Chapter 4 - THE SUBTERRANEAN FORGE
The air inside Sub-Level Three smelled of ozone, burnt copper, and damp earth.
Unlike the grandiose marble halls of Frosthold Palace, the lower levels of Black Ridge Garrison were a grim testament to the Syndicate’s industrial greed. Massive iron pipes ran along the ceiling, venting hot steam, while thick bundle cables carried electrical power to unknown machinery deeper in the mountain.
Rowan and Lyra moved through the narrow corridors, taking down small squads of Syndicate guards with a combination of Lyra's silent plasma shots and Rowan's swift, non-lethal strikes.
"The central holding block is just ahead," Lyra whispered, checking a small wrist monitor displaying the base blueprints. "Beyond that blast door."
They stopped before a massive steel door reinforced with pneumatic locks and magic-suppression runes.
"I can bypass the electronic lock," Lyra said, stepping up to the keypad and opening a panel of exposed wiring. "But the rune lock requires Ashford blood. It's designed to kill anyone else who touches it."
Rowan didn't hesitate. He pulled off his gauntlet, pressed his thumb against the edge of his blade, and drew a small line of blood across his palm. He slammed his bloody hand onto the central rune.
The ancient magic recognized its master. The purple runes turned from a threatening dark red to a calm, glowing blue. The heavy blast doors hissed, slowly sliding open.
Inside, the room was vast and cavernous. Suspended over a pit of bubbling, liquid slag was a single iron cage held by four heavy steel chains.
Inside the cage sat Marcus Ashford.
The old blacksmith was battered, his clothes torn, but his frame remained broad and strong. He sat on a stone bench inside the cage, staring down at the glowing liquid below.
"Dad!" Rowan shouted, running toward the edge of the platform.
Marcus snapped his head up. His weathered eyes widened in shock, then instantly turned to anger. "Rowan?! What in the name of the seven hells are you doing here?! I told you to stay in the forge!"
Rowan couldn't help a short, breathless laugh despite the danger. "It's good to see you too, Dad."
"Get out of here, boy!" Marcus bellowed, standing up and gripping the iron bars of his cage. "It's a trap! The Syndicate didn't put me here to execute me—they put me here as bait to pull the Ashford bloodline into one place!"
Before Rowan could step onto the metal catwalk leading to the cage, a heavy, mechanical clapping echoed from the shadows of the upper gallery.
A tall man in an immaculate, tailor-made charcoal suit stepped into the light. He had silver hair swept back neatly, cold gray eyes, and held a cane topped with a glowing blue dragon-crystal.
Grand Trustee Vance—Lyra’s father.
"Always so dramatic, Marcus," Trustee Vance said, his voice smooth, refined, and completely devoid of warmth. He looked down at Lyra, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And Lyra... I must say, I am deeply disappointed in your treason. You squandered the finest education in the Syndicate for a blacksmith's boy."
"I learned what honor was from him, Father," Lyra said, stepping beside Rowan and aiming her pulse-pistol at her father's chest. "Not from you."
Vance scoffed, shaking his head. "Honor doesn't pay for the air shields that keep this continent warm, my dear. Nor does it fuel our engines."
Vance turned his gaze back to Rowan, eyeing the glowing midnight-blue armor with a mixture of awe and avarice. "The Armor of the First King. Magnificent. Do you know how many billions of dollars the Syndicate spent trying to synthesize that metal, boy? And yet, it wakes up for a teenager who spent his life sweeping ash."
"Let my father go, Vance," Rowan said, stepping forward, his sword humming with power. "Or I will tear this facility apart."
"I'm afraid you won't get the chance," Vance said calmly. He tapped his cane against the steel floor.
From the darkness above, four massive mechanical constructs dropped onto the platform with a deafening crash. They were eight-foot-tall war-frames, built of heavy titanium alloy, armed with hydraulic blades and high-voltage arc cannons. Inside their glass chest plates, glowing dragon-crystals served as power sources.
"The Syndicate's finest creation," Vance announced proudly. "Magical constructs powered by trapped dragon essences. They feel no pain, they obey every command, and they are completely immune to your sword's light."
"Rowan!" Marcus yelled from his cage. "The core! The crystals in their chests are unstable! Don't hit the armor—hit the core!"
The four war-frames lunged forward, their arc cannons charging with terrifying speed.
"Lyra, take the left!" Rowan bellowed, lunging into action.
The chamber erupted into a chaotic melee of gunfire, clashing steel, and lightning. Rowan ducked beneath a sweeping hydraulic blade, his armor sparking as a bolt of electricity grazed his shoulder. He stepped inside the construct's guard, thrusting his broadsword straight into the glowing glass chest plate.
CRACK!
The starlight blade shattered the glass core. The compressed dragon essence inside flared violently, causing the mechanical giant to freeze, short-circuit, and collapse into a heap of dead metal.
Meanwhile, Lyra was tumbling across the catwalk, firing precise shots into the leg joints of another construct, disabling its movement before sliding a plasma grenade into its exhaust port.
BOOM!
The explosion sent metal shrapnel flying across the room.
Rowan carved through the third construct with a powerful overhead strike, splitting it down the middle. But as he turned to face the final war-frame, Grand Trustee Vance smirked and pulled a small remote detonator from his coat pocket.
"A valiant effort," Vance said smoothly. "But I always have a contingency plan."
Vance pressed the button.
A high-pitched sequence of tones sounded. The heavy steel chains holding Marcus's cage began to unspool rapidly, dropping the cage toward the pit of molten slag below.
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"NO!" Rowan screamed.
Without thinking, Rowan turned his back on the final remaining war-frame. He sprinted toward the edge of the pit, leaping into the open air as his father's cage plummeted toward the burning liquid fire below.
