Trial of Illusions – Part 07

The Progenitor’s Forge, the heart of Ironforge and the cornerstone of its founding, could only be tended by a select few Dwarves. Access was limited to the finest blacksmiths of each clan, and usage days were strictly regulated to prevent disputes.

The cavern housing the forge was vast, its ceiling so high it seemed impossible for such a space to exist within the mountain. Beyond the furnace’s crimson glow, darkness enveloped everything.

The forge’s mouth yawned vertically open, flames roaring steadily inside. No matter what, that fire never went out. Its heat was so intense that no one had dared to study what was inside. How the flames continued to burn remained a mystery to the Dwarves.

But for the Dwarves, the how was irrelevant. What mattered was that these flames could forge any metal.

Since the nation’s inception, the fire had never gone out. The Dwarves believed it would burn for eternity.

Even on this particular morning, the grand cavern buzzed with activity. The limited time to use the forge demanded efficiency.

The cavern actually extended past the forge. A dim, expansive corridor led to a long staircase that descended into the deepest hollow. Unlike the forge above, this hollow was silent for most of the year.

At its center lay a hoard of the finest items crafted by master Dwarven artisans: intricately crafted armor, massive weapons fit for giants, a standing clock that could double as furniture. Every piece gleamed with gold ornamentation.

Light poured in through an opening in the ceiling, faint but enough to scatter golden reflections across the chamber.

At the far end, a golden throne rested on a raised platform. It stood empty. Beside it, a golden statue of a stout Dwarf held a hammer in one hand and a clock in the other. The clock ticked softly, still functional.

This chamber served as the Dwarves’ sacred audience hall for Brigid, their revered deity. Only clan chiefs were allowed entry, no exceptions. Here, they could hear Brigid’s voice, though no Dwarf alive had ever seen Brigid’s form.

The Progenitor’s Forge’s clamor—the voices, the hammering—never reached this far.

The hollow was utterly quiet. Day after day, not a single sound. Until today.

A shadow slipped silently into the innermost chamber. The figure clearly had no permission to be there—because she was not a Dwarf.

Her baggy robe couldn’t conceal her slender waist or the sway of her hips. Had she entered a tavern, whistles and catcalling would have followed.

A hood obscured her face, but bright blue hair spilled out, framing pale skin and full lips. Those lips moved.

“This is too tacky.”

Before Talis lay a vast array of finely crafted Dwarven items, gleaming brilliantly. Any Dwarf would have been furious at her remark. But there was no one to hear her.

Unimpressed by the treasures, she walked past them toward the golden throne.

“I know you’re there, Brigid. Show yourself.” Her words weren’t aimed at the throne but the space behind it.

No one answered. The silence stretched on, but she waited. It wasn’t waiting in the usual sense. She simply stood there, as if time didn’t matter.

Minutes stretched into an hour. Talis was still there. The only change was the sunlight, growing slightly brighter.

“Ah, you’re here,” said a faint voice.

It was young, like a boy’s, but hoarse, as if ravaged by a severe cold.

“Ah, uh… Ahem. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken, I almost forgot how.”

From behind the throne, where the wall was solid rock, a figure emerged as if materializing from stone.

Their appearance was peculiar: short sleeves and shorts, completely unsuited for the winter chill. Their shirt, a luxury item, gleamed brightly. Their argyle vest and matching shorts glowed softly with a purple hue, woven with magical energy.

Their arms and legs and small build gave them the appearance of a ten-year-old. Their face, framed by smooth golden hair, looked just as youthful.

“It’s been a while since you’ve spoken? What have you been doing all this time?”

“Does it matter? We’re supposed to leave each other alone. That was the deal, Tartarais.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t call me by that ancient name. When I mingle with humans, I go by Talis.”

“I don’t mingle with humans.”

“And yet you rule over an entire nation.”

Brigid shrugged and strolled to the throne. He sat down, propping his chin on one armrest and crossing his legs. He looked like a child playing king.

“The Dwarves founded the nation. I only provided the forge.”

“…”

“Enough about me. What’s up with you? Ah, wait. Is it that time?”

“Yes. It’s the year the seas are calm.”

“So, you’ve come to conceive. What a hassle.”

“Family is a beautiful thing. You, a solitary and lonely soul, would not understand.”

“Do you really need more attachments? Compared to the endless span of time we have, it’s all trivial.”

“I’m not here to debate your beliefs. If words could change you, I’d have spoken them eons ago. Unlike you, I don’t pretend to be uninvolved.”

“Well, you get into a slugfest all year round. There are so few of us left, but you insist on sparring with him.”

Talis only gave a small shrug. “Let’s get to the point. Why are you so tense?”

Brigid instantly fell silent. His easygoing demeanor vanished as if it had never been. The hollow grew deathly still.

After a long pause, Brigid finally spoke. “Do I really need to explain?”

“Not particularly. As long as you don’t disturb me, it’s fine. But it’s unnerving to feel your tension while I’m trying to create new life.”

“I see. I’ll ensure it doesn’t affect you.”

“If you’re planning to destroy this whole region, I doubt you can avoid affecting me.”

“You’re being overdramatic. It’s a matter contained within this nation’s borders.”

“I doubt that.”

Brigid straightened and leaned forward slightly. “Tartarais, what could possibly bother someone like you?”

“Someone loved by the Drakons has arrived.”

“What?”

Talis let out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t you feel it? The breath of the Savior of the Celestial Sphere. The distinct aura of someone who crosses worlds.”

“I don’t.”

“Because you shut yourself in here.”

“It takes relentless effort to elevate craftsmanship into art.”

“Is that why you’ve kept the Dwarves here?”

“Elves live a thousand years but are lazy. Man Gnomes live for three hundred years, but they’re shackled by duty. Now Dwarves. They live barely a century, but that means a faster turnover.”

“Oh, ancient master of craftsmanship. You say that when you’re not even satisfied?”

“Ah, so you’ve seen through my plan. I hate not being able to read the thoughts or emotions of another being like myself.”

“It’s time I leave. Do as you will, but don’t disturb me.” Talis turned.

“Tartarais,” Brigid called.

“Call me Talis.”

“No, you will always be Tartarais Leviathan, the Ruler of the Seas, and the fool who endlessly battles Behemoth.”

Talis turned to look over her shoulder. For a moment, she seemed to fill the cavern, a towering giant too big for the space to contain.

“You, playing with Dwarven toys, could never understand.”

Even as the air warped under the weight of her booming voice, Brigid didn’t flinch.

“You don’t understand art,” Brigid replied.

Talis stared at him for a long moment. In the blink of an eye, she returned to her usual size and left without another glance.

Brigid descended the steps, stopping before the mass of treasures. Casually, he reached out, and golden powder burst from them, rising into the air. It didn’t take long for the entire collection to turn to dust and vanish.