In the heart of the forge, Hunter stood with his back against the heavy steel doors, barring them with his bulk as the dwarves scattered under his attentive glare. The red alarm was still sounding throughout the mountain, and torchlight flickered across the steel walls. The dwarves looked to the head dwarf, a gruff, stocky dwarf with a long braided silver beard and soot-stained gloves.
"I am Grumbrik," he said somewhat hesitantly, seeing Hunter's mana-rich presence. "We don't take kindly to threats, but... I guess we can make an exception, for the little one."
Hunter nodded and stepped aside enough for Chote to wiggle and pop out.
Chote climbed out from the wooden crate, his large rabbit ears fully erect with amazement as he reflected on a room full of glowing runes embedded in the steel walls, and steaming rivers of molten, mana-infused ore flowing through steel gutters that were reinforced, and pulsation of hammer on enchanted metal.
"Come then, boy. Watch, listen and learn," Grumbrik sighed.
Grumbrik directed Chote through all the stages. First it's all about refinement. Raw skyshard ore was extracted an unknown distance from deep in the mountains. Shards thick with mana density to the point of unuseable by all ordinary tools—only cracking into fragments—were dropped into a crucible made of volcanic stone to melt. Blue mana flames heated the crucible up to 2685° Celsius and melted the ore. To assist in melting the ore from it's native state to usable state, a stabilizing essence distilled from dragon moss melted with molten material—to help temper the ore's volatile properties.
Then the second phase was binding. As the molten metal cooled, master dwarves would carve runes around the basin of the forge. Pulling elemental mana from the environment to bond with the liquid metal in the basin. Grumbrik pulled for the rune of balance while his other dwarven components were binding for sharpness, durability, and if they were able to, a soul-harmony rune bond to the sword—which would help the blade profession to bond their aura's with the blades.
Then came shaping. The dwarves poured the glowing liquid into enchanted molds to shape into longswords, shortswords, and greatblades. Each mold was cooled slowly inpatient mana-infused water to allow the skyshard alloy to harden into a solid state; a near-indestructible state.
Finally the blade would be awakened. Once cooled, each sword was passed through a tri-mirror mana prism—an ancient relic that would allow for the blade's inner flow to align with the surrounding world's mana veins. A successful sign of usage would to faintly glow blue.
Grumbrik looked at Chote. "No shortcuts. No rushing. These blades are not weapons - they are bonds."
Chote could hardly breathe, "This is... incredible."
Along the way, Luenor was moving through the narrow passageways still dressed in the huge guard uniform. He managed to slip by two more patrols, all on pure luck and the familiarity of the forges he had memorized during his recent trip there. At the far end, he came upon a service tunnel that fortunately had a hidden hatch that he could, in theory, pry open with minimal tools.
"This will take us out," he murmured to himself, opening the hatch just enough to confirm it wasn't sealed then slamming it shut and starting back toward the inner forges.
Outside the city, ominous clouds gathered around teeming thunder.
Breathless, Tio made it to the lowlands hideout. Gurt had just finished yelling at some thugs when Tio tugged on his tunic.
"They're marching!" he said. "The knights! From the castle! They're going to the mountains!"
Gurt's eyes widened. "Shit!"
Gurt rushed into the shed and rammed into Dion as he flipped through stacks of merchant-ledgers.
"Whoa-have some decency!" Dion managed to mutter in between glances across the pages.
Tio shouted the news again, and Dion squished his brow in confusion. He slammed the book shut and muttered a curse. He had just gone over the last few pages of the ledger regarding one merchant, Kilver, who was paid by Linlin's intermediary to supply the "special supplier" for Mellon's private supplies.
Dion had no time to follow through anymore.
"I'll warn the elves.Parent. Gather every man on the trail. You stay here," Dion warned ramming his fist into Gurt's chest. "If you don't see me back here by dark take it that I'm dead, but attack anyway."
Then, determination etched on his face, he ran out of the lowlands and into the timber, his boots squelching in wet mud. Half way through, a tricky trap snapped, picked him up by one leg, and lifted him into the air.
He began cursing utter nonsense ragefully until a thin elf scout showed up to stare at him blankly.
"I'm from Alfrenzo's camp." Dion hissed. "Take me to Faren."
Faren was holding a bow when Dion limped into the clearing. The news made the elf commander kick a tree so hard, ragged splinters of bark flew in every direction.
"Hunter. Young Lord. And that retched dwarf..." he seethed. "In a forge that's about to be invaded."
"We can stop them!" Dion said.
"No," Faren grimly said. "Delay them."
He barked orders. A dozen elf scouts split off to drop spike traps, illusionary paths, or synthetic distractions along the trails.
"You go back. You are going to get lord Alfrenzo's supporters in the city. We'll meet the knights in the hills and buy all the time we can."
Dion, breathless and soaked, nodded and turned back once more toward the city.
_____
At that moment in time, Marquess Mellon stood on a war chariot, surrounded by the knights of the city and robed mages. He held a sealed scroll-- the royal decree to use force.
His voice was level, but his eyes were fire. "The Cult of Alofonso. It has to be them. We stop them now or we lose the forges and everything beyond."
Bobby Venhart, Mellon's most loyal knight, nodded wordlessly.
But Bobby wasn't thinking about any of this. Something didn't feel right. Were cults supposed to take this long to get into cities? They weren't supposed to even bother with gangs. And they definitely weren't supposed to be using a red alarm, they worked through brute knowledge and preparation, not violence.
Still, he said nothing.
Behind him the knight brigade moved.
The alarm was even louder in the forge; Hunter turned to Chote. "Hurry up. We have some company."
Chote praised the forging as if was his holy grail and gazed with rapture as he continued to heat and hammer the metal; he only nodded.