Jarek stood atop his tower, gazing out at Redstone's shifting sands. The Steelborn moved below—once Dustwalkers, now machines of gleaming metal, their red eyes cutting through the haze. The change had swept the planet fast, but it hadn't been easy for everyone.
At first, only the most loyal answered his call. The Dustwalkers had a way about them—short lives made them cling to their leaders, trusting the strong to guide them through the harsh red wastes. When Jarek spoke of the Steel Path, these faithful ones didn't blink.
"For the ruler!" they'd shouted, voices rough but firm.
"His word is our strength!"
"If he says steel, we become steel!"
They marched to the rigs without a second thought, shedding their cracked, fragile bodies for something new. The first to emerge flexed their metal arms, voices buzzing with awe.
"This… this is power," one said, lifting a slab of stone like it was nothing.
"The ruler was right. This is our way!"
Word spread fast. Next came the old and the sick—those who'd lived barely twenty years but already felt death creeping in. They shuffled to the pods, desperate for a chance.
"I've got nothing left," one muttered, his skin flaking like dry earth. "Eighteen years, and my lungs are shot. If the ruler says this works, I'll try it."
"Better than rotting," another agreed, stepping in.
When they came out, they weren't just healed—they were more. One, a frail man moments before, laughed as he solved a math problem in his head, something he'd never grasped in flesh. "It's like my mind's awake for the first time!"
The rest of Redstone watched, and doubt turned to envy. The Steelborn didn't tire, didn't ache, didn't age. They worked faster, thought sharper, lived forever. Soon, the holdouts couldn't resist. In six months, nearly every Dustwalker became Steelborn—99% of the planet, transformed. A few stayed flesh, stubborn or scared, but they were the exception.
Jarek felt the shift through the Forge System. A panel in his mind lit up:
Name: Jarek
Ability: Immortality
World Strength: 100
Forge Boost: 2x
That was before. Now, after the Steel Path took hold:
World Strength: 1,000
Forge Boost: 4x
In half a year, Redstone's power had jumped ten times over. Every Steelborn was smarter, stronger, tireless. The planet hummed with new energy—factories churned, rigs multiplied, and the air buzzed with possibility. Jarek knew this was just the start. Longer lives and sharper minds would push them further, day by day.
It was like the old stories of fish crawling from the sea, trading fins for legs. The Dustwalkers had shed their weak flesh for steel, stepping out of the dust and into the stars. Jarek's eyes locked on the horizon. Redstone wasn't enough anymore. The galaxy called.
"Build me a ship," he ordered, voice steady. "We're heading to Ironreach."
Ironreach was the next planet over—a rocky, metal-rich world, perfect for a colony. Before, the Dustwalkers couldn't dream of it; twenty-five years wasn't enough for the trip. Now, the Steelborn didn't care about time. A hundred days, a thousand—they'd still be standing.
A Steelborn approached, its voice a low hum. "Ruler, the first ship's ready. Holds a thousand of us. Three hundred days to Ironreach."
Jarek nodded. The Dustwalkers had ignored space, too busy surviving. But their knack for machines hadn't faded—give them a push, and they built a ship big enough to start an empire.
"Good," he said. "Load it up. We're not just surviving anymore. We're taking what's ours."
The Steelborn saluted, metal clanking, and moved to obey. Jarek turned back to the window. The red dust still blew, but it didn't matter. His people weren't bound to it anymore. Like fish leaving the ocean, they'd left the planet behind. The stars were next.