The Day the Land of Smithing Shook

In the Dwarven nation of Ironforge, nestled deep in the rugged mountains, there was a symbol so prominent it could be recognized from afar. A massive anvil.

An actual anvil, the kind used for smithing.

There was a mountain that stood taller than the rest in the range, and atop its summit sat the anvil. Towering at the peak, it was absurdly large. Its flat surface faced the sky, both ends tapered to sharp points, and its base narrowed in the middle. By any measure, it was unmistakably an anvil. Its size served no practical purpose unless it was meant for a giant larger than the mountain itself, but as a landmark symbolizing the nation of smithing, Ironforge, it couldn’t have been more fitting.

“Damn it. If that thing falls, it’ll be a disaster!”

Hikaru jumped off the Dwarf city’s trolley and took off running.

The anvil had already started to tilt and looked ready to slide down the steep slope at any moment.

There was no doubt it was the result of the massive earthquake that had just struck. Hikaru sprinted at full speed to find his Dwarf friend, Dodorono, and his older brother, Dodonno, to get them to safety.

Screams echoed from all directions.

He was nearing the center of Ironforge, where more Dwarves began to appear. The narrow paths and houses built into the steep mountain slopes showed clear signs of the quake. Some had collapsed, and rescue efforts were already underway.

“Child of man, Brigid seeks to destroy everything. If you wish to save the Dwarves, you must get them out as quickly as you can.”

He had run into Talis earlier, an elderly woman from the maritime nation of Vireocean. Though she had appeared as a frail old woman before, she looked young then. There was no time to dwell on that mystery, but her warning provided crucial information.

Brigid was the god of craftsmanship whom the Dwarves worshipped. A deity, yes, but said to exist in the real world. A being who had lived for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years, only a rare few Dwarves had ever met him, so said to exist was the best anyone could say.

“Brigid is going to destroy everything? What the hell does that mean?”

If Talis was right, then the quake just now might’ve been caused by Brigid himself.

That’s insane.

No being should be capable of generating the kind of energy needed to cause an earthquake.

The Fire Drakon flashed through Hikaru’s mind. He had been the one to free it from its imprisonment, and the flames it unleashed had scorched the skies above the royal capital of Ponsonia. That wasn’t just magic. It was a natural disaster.

If Brigid was on the same level as that Fire Drakon, then maybe… maybe he really could cause earthquakes.

A chill ran down Hikaru’s spine. This was no place to stick around. He had to find Dodorono as quickly as possible.

---

Meanwhile, in the center of Ironforge.

Beneath the precariously tilted anvil, at the base of a steep cliff, there was a wide plaza. A large hole opened in the cliff wall, leading into a vast cavity. That plaza served as the entrance to it.

It was the chamber of the Progenitor’s Forge, a site of immense importance to the Dwarves and deeply tied to the nation’s founding.

Within the Progenitor’s Forge burned a mysterious flame capable of refining any metal. The forge itself was a hemispherical structure about three meters in diameter, with a chimney that stretched far up to the high ceiling, venting smoke near the mountain summit.

The orange flame of the Progenitor’s Forge had burned steadily since the nation’s founding. No one had ever added fuel to it or tended the fire. Said to have been a gift from Brigid, this flame was both the symbol and beacon of hope for the Dwarven nation.

To the Dwarves, who loved smithing more than food, using the Progenitor’s Forge was almost synonymous with exercising a privilege. So the order in which one could use the forge was strictly regulated.

Today, the clan with rights to use it was one of the twelve Dwarven lineages, the Green Rabbit clan.

Not wanting to waste even a second of their time with the forge, the men—unusually sober for Dwarves—had gotten up early and begun smithing. But then, they were struck by a massive earthquake.

“Run for it!” the foreman shouted.

They rushed out into the plaza and froze at the sight of the massive anvil leaning precariously atop the mountain. Their eyes went wide with shock, but once the tremors settled, their attention shifted to the forge.

After all, they had brought a certain valuable item into the smithy.

“Boss, the quake scattered everything, but it’s all safe.”

The craftsmen gathered after checking the damage.

“That’s good to hear. But what in blazes was that tremor?”

“So what now? We call it a day?”

“Don’t be stupid. We don’t get to use the Progenitor’s Forge all the time. The next turn for our clan isn’t for another month. And besides, we’ve got another thing to work on today.”

“You mean forging that thing?”

“Yeah. I’m not thrilled about it, but if the clan demands it, we’ve got no choice. Hey, where is it? Is it safe?”

“Yessir. It’s right over there.”

The craftsman pointed at a table about ten meters away. Sitting on it, wrapped in thick cloth, were two objects, each about the size of a rugby ball.

The foreman pulled back the cloth, revealing a pair of rugged gauntlets. Plain, unadorned, dull silver gauntlets. He carefully covered them again.

“All right. Can’t let this earthquake interfere with our work. Let’s get to it.” He gave his barrel-like stomach a hearty slap and turned to look around the Progenitor’s Forge. “Huh?”

The Progenitor’s Forge was a three-meter-wide hemispherical structure. There was space enough for a person to enter, and inside that space, the orange flames were gone.

The heat remained. Even in winter, the cave was hot enough to make long sleeves unbearable.

But the source of that heat—the flame—was gone.

“B-Boss? Am I seeing things? I can’t see the fire in the Progenitor’s Forge.”

“N-No.”

The foreman staggered forward. But no matter how far he walked, the fire wasn’t there.

“Noooooo!” he howled, drawing the attention of every Dwarf in the Green Rabbit clan.

And all of them saw it too. The fire in the Progenitor’s Forge was gone. All that remained inside the furnace that had burned metal for generations at the Dwarves’ behest were pitch-black scorch marks.

“B-Boss. What the hell is going on?!”

“Don’t ask me! Like I’d have a clue—”

“No! Look below! Look under it!”

“Huh?”

One Dwarf pointed at the floor of the Progenitor’s Forge, where the flames used to erupt from. Strangely, there was nothing but a flat surface there. Yet one thing was clear to everyone.

There were letters. Golden letters written on the pitch-black floor.

The flame chooses, the master is chosen.

No one understood what those words meant. Not now. Not in this moment.