When Your Village is on Fire but It’s Technically a Good Thing

"FIRE! FIRE IN THE VILLAGE!"

Yeah. That's not how I wanted the day to end.

I leapt off the watchtower and hit the ground wrong, rolled twice, nearly took out a goblin child, and then sprinted across the square while my brain screamed twelve different kinds of panic.

Splitjaw overtook me halfway there, face stone-flat as usual.

Figures. My whole species is panic with teeth and he's over here jogging like it's a morning exercise.

The forge was glowing. No—pulsing. Orange light surged out of the windows like liquid, and thick smoke spilled through the gaps in the roof tiles.

Ashring went full chaos.

"Grab the buckets!"

"Where are the buckets?!"

"Don't just throw mud, you idiot, it's a forge!"

"Oh no, the food stores are too close—someone move the pickled beetle jars!"

I dodged a running child, a moss golem hauling a water barrel sideways, and Bitterstack shouting a threat so intense even the goblins scattered.

This wasn't a fire. This was a disaster cosplaying as a fire.

I shoved open the forge door with one shoulder, half-expecting to get a faceful of demonic flame.

Instead, I got Stonebite.

Covered in soot. Eyes wide. Grinning like he'd just reinvented metal.

Behind him, the forge blazed with unnatural heat, but it wasn't spreading. The flames danced, contained, somehow deliberate. Like they were excited.

That's not me being poetic.

They were literally swirling around something glowing on the anvil like moths worshipping a new god.

"...Stonebite?" I asked carefully.

He pointed.

Didn't say a word.

Just pointed at it.

It was a weapon.

Rough. Crude. Beautiful in a way that made my hackles rise.

The handle was wrapped in what looked like stitched hide. The blade wasn't just metal — it shimmered like obsidian and magma had a baby and then sent it to weapon school. Runes pulsed down the spine like a heartbeat.

The forge roared louder as I stepped closer.

System ping hit me like a slap.

[Relic-Class Weapon Created: Sovereign's First Flame.] 

[Bound Item: Only the Sovereign of Ashring may wield this relic.] 

[Effects: +Influence Radius, +Flame Adaptation, ??? (Unidentified Trait).] 

[Item classified as a Civilization Artifact. Recognition threshold met.]

I stared.

Stonebite still hadn't said anything.

I turned back to him, blinking.

"You almost burned down the village."

He beamed wider.

"Worth it."

Splitjaw stepped in behind me, took one look, and just exhaled through his nose like someone had handed him a dragon skull and asked if he wanted to sharpen it.

"It forged itself," Stonebite added, finally. "I—I wasn't even trying. The forge roared, and my hammer just kept going. It sang. It sang, Sovereign. And when it was done... it felt like it had chosen itself."

I nodded slowly, not sure what else to say.

Somewhere outside, people were still screaming about fire.

"Should I—" I began, then stopped. "Do I even want to touch that thing?"

The flames parted just a little, invitingly.

Of course they did.

This is what I get for pretending to be in charge.

I reached out.

My claws brushed the weapon.

The heat jumped into my bones, but it didn't burn.

It recognized me.

Not as something to burn. Not as something to melt.

As something to wield it.

The flames coiled tighter, then with a final, gusty whoosh, the fire sank inward — sucked into the weapon's runes like it had just inhaled the whole forge in one greedy gulp.

The anvil cracked in half.

The forge went out.

The air fell silent except for the faint, steady hum now coming from the blade in my hand.

System ping again:

[Relic-Class Weapon: Sovereign's First Flame successfully attuned.] 

[Passive Effect: Leadership Resonance Increased.] 

[Passive Effect: Minor Flame Shaping unlocked.] 

[Hidden Effect: ??? Pending Revelation.]

I stood there, weapon heavier than it should be but balanced perfectly against my palm, and thought:

"...Cool. Cool cool cool. Definitely not terrifying at all."

The door slammed open behind me.

Half of Ashring poured in.

Goblins, kobolds, split into groups — some brandishing water buckets, others with weapons drawn, some just ready to throw themselves bodily at whatever monster was inside.

They froze.

Everyone stared at me.

At the weapon in my hands, still softly burning.

Quicktongue was the first to find her voice.

"Sovereign...?" she asked, half awed, half horrified. "Is that... supposed to happen?"

I considered lying.

Pretending it was a minor accident.

Saying it was a new ceremonial candlestick holder or something.

But the weight of the thing, the heat thrumming through my claws, the way even the system was buzzing like a drunk bee at my ear — yeah.

No hiding this.

"Apparently," I said, lifting the weapon slightly, "we're a Relic-holding civilization now."

Silence.

Blinking.

Someone in the back dropped a bucket with a dull thunk.

Then Bitterstack laughed.

Not her usual dry snicker.

An honest-to-flame, full-bellied laugh.

"Of course we are!" she barked. "Of course we are! This is Ashring! We can't just have a normal forge accident. No, we get a legendary weapon!"

More kobolds joined in.

Then goblins.

Even Splitjaw cracked a grin — which on him looked like a tectonic shift.

The tension shattered.

Ashring exploded into noise.

Within an hour, a feast was happening whether I wanted it or not.

Goblins roasted mystery meat over communal fires.

Kobolds dragged out precious stashes of dried fruit and scavenged alcohol.

Some idiot (Quicktongue) started a "Victory Song" that was mostly just shouting about fire and glory and extremely questionable rhymes.

Someone tried to crown me with a moss wreath.

I ducked.

They threw it anyway.

It stuck.

It was messy.

It was loud.

It was so gloriously alive it hurt.

I sat by the main fire later, weapon resting against my knee, watching my people — my Ashring — laugh and dance and argue and brag.

The goblin kids were challenging kobold kids to moss golem riding competitions.

Stonebite was already drunk, telling anyone who would listen about how his hammer "whispered the secrets of the stone gods." (It didn't. Probably.)

Splitjaw was carving plans into the dirt, even while pretending he wasn't smiling.

For the first time in too long, nobody was looking over their shoulder for monsters.

Nobody was flinching at every sound.

We weren't running.

We weren't just surviving.

We were... here.

Together.

System pinged again, softer this time:

[Settlement Status Update: Minor Dungeon Nation Status Achievable.] 

[New Quest: Survive the Next Major Event.] 

[Reward: Recognition by Dungeon Heart / Evolution Paths Unlocked.]

Of course.

Of course the system had to remind me that this wasn't over.

I closed the prompt with a flick of my claw and leaned back.

Above me, the dungeon's distant ceiling glittered faintly — false stars in a stone sky.

I felt the heavy warmth of the Relic against my side.

And a smaller, lighter weight inside my chest.

Hope.

Tomorrow, we go back to digging trenches and reinforcing walls.

Tomorrow, we plan for humans and monsters and gods know what else.

But tonight?

Tonight we had fire. 

And food. 

And each other.

I grinned to myself, tail flicking lazily.

"...We're gonna need a flag," I muttered.

Quicktongue immediately overheard.

"I CAN MAKE A FLAG!" she screamed from across the plaza.

I groaned and buried my face in my claws.

"Oh no. What have I done."