave their wearer an unfair advantage, allowing them to tap into an unnatural source of mana, and thus, they were banned for combat use. Despite this, the technology's brilliance was undeniable—so much so that even the Dwarves, who had long been wary of humanity's comparative physical fragility, came to respect the human ingenuity behind it. This respect fostered a deeper bond between the two races, strengthening an alliance that had once seemed impossible.

As Leon looked at the band, he couldn't help but feel a sense of both awe and trepidation. It was a tool of great power, but one that he knew might be more crucial to his survival than any weapon in his arsenal. After all, they were about to step foot into Infernal territory, a place that was cut off from the Odyllic making it impossible for them to absorb and accumulate Odic energy. The Pocket Bands they wore provided a temporary solution. Once their personal mana reserves were depleted, they could siphon energy from the bands, drawing from the immense mana stores contained within. However, the bands weren't infinite. They had their limits. As innovative as the technology was, it couldn't sustain an endless supply of energy. The band itself needed a self-sustaining power source to remain operational, but currently, no Pocket technology had achieved such a feat. This left them with the pressing need to conserve their energy and use it strategically. Leon's focus remained on the band as he turned his wrist from one side to another, weighing its significance. It wasn't just a tool—it was a lifeline.

A sudden shift in the movement of the clouds caught Rex's attention, breaking his concentration. He immediately alerted the others, drawing their gaze to the sky. The airship that appeared through the shifting clouds was sleek and imposing, its metallic surface gleaming in the dim light as it descended toward them. Medium-sized, the ship seemed perfectly designed for a small group, its silhouette smooth and aerodynamic, suggesting both speed and stealth. It had the unmistakable symbol of Golden Dawn emblazoned on its hull, confirming that it was indeed their companions arriving.

As the ship touched down gently on the rocky ground in front of them, its engines humming softly before powering down, Rex and Leon moved forward to greet it. The ship's sleek, silver exterior contrasted with the rough, unforgiving landscape, making it appear almost otherworldly. The door to the ship opened with a soft hiss, revealing Emily standing at the threshold, waiting for them. Rex and Leon led the group toward the ship, their steps purposeful, knowing the challenges ahead would require all of them to work together.

As they neared the entrance, the hum of the ship's engines still lingering in the air, Rex's gaze shifted to Emily. It had been quite some time since they had seen each other in person, though, unlike Leon, Rex had kept in touch with her over the years. His messages had been sporadic, but they had been enough to maintain a connection. He didn't mind. Emily was one of the few people who had never cared about his family's prestigious standing within the Federation. That was something Rex had always appreciated about her. Their friendship had endured long past their school days, and for Rex, that meant something. In a world where alliances were often shaped by power and status, Emily had remained a constant—someone who valued him for who he was, not what his name represented. Emily had her reasons for rejecting the Federation's ideals. As a worshipper of the Irkalla religion, she had been branded an outcast, a label she wore with defiance. Her faith and beliefs had set her apart, but it had also given her a unique understanding of what it felt like to be on the outside looking in. Rex, too, had always felt like an outsider within the Federation, but for different reasons. His family's legacy weighed heavily on him, and the expectations that came with it were often more of a burden than a blessing. He didn't have to explain this to Emily—she already understood.

It was also for this very reason that Rex had made the decision years ago regarding his involvement with Yaeger Corp, a choice that, unbeknownst to Emily, had altered the course of her own path. Rex had chosen to protect her from certain truths, believing that keeping her in the dark was the best way to shield her from the consequences of the events he had once taken part in. The guilt gnawed at him, especially knowing that Emily, with her fierce independence and dedication to her beliefs, would never have accepted his choices had she known the full story. The words Julia Haravok had spoken to him years ago echoed in his mind, reminding him of the difficult decisions he had been forced to make. He shook the thoughts away, focusing on the present, where the task at hand was far more pressing than the weight of past decisions.

As the airship touched down, the hum of its engines dying down, Emily was already standing at the entrance, waiting for the others to board. Her presence was calm, but there was a quiet strength in the way she held herself—determined and ready for what lay ahead. After her conversation with Sophia Sinclair, she had been granted access to one of the forges of Golden Dawn's tower, a privilege not many were given. During those days before their appointed meeting, Emily had forged weapons of remarkable craftsmanship—blades, and swords specifically designed for the battle they were about to face. The memory of the ingredients she had gathered from previous encounters with Lance Al'Roth and the Awakened humans was still fresh in her mind.

****

Days earlier,

In the quiet hum of the Forgemastery room, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of molten metal and ancient, arcane energy. The space was vast, the walls lined with shelves upon shelves of rare ores, enchanted stones, and mysterious components. A soft, otherworldly glow emanated from the forge at the center of the room, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls. The forge itself was a masterpiece of both technology and magic, its enormous furnace pulsing with a fiery light that seemed to breathe with life. Large, intricate runes were etched into the edges of the forge, glowing faintly, channels of power that connected the raw energy of the forge to the ethereal realm of the Odyllic.

In one corner, a massive anvil stood like a sentinel, its surface worn smooth by countless strikes, its metal surface gleaming with a subtle, almost imperceptible sheen. The tools that surrounded it were just as impressive—long, sturdy hammers with enchanted handles, tongs that could withstand the heat of the forge's inferno, and chisels whose edges never dulled, no matter how many times they were used. At the far end of the room, large vats of molten metal simmered, their surfaces rippling with an eerie light, as if alive with magic.

The air itself was charged, thick with the hum of mana flowing through the room, a quiet symphony of energy that resonated with the heartbeat of the forge. Every piece of metal, every stone, every tool in the room was infused with the potential for creation—or destruction. It was in this sacred space that weapons were not only crafted but imbued with the very essence of their makers, their desires, their strengths, and sometimes even their regrets. Emily stood in the heart of the forge, her rugged overall outfit the only thing protecting her from the intense heat of the furnace. Her clothes were simple and practical—a stark contrast to the raw power she wielded. The skin of her muscular, lithe arms gleamed with a fine layer of sweat as she stood in front of the furnace. The light from the furnace behind her flared, casting a warm, fiery glow that flickered and danced across the room, elongating her shadow on the stone floor. But it was from these shadows that Emily drew her true power. The air around her seemed to be still as she paused, her breath steady and focused. Her eyes narrowed, and with a quiet but firm command, she spoke to the shadows.

"Come forth."

Her voice was low, but it carried with it a chilling authority, resonating with the power that lay dormant in the very ground beneath her. At her command, from the darkness of her shadow, three massive longswords began to materialize. They emerged from the ground as if born from the very essence of night itself, their gleaming blades pulsing with a strange, otherworldly energy. These were no ordinary weapons—each one was of Quasi-mythical grade, the same weapons once wielded by the Ascendant humans that had tried to kill her. For some reason, when Emily awakened in the hospital after the battle with Lance, she felt a strange and undeniable presence within her Soul realm. It was as if something had shifted—something fundamental had been altered within the very core of her being. The weapons, those Quasi-mythical longswords, had appeared within her, though she had no recollection of how they had come to be there. They were not objects she had summoned consciously, nor had she ever intended for them to manifest in such a way. They simply existed now, embedded within her Soul realm as if they had always been a part of her. Her first instinct had been confusion, followed by a sense of unease. The Soul realm was a deeply personal space—an inner sanctum where one's essence resided, a place of pure consciousness and raw, untapped potential. For most, it was a place of quiet solitude, a representation of one's true self. But Emily's Soul realm had always been different, more enigmatic than most. It was a place of shifting shadows and ethereal light, where thoughts and emotions could take form but where the boundaries between reality and dream often blurred. It had never been a stable or predictable space, and she had never quite understood it. The changes she felt were unsettling, a disruption in a domain she thought she had at least a modicum of control over.

The presence of the weapons was the first of many changes that would follow. At first, Emily hadn't bothered to examine the alterations happening within her Soul realm. She had no answers, and honestly, she didn't want to face the questions that would arise from probing into it. Instead, she focused on the physical reality of her situation—the battle she had fought, the injuries she had sustained, and the aftermath. Yet, as the days passed, Emily couldn't ignore the feeling that something was amiss. The weapons, which had once been tools of destruction wielded by the Awakened humans who had faced her, now seemed to have a will of their own. They were bound to her, connected to her in a way that felt like a twisted, symbiotic relationship. The more she felt into her Soul realm, the more she realized the weapons were not merely stored there as passive objects. They were alive in some sense, echoing with the power of their previous wielders and reverberating with an energy that felt both foreign and familiar. It was as though they were extensions of herself, but also something separate, something more ancient and deeply ingrained in the very fabric of the Soul realm itself.

It wasn't just the weapons that had mysteriously appeared in her Soul realm. As if responding to their presence, countless orbs of light and darkness had begun to materialize, floating around her consciousness like distant stars in a shadowy sky. The orbs glowed with an unsettling, ethereal radiance, their light and darkness intertwined in a constant, shifting dance that made her Soul realm resemble a twilight world, suspended between day and night. Some orbs pulsed with soft, golden light, while others flickered with an ominous, inky darkness, each one carrying a strange, almost sentient energy. They moved with purpose, drifting aimlessly at first, but over time, they seemed to grow more attuned to the space around them, their movements synchronized with her thoughts and emotions. The air in her Soul realm had grown thick with their presence, the once fluid and harmonious energy now weighted with their eerie glow. The contrast between the light and darkness was jarring, as though her inner world had been thrown into disarray. It was a constant reminder of the unsettling changes taking place within her, changes she was still struggling to comprehend. The orbs, like the weapons, were tethered to her in ways she couldn't explain, their presence both intriguing and unnerving. They seemed to reflect her inner turmoil, a visual representation of the battle within her—a conflict she had yet to fully understand.

Emily's gaze flickered to the swirling orbs, the eerie twilight casting long shadows across the shifting landscape of her Soul realm. She felt their pull, their quiet insistence that she pay attention to them, but for now, she refused. She couldn't allow herself to become distracted by the unknown forces swirling within her. The weapons she had summoned from her shadow were her focus—those were tangible, those were real, and those were something she could use. As unsettling as the changes to her Soul realm were, she pushed them aside, refocusing on the weight of the longswords now solidifying in her hands. The orbs would remain, circling in the depths of her mind, but for now, she had a task at hand—one that required all of her concentration.

Emily's hand was steady as she gripped the hilt of the first sword, but there was no triumph in her expression. Her abilities were not something she flaunted or spoke of—indeed, she wasn't even fully aware of their full extent. What she knew was that her power was not like the other members of the House of Scorpio, nor did it align with the traditional blessings of the Death God. Her abilities didn't fit the mold of the Celestial classifications that Starlight had so carefully drawn. Emily's power was unique, untamed, and shrouded in mystery. It was an enigma even to her, something she had learned to trust but never fully understood. Unlike the other Celestial houses, whose powers were tied to specific divine sources, Emily's abilities seemed to arise from an entirely different realm—one where the boundaries between life and death, light and shadow, were blurred. The swords she summoned were not only physical but echoes of the battles they had once been part of, imbued with the very essence of her struggles. They were extensions of her, just as much a part of her as her own hands. She looked down at the weapons, her shadow cast long across the floor, and for a moment, she was silent. Her thoughts were her own, but the weight of the battle ahead settled heavily on her shoulders. These swords would be her instruments of war, her contribution to the fight, but she knew that the true battle would not be won by weapons alone. The struggle ahead would require more than just strength—it would require something deeper, something even she had yet to fully grasp. 

Emily stood in the heart of the forge, her rugged overall bearing the heat and grime of the work that lay ahead. The three Quasi-mythical longswords she had summoned from her shadow lay before her on the glowing forge table. Each blade radiated a faint aura of power, a testament to the strength of the grade it belonged to. Yet, Emily's gaze was unwavering as she prepared to reshape these weapons, to dismantle their old forms and forge them into something entirely new—blades that would serve her purpose in the battles to come.

The process began with a quiet invocation of her Odic force and Mana. Emily extended her hands toward the longswords, her fingers splayed as invisible energy radiated from her palms. Her ability allowed her to interact with the very essence of objects, breaking them down at their most fundamental level. The swords began to resonate with a low hum, their metallic forms vibrating as if responding to her call. Slowly, the intricate runes etched into their surfaces glowed faintly, their energy unraveling under her command.

The first step was the melting. Emily summoned her connection to the forge's fire, a furnace so intense that it could melt even the hardest of celestial metals. With a simple motion, she guided the longswords into the forge's crucible. The heat within was not merely physical—it was enhanced by Emily's control of mana, creating a fusion of mystical and elemental power. As the blades entered the crucible, they began to glow a brilliant white, their solid forms softening as they succumbed to the intense heat. The air around the forge shimmered, the energy from the melting process creating waves of distortion. Emily's eyes never left the crucible as the swords liquefied, their once-pristine forms reduced to a glowing, molten pool of metal. But this was no ordinary metal—it carried the essence of Quasi-Mythical grade ore, a grade of strength and power that was supposedly beyond even her strength as a Master Realm expert. Emily knew she couldn't simply shape it as it was. She had to purify it, stripping away the remnants of the past while preserving the raw power that lay within.

She reached into her shadow, drawing forth a small vial containing a shimmering, silvery liquid—Elysium essence, an alchemical agent used to purify mystical metals. Carefully, she poured a few drops into the molten pool, watching as it hissed and sparked. The impurities within the metal rose to the surface, forming a dark, viscous layer that Emily swiftly removed with a long, slender tool. The metal below glowed brighter, its energy more vibrant and refined. Once purified, Emily began the process of forging. She drew the molten metal from the crucible using her Odic force, shaping it into three floating orbs of liquid metal that hovered in the air before her. Each orb pulsed with an ethereal light, as though alive, awaiting her command. Emily closed her eyes, envisioning the new blades she wished to create. The designs took form in her mind—sleek and deadly, with runes of her own crafting that would channel her Odic force and Mana more efficiently. These blades would not just be weapons; they would be extensions of herself, tools of precision and destruction.

With her vision clear, Emily opened her eyes and directed the orbs onto the forge table. Using her hammer, imbued with her Odic force and mana, she began shaping the metal. Each strike sent ripples of energy through the forge, the sound of metal on metal resonating like a battle cry. Sparks flew with every blow, lighting the dim room with bursts of brilliance. Emily's movements were precise, her strikes measured. She worked with a blend of strength and finesse, molding the metal as though it were clay. As the blades took shape, she etched runes into their surfaces, channeling her energy into each stroke. These runes were not merely decorative—they were conduits for power, carefully designed to amplify the user's abilities while maintaining a balance of strength and durability. The process required absolute focus, as any mistake could destabilize the entire blade. Finally, as the blades neared completion, Emily quenched them in a basin filled with a mixture of water and mystical oil, the liquid glowing faintly as it absorbed the residual heat. The quenching process solidified the blades, locking in their new forms and imbuing them with a sharpness that could cut through nearly anything.

When the process was complete, Emily held the newly forged blades in her hands. They were lighter, sleeker, and far more powerful than the originals. Their edges shimmered with a faint, otherworldly light, and the runes along their lengths glowed softly, a testament to the energy imbued within them. Emily turned them over in her hands, feeling their balance, their weight. They were perfect—a fusion of skill, power, and purpose.

With a sense of satisfaction, Emily set the blades down, their forms gleaming in the forge's light. She wiped the sweat from her brow, her work complete—for now. These weapons would serve her well in the battle ahead. And now, she needed to craft more blades, blades that would aid her supposed allies. The sound of metal striking metal echoed through the room as Emily worked, the rhythmic clang of her hammering blending with the crackling of the forge's flames. Each strike was deliberate, her hands guided by both knowledge and intuition, the process of creation both painstaking and beautiful. It was here, amidst the heat and the raw power of the forge, that she poured every ounce of her energy and determination into the weapons she was forging.