Morning mist still coiled around the Thames like ghostly serpents when seventeen-year-old Arthur lit the forge. Sparks from his hammer strikes danced across the anvil, gilding his sweat-slicked shoulders in bronze hues. A droplet rolled down his corded neck, landing with a sizzle on the obsidian dagger at his hip.
CLANG! The newly tempered scythe plunged into the quenching trough. Steam billowed through the smithy, sending Old Henry into a rattling cough. The master blacksmith's furnace-scarred hands gripped the bellows, knuckles bleaching to bone-white under strain. "Conserve the coal, lad." He jerked his chin toward the sludge-filled street. "No farmers coming today."
Arthur's thumb traced the dagger's alien grooves—the meteorite blade thrust into his hands during his mother's final rasping breaths. The metal pulsed with unnatural heat. Outside, iron-rimmed wheels ground against cobblestones. Six shrouded forms lay stacked on a death cart, their rot stench clashing with purification herbs.
"Sweet Jesu," whispered the chandler's wife across the lane, her lye-reddened fingers clutching a tarnished crucifix. "Sister Hannah's third load since matins. Whilst those velvet-rumped lords across the river—" Her muttering died as hobnailed boots shattered the morning quiet.
Three bailiffs kicked through the half-rotten door. Their captain—armor clanking—upended an iron pig near the furnace, the fleur-de-lis on his scabbard leaking crimson light. "By mandate of Lord William!" His gauntleted fist slammed the anvil. "All ferrous metals confiscated!"
Old Henry moved with viper speed. The blacksmith's tongs whistled past the officer's ear, embedding in oak timber. Arthur gaped—the old man's burn-twisted arm now shimmered with serpentine scales. "Warn your master," Henry growled through metallic coughs, "some flames scorch beyond mortal kin."
In the scuffle, Arthur's palm met the dagger's edge. Blood struck the furnace coals. Azure fire erupted in a roaring column, heat blistering the air. Living flames lashed the bailiffs' cloaks, herding them against stone walls. The youth stared at his closing wound, certain the inferno whispered in draconic tongues.
"Witchcraft!" The men fled, armor clattering like panicked hares.
At moonrise, Arthur clung to a death cart's undercarriage. The bone-jarring ride ended beneath a crumbling abbey's arch. Crimson moonlight pierced shattered stained glass, painting spiderweb shadows where twelve corpses crawled toward the altar—eye sockets blazing scarlet, necks marred by fang marks.
"Exquisite reaping field, is it not?" A lilting voice dripped from above. A blood thrall hung bat-like from rafters, its thorned whip cracking against pillars. Stonework sprouted venomous black veins where the lash struck. The weapon snapped again—this time morphing into a steel-fanged viper mid-flight.
The dagger leapt from its sheath, carving cerulean arcs. Arthur seized the hilt. Liquid fire roared through his veins, his forearm erupting in draconic scales. His bare left hand caught the venomous lash.
Stained glass exploded inward. A silver-haired wraith descended, her wrist-blade severing the thrall's head before its sneer faded. "Dragon-spawn," she flicked black ichor from her blade, "the truth about your father's murder lies with me."
The crypt stank of sulfur and crumbling vellum. Eileen—the stranger—unrolled a scroll depicting a bloodied cross consuming shrieking souls. "At the full moon's zenith," she traced ritual markings, "the Conclave completes their sacrament at St. Paul's." Dried blood flaked from her nails. "Your mother's blade alone can shatter—"
Arthur's fingertip brushed parchment. The dagger shrieked. Visions cascaded: a scale-armored woman falling through necrotic flames, a stone-faced warrior dissolving into ash. He awoke to find his left pinky transmuted to marble.
Screeching ravens pierced the night. Eileen dragged him through hidden passages. "To the carriage!" Bouncing through darkness, Arthur's fingers found the death cart's insignia—twin-headed eagle entwined with thorned roses. The crest mirrored his father's pocket watch exactly.