The Anvil Tavern's clamor faded behind the heavy door as if severed from reality. Karion Anvil's broad back moved through the narrow alley reeking of coal dust and rusted metal—a mobile mountain. Lian and Selya followed in silence, the air thick with the strange tension of fragile alliance, shared purpose, and deep-seated mistrust.
The dwarf led them not far. At the alley's end stood an unremarkable, even dilapidated side door—his domain. The hinges shrieked as Karion shoved it open, releasing a wave of odors: cooled metal, mineral dust, and something acridly chemical.
More cave than workshop, the cramped space overflowed with tools and materials. Dim light came from a few magelights in dusty glass hoods, casting pallid illumination over the chaos. Rough stone and patched brick walls bore an arsenal of bizarre tools—hammers, tongs, files, chisels—many distinctly dwarven: heavy, utilitarian, and well-worn. Crates of raw ore crowded a corner, some faintly glowing, others pitch-black with ominous aura. Worktables sagged under metal parts, leather scraps, rune sketches, and half-finished projects. A makeshift forge smoldered in another corner, embers still pulsing red.
"Crude," Karion grunted without turning, his voice booming in the confined space, "not a tenth of Stoneheart's glory. But it'll serve." He approached the largest workbench, its fireproof leather surface bearing the vambrace he'd shown earlier. Stowing it carefully, he scrutinized his new... associates.
His gaze first raked Lian's noble attire—dusty but still finely tailored—and the gem-encrusted sword at his hip. A derisive snort. "Boy, that garb might impress city guards, but in the Corrupted Woods? A beacon for every twisted thing." A jab at the sword. "And this? Pretty, but softer than firewood. Against what lurks there?" A mirthless chuckle. "Unless you plan to dazzle them to death."
Lian flushed but held his tongue. The truth, however blunt, was undeniable.
Karion's assessment shifted to Selya. Her dark traveler's garb and unadorned dagger drew a thoughtful frown. "You," he rumbled, "look less hopeless. But shadow magic there... may help or summon worse."
Selya remained impassive, her ice-blue eyes giving nothing away.
"Most of your gear's worthless," Karion concluded, tapping a half-finished pauldron with a metallic ping. "I'll need time. Redesign. Reforge. Especially weapons—common steel's parchment against the blight. Requires special alloys, anti-corrosion runes..." A glance at the ore stash. "Materials I've stockpiled, but may need more."
His tone brooked no argument, radiating a smith's absolute confidence. Somehow, this reassured Lian—at least their equipment was in expert hands.
"While I work," Karion set the pauldron down, nodding at Selya, "you, witch, educate our green noble. About where you're all marching to die."
Selya inclined her head slightly, as if expecting this. Moving to the room's clearest space, the magelights painted eerie shadows across her face as she began.
"The Corrupted Woods," her voice cut cleanly through the forge's crackle, "wasn't always as now. Ancient texts describe a vibrant forest, even faintly starlit. But after the Void Maw's curse..."
Her gaze swept over Lian and Karion—the latter now leaning against a workbench, arms crossed, face a mask of pained focus.
"Corruption consumes and warps," she continued dispassionately. "All life—plants, beasts, or... otherwise. Trees there may no longer be trees. Roots coil like serpents; trunks bleed caustic pitch; some emit hallucinogenic spores or luring pheromones."
A pause for comprehension. "Take 'Mourning Vines'—mimic infant wails to draw prey, then strangle with barbed tendrils, draining life. Or 'Shadowglow Caps'—release paralytic spores, digest victims slowly in fungal nets."
Lian's spine prickled. These specifics outstripped any tavern tale's horror.
"Animals fare worse," Selya went on. "Blight-twisted beasts grow more savage, bodies warping unnaturally. You'll meet 'Rotfang Wolves'—extra limbs, black pus, howls that shatter minds. Or 'Mire Wyrms'—mimic quicksand to drag prey under. Worse are magical creatures—their powers turn erratic and deadly when corrupted."
Her eyes darkened. "Beyond these... other things wander. Lost souls. Blight-bound wraiths. Even... failed experiments. All hate the living."
Karion's grunt confirmed every word, his fists clenched white-knuckled.
"Finally," Selya stressed, "the environment itself. Air carries corrosive particles—prolonged exposure damages lungs and sanity. Most water's tainted. Ground shifts unpredictably. Navigation fails—starlight barely penetrates the canopy."
Silence fell, broken only by magelight hum. Lian's chill deepened—the Woods wasn't just perilous terrain but a living, malevolent entity.
"Thus," Selya locked eyes with him, uncharacteristically grave, "constant vigilance. Trust nothing seen. Touch no strange growths. Drink only purified water. And above all—" her voice hardened, "—we move as one. Any lapse dooms us all."
Lian nodded fervently, the warnings seared into memory. Karion's stony face betrayed equal gravity.
"Aye," the dwarf rasped finally. "A hundred enter, one leaves. No preparation or care? Suicide." He straightened, looming before Lian. "Now. Your part of the bargain."
Lian's gut clenched. He knew what came next.
"Need to study rune activation," Karion extended a calloused palm. "Your blood. Just drops—for testing. To gauge your 'Starborn essence'... and how much runic power it can channel."
Despite expecting this, discomfort twisted through Lian. His right arm—where Selya's blade had drawn blood days prior—itched with remembered weakness. To a Starborn, blood wasn't mere fluid but power's conduit—both blessing and curse.
He exhaled, steadying himself. The price for Karion's aid. For surviving the Woods. For Lya.
"Fine." Rolling up his left sleeve, he offered his arm.
Karion selected precision tools—a slender silver needle tipped with micro-runes, a crystal vial. His hands, though rough, moved with surgeon's deftness.
"Relax." The needle pricked—a brief sting.
Lian watched his blood flow into the vial. Unlike normal blood, his shimmered faintly with silver stardust motes when exposed to air.
Just a few drops, yet familiar weakness washed over him—a subtle draining, like a wisp of soul tugged loose. Another reminder: his heritage's gifts came at cost.
Karion stoppered the vial, peering at its contents with naked fascination. The blood glowed ruby-like under magelight as he muttered dwarven rune-terms.
"Hmm... purity unexpected... energy resonance stronger than..."
Selya observed silently, her pallor ghostlier in the gloom. Something flickered in her glacial eyes—too fast to decipher. Her fingers twitched minutely.
The bloodletting became an unspoken rite, deepening their tenuous bond. Lian had upheld his vow; Karion gained his medium. Trust, like the first crack in ice, began its slow spread—yet suspicion and unknowns thickened alongside. Lian wondered how Karion would use his blood; Selya's secrets remained veiled; and his own power felt more burden than boon with each revelation.
"Right," Karion secured the vial in a rune-locked box. "I'll work day and night. You two—don't laze. We need supplies: rations, water purifiers, bandages, antitoxins..." He shoved a list at Lian. "The Slickmarket in west district has most. But tread lightly—it's no place for fools."
Lian took the list.
"I'll gather special herbs," Selya said. "Might neutralize some blight-miasma or aid in crises." She offered no specifics on sourcing.
Roles assigned, they prepared to part. As Lian and Selya turned to leave, Karion halted them.
"Wait." His brow furrowed. "One more thing." His gaze turned wary. "City's uneasy lately. Especially... those white-robed Church rats. More active than usual."
Lian recalled furtive stares outside the tavern.
"The Church?" he asked. "What of them?"
"Gut feeling," Karion admitted. "Past days, while gathering materials... felt watched. Not common thieves. Their eyes... different. Spotted two with hidden 'Eternal Sun' sigils lurking nearby."
Selya's expression darkened microscopically. "The Church's stance on Starborn and the blight has always been... complex," she said carefully. "They preach the blight as 'divine punishment' for worldly sin. Starborn they covet yet condemn—especially when starlight and corruption intersect." Her eyes found Lian's. "They may have noted you, Morningstar. The Starfall Fragment auction, your blood's uniqueness... all red flags."
Dread slithered down Lian's spine. He'd assumed the blight and whatever held Lya captive were his sole foes. Now another lethal player emerged—the Church, Eseria's most powerful institution, potentially branding him heretic or harbinger.
"What would they do?" His voice cracked.
"Unclear," Selya murmured. "Surveillance, at least. Or... worse. We must watch for threats beyond the Woods—shadows cast by 'holy light'."
Karion snorted. "Bottom line: no missteps. Get supplies fast, then we vanish. Sooner the better."
The shared look between Lian and Selya spoke volumes.
Emerging from Karion's den into daylight, Lian squinted—not from brightness, but the sudden sense of unseen eyes. He tugged his collar higher, as if it could hide him.
The Slickmarket was a lawless hive of deals legal and otherwise. They moved low and fast, checking items off the list.
As Lian examined a bundle of medicinal moss, Selya's touch alerted him. Following her gaze, he spotted a gray-robed, hooded figure across the way—ostensibly selecting fruit, but posture too stiff. A flash of keen eyes beneath the hood. Then, the tell: a thin silver chain at the ankle—Church acolytes' discreet holy symbol tie.
Simultaneously, Lian sensed scrutiny from another angle—a haggling woman with a ring bearing tiny crossed scepters: the Inquisition's mark.
No illusion.
They were being tracked.
Without reacting, they finished purchases and melted into the crowd, circling endlessly before returning to Karion's.
Back in the metallic gloom, their silence was heavier than the supplies they'd unloaded.
"We leave soon," Lian said quietly, fatigue and urgency entwined.
Karion, now bent over the blood-sample, glanced at their haul, then their grim faces, and nodded.
"Aye." His voice was gravel. "Storm's coming."
The workshop's usual clangs and grinds resumed, but now underlaid by a new tension—the Church's omnipresent shadow. Ahead lay the Corrupted Woods' unspeakable horrors; behind, the city grew equally perilous. Their journey, it seemed, would permit no peace from the start.