The mud underneath Pinan'khee's knees was colder than the northern seas. The night's frigid wind stung the ears atop her bowed head, cutting through her bare torso and into her ribs in its icy grasp. She was far out of sight from the colony, her humiliation separated from their judging gazes. They must not be privy to the defeat of a paladin.

Kegara had already made her resentment for her failure known, the five, raw lashes on the lesser paladin's back pulsing in agony long after they had been received. Yet, upon the Grand Paladin's dismissive departure… a much greater force made itself known, now standing over Pinan'khee.

The shadows of hooded figures surrounded her, each holding but a singular torch. Their glowing eyes bored into her shameful presence from within the darkness of their cowls, their expressions and appearances entirely obscured.

She could not face them. Groveling would not make up for her failures. She silenced her trembling body into stillness, allowing her frozen form to succumb to the anxiousness, guilt, and fear of her imminent reprimand. How could she have known the Inquisition was on the mainland?

The Head Inquisitor stepped forward, dreadful chains clinking from underneath his cloak. He stopped in front of the kneeling paladin, his height matching hers. His voice was as deep as any female's, yet was wholly unsympathetic to its core, forming a commanding tone solidified by an austere manner. "Kegara has informed me of your position… The Mountain Lord has offered you a path forward for your wavering faith. You will answer my questions truthfully and wholly."

Pinan'khee stifled a flinch at the sharp intent, steeling herself to respond with a level projection. "Of course, Truthkeeper."

He jabbed the stick end of his torch into the soft ground. His hand snaked back into his draped clothing and pulled out a… rock. The jagged, yellowish item was connected to a metal chain, like a pendant. It seemed to shimmer and wave in the wind coursing around it. Some of the stone ebbed and flowed like a flame, coursing back toward something else within the black interior of his garments.

"The star-sent, describe its appearance."

The paladin hesitated, not expecting such a question… She expected her failure to further the Grand Trial to be questioned or the material she acquired to be brought up, not…

The glimmer of the unusual item he produced caught her eye, drawing her further into its aura. Something within her frills shuddered, trembling down to her neck. It was as if she had dipped her head into a pool of icy water, the shocking touch only seeming to bite at the plumed skin above her skull.

She wrangled her mind into place, solely focusing on answering the queries. The blockage within her thoughts was dissolved, allowing them to flow freely and honestly. She could not lie. The truth was paramount. She promised her heart by the Mountain Lord to be faithful.

"A creature of metal with four eyes. He is a hands-length taller than a male. Two arms and wide shoulders."

"And your reasoning for complying with 'his' demands? What forces does he wield?" the Head Inquisitor prodded. Another one of his hands retreated back into his cloak, causing a further rattling of chains from within.

She attempted to avert her gaze, but found the motion impossible, instead settling to clench her maw and pick her words carefully. "Their forces are well-equipped and fortified. Their settlement is lined by great walls and arrays of alloys. And their armament is of an unknown make. Mystical in origin, I suspect. The scouts have observed only deafening booms and white fire in their wake… And a head figure of theirs… the supposed guardian of the star-sent, is a paladin of our Mountain Faith."

The inquisitor's face did not change by her words. He gripped the chain of the unusual stone, letting it hang in front of her eyes. "Paladin Shar'khee. We are aware. The presence of a false believer is nothing to regard. Have you no more to say of their weaponry?"

"No. I do not." The amulet-bound rock stole her attention further, obscuring her peripherals.

"Understood." The glowing white eyes from beyond the veil of his hood blinked for the first time, followed by a small wince. His low, stern tone had yet to falter, however. "You will describe the colors or insignia of the unfaithful."

Unfaithful. A sliver of Pinan'khee's shame fell apart into anger… Anger at the heretical vermin that sparked her failure… They spurned the path of their trial with their resistance.

The paladin's burning intent leaked her inner thoughts all the while, fueled by the searing emotions within. "There was not one consistent factor between any of them. I… I observed wings, pickaxes, axes, a symbol of a fish and berries, and that of a spear striking an abhorrent. Their colors were much the same—unorganized—mostly stripes of their skin tone imbued onto their armors. Some wrote scripts referencing the star-sent's vision or the death of bugs."

"There was no icon of spiraling helices or that of a sword in a circle of leaves?"

"No," the paladin replied before she could even consider the question, her intent working without her input. Her thoughts had meandered elsewhere, dragging up every memory and frustrating feeling born from the last three days.

Pinan'khee felt powerless. Incapable. Her facilities were too limited, constrained by Malkrinpower and the elements of the mainland. How could she have been so blind to the heretical aims? Why did she allow that unholy chosen of the despicable Sky Goddess to even speak? Why did it matter whether the star-sent was benevolent or not; he stood directly opposite to Kegara's vision and the trial of her people.

Perhaps it would have been more honorable to forget her words and attempts at dialogue, instead cutting the head of the star-sent who opposed her. If she had perished, so be it. It would have been a better fate than this writhing humiliation. How could she remain cooperative—amicable, even—to them?

She knew what was to happen to her when she returned to the colony with none of the beach-bound banished. No amount of star-sent resources would make up for losing vital laborers… But it at least bought her life. She was spared, allowed to atone by the hand of the Inquisition.

Where Kegara lambasted her for being bribed with food and cloth, the Truthkeeper questioned how such high-quality material was procured. The cloaked order was not impressed by the fact she managed to gain such a surplus of resources. No, they wanted to know more about its origins… and the heretical figure that produced them.

Pinan'khee vaguely felt herself recalling events and aspects of the other settlement to the Head Inquisitor, but her mind had long separated from her spoken word, drowning in the river of sights and sounds replaying behind her eyes—the ever-bright lights of the beach settlement, the way the unfaithful stared at her with malice, and the misguided hope they laid in the star-sent's hands.

Pitiful… They would never ascend, never grace the mountain's peak. They betrayed their own God and for what? Worldly possessions? It was pitiful, absolutely pitiful.

She could not let such dissenters continue.

Pinan'khee's eyes snapped open, bright orange torchlight meeting her. She fell to her hands, nauseous. Her head spun in circles, the yellow, chained rock imprinted into her vision. Her maw hurt from the scowl etched into it for Lord knew how long, her brows stiffened into an expression of wrath.

She felt her stomach twist suddenly. Her mouth was flooded by cold saliva for a mere moment before bile was ejected into the mud in front of her. Her sickness passed her quickly and violently, singing her throat and tongue in agony for a short while after.

The strength to lift her head up came slowly, but she still managed it, looking up at the Head Inquisitor. Tears blurred her eyes, but she could make out him handing the yellow stone to a cloaked female beside him.

"Silence the Bastard Son of the Titans," he ordered flatly.

The lesser Inquisitor nodded once and stepped back into the black of the night. Her silhouette was briefly outlined by the nearby colony's array of blazing fires; the short wall of stone around it was not quite tall enough to obscure its light.

The paladin returned her focus to the Truthkeeper. Her fragmented mind could only forge a singular sentence, its projection still marred by the exhaustion of her short-lived sickness. "Bastard… Son of the… Titans?"

The Head Inquisitor looked down at her with disinterest, gesturing something unintelligible to another of his servants. "It is nothing you need to concern yourself with…"

Another hooded female stepped up, prompting the austere male to continue. "Your questioning is over. You will follow the Acolyte of Verity here and return to our camp… Your tutelage under the Order is lacking… Your *knowledge** is lacking. That will not do. You will listen and you will learn. If you are to fail in this too, you will be disposed of. The Grand Trial of our kingdom shall not be put in jeopardy because of your ineptitude."*

Pinan'khee flinched at the insult. Any irritation it brought forth within her was swiftly swept away by the gripping pressure of guilt. She could not live down her fundamental defeat at the hands of her own weakness. This opportunity could not be squandered. "I shall make amends. My education is my priority."

The paladin pushed herself off of the mud-and-vomit-laden ground, managing to stand on weak knees. Cold filth covered her extremities, solidifying in the wind as she shuffled behind the acolyte. Vile it may be, but it at least broke the wind along her digits and tail.

She was only allowed a paltry few moments to reapply her cloth and chest piece before the Inquisitor led her away from the pit of sludge and shame, toward the mountain. A large swath of the once-forested area had been chopped away for the colony's purposes, leaving a dead zone of liquid dirt and stumps in its wake. The area still smelled of the abhorrents' rotting corpses from the recent crimson night, yet the only thing she could smell was the metallic scent of her own blood marinating within her nostrils.

How fitting was it that the place where the enemies of God were slaughtered was also where lashings were given? Her sentencing was just out of sight from the colony, yet that did not spare her from the judgment of others. Her fellow paladins had long left her to suffer in the mud with the Inquisitors, but she could still feel the searing degradation of their eyes boring into the back of her head.

Pinan'khee swiftly found herself at the foot of the Mountain, entering the mouth of a familiar cave. She was only offered a singular look at the peak as she passed. The grand silhouette cut through the purple night sky, two moons of blue and white racing across the endless expanse above it. God's presence was unrelenting against the infinite, uncaring abyss that engulfed it. It stood proud amongst the elements.

The Mountain Lord watched over her, welcoming her into the safety of his stone palace, offering her salvation within. Her repentance did not end with the whip, no. It began with the Inquisitor's orders. The Truthkeepers would forge her anew.

Hallowed tunnels of smooth stone led her deeper to the forges beneath. The heat of their ever-churning fires embraced her, revitalizing and preparing her like the metals they softened. Salvaged, impure metal could be reforged just the same as ore could.

Her faith had not faltered. She had. She was a dented blade, a pitiful mockery of what her Lord made her for… Yet now she was destined to be remade by the hands of the Mountain Lord. The paladin, too weak to face a paltry being of metal and a handful of armor-clad females, was useless for the Grand Trial.

If the Inquisitors saw use in her, she would gladly allow herself to be struck by the hammers of their smithies.

She passed by the tents and forges of the stout Dwellers who mined Ershah for resources. Her short journey took her through the colossal stone wall, around the tunnels within, and to a familiar area.

The text-keeper's study had changed considerably since Pinan'khee had last seen it. Where once stood stone tables and torches was now a lair of glowing rocks and unnatural light. The once glass-like cylinders in the ceiling formed bright white radiance that illuminated the entire area. Round stones of a green hue were also hung from the roof near the various shelves of blue-wood that lined the eight-sided wall.

They appeared to be storage for more of the interestingly-colored items, each sorted by their tinge—reds, oranges, greens, yellows, blues… The racks were not fully filled, but there was enough to notice that they were, in fact, organized based on that aspect. Some floated, others hummed, and few were locked in thick bottles of glass, seemingly moving of their own volition back and forth between their see-through imprisonment.

The air was hot and smelled of blood—or iron, most likely. It felt abnormal, the soft encircling breeze moving where it should not. The entire room itself moved and ebbed in the presence of the odd elements placed along the walls. She could swear her motions felt slower, too.

"Ah, greetingsss, Acolyte… and paladin Pinan'khee…" the text-keeper addressed from his seat on the opposite side of the stone table in the center of the room. He placed his parchment and quill down and stood up.

Pinan'khee nodded her head, but kept quiet.

The inquisitor stood still within her tenebrous cloak. The sound of clinking chains preceded her level tone. "Text-keeper."

The skeleton-like male hobbled up to the two females, looking them up and down with his singular, yellow eye from within his cowl. "What bringsss you to-to my study, hmmm?"

"This one must be taught like the others. Summon Iskala, and ensure this one understands."

His smile was unsymmetrical, showing off crooked teeth. "Of c-course. It shall be done."

The Acolyte said no more, silently walking backward into the black hallway. Her departure left the paladin with the male. Pinan'khee was not, by any means, fond of the quirky being, but his knowledge and studies were unparalleled by any on the Mainland. Kegara had made great use of him in understanding the ruins of the precursors.

She stared down at him, his beady eye boring a hole into her for a few uncertain moments. His brows slowly squeezed lower into somewhere between a scrutinizing squint and that of vexation. "I am surprised Kegara has allowed you to continue breathing, much lessss to be allowed the-the knowledge of artifactsss."

Pinan'khee drew in a deep breath, allowing the scalding reminder to settle over herself. She must atone.

"Neverthelesss," the text-keeper continued, with venom in his broken cadence. He walked back toward his place of study before dragging his thin hand over several pages of parchment until he found a certain one, picking it up. "You must be taught in such waysss, mmmm. The Gr-Grand Trial must not be hampered by a lack of laborersss—even if they are known to fail such simple tasks."

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

The male scoured the parchment in his hands before looking back toward the paladin, who had yet to move. "Tell me, Sword of God, what do you know of the otherworldly zonesss?"

The paladin held her hands by her sides, thinking for a moment to give him an earnest response. "They are aberrations of nature, born of the latent energy of the Titans, infesting the land. They can be imbued with the various elements of Ershah, but make use of them unnaturally. They are to be avoided as they are dangerous beyond comparison, their hazards often unseen until it is too late."

The text-keeper stared at her with neutrality, assumed to have heard much the same before—if she was right to assume that the other paladins had been brought down here already. "Mmmm. Th-That is to be expected. Now, what of artifactsss?"

"Artifacts?" she asked, resisting the foolish urge to tilt her head.

He tiredly resigned to her ignorance with a nod, hobbling over to one of the storage spaces on the walls, speaking as he went."…Of co-course. Have you taken note of the peculiar stonesss that line the shelvesss of my-my study?"

"I have indeed."

He shakily grabbed a green-colored stone from within his cloak. The produced item was held up to the blue boards on the wall as he grabbed one of the 'peculiar stones.' His limbs covered the interaction, but Pinan'khee could have sworn she saw illusory wisps of his collection flow through to the one he brought out from his garments, reminding her of the interaction with the Truthkeeper's chained, yellow rock.

The text-keeper cautiously held onto a displayed stone, keeping the green counterpart near it all the while. The hand he used lagged as he turned to fully face the paladin, moving in slow motions to where his body led it. He clenched his teeth, his curled maw expressing discomfort… but not pain.

His eye met hers, sharpened in disappointment and urgency. "Come, come! Observe! Observe its complexion! You shall not learn until you sssee!"

She quickly did as ordered, getting close enough to observe the bundled object in his palm. Beads of jagged red coral were strung together by an imperceptible force. Each component kept their alignment in succession from one another, sticking together when he shook the series of uneven rocks in a flinch.

The paladin barely kept her feet dutifully implanted in the ground as she recoiled her head backwards, keeping it away from the unnatural… thing. What in the Mountain Lord's blessed grounds was that? A piece of the otherworldly zones?

Her curiosity had taken her facilities, breaking her obedient silence. "W-What is this?"

"An artifa-fact. 'Mother's Beads,' is its name. What do you noticcce about it? Hmmm? What about my-my hand? What if I were to—" He moved all four arms to the left, one noticeably lagging behind the rest, taking much longer to catch up. "—move my armsss, yes?"

She clenched her maw shut, steeling herself to take in his knowledge. "It is… slower?"

The text-keeper's head lolled as he continued to project his fascinated intent. "Yes yes, this is true. This is true! Everything within its aura and touch is made near-stagnant!"

His eye slowly lost its sparkle as his gaze dropped from hers. His facial muscles relaxed. A low exhale drew his senses back to him, inspiring the male to place the artifact on the table nearby over the course of a few moments.

He rested his lower arms on top of the slab of stone—intentionally away from the mystical object—and shook his once-slowed hand. His projection was noticeably laggard, the paleness in his snout regaining its color as he explained himself.

"Th-This one is-is quite powerful in its function. Slowness may be used for many purposesss. M-My arm here hasss been rendered lag-laggard to the point where the blood itself took on the-the speed of thick oil in my veinsss, making it difficult for my-my heart to flush it through, mmmm. Yes, difficult… difficult indeed. Such may be used to stop bleeding for quick sutures, but longer usage m-may cause the blood to leave the rest of one's body or worse if the pressure is allowed t-to build.

An eager grin spread its way across his snout. "Furthermore, Issskala has touted th-that it may be used to counter the effectiveness of spears or to parry an opponent—if you prepare and train yourself for its use before, or have the means to mitigate such effects on yourself, that is. I-I am sssure you of all individuals would understand its effects would be-be quite unwieldy if used in the moment, hmmm?"

Pinan'khee stared at the red beads sitting limply on the 'furniture.' Images of slowing an opposing sword and pouncing on the opportunity to strike flashed in her mind. This abomination of the Gods' blessed grounds had… purpose. The very Titans the Gods rent into dirt and stone birthed these freaks of the Lord's domain, yet their vile energy could be harnessed to serve the aims of the Grand Trial.

The idea sickened her to her very core. It was a despicable use of heinous energies. The enemies of the Mountain God were not to be mimicked by his favored children. Where did the text-keeper draw such confidence in the detestable?

…But she could not take her eyes off of the artifact, every moment submerging her senses further into a viscous whirlpool of black tar. It returned the consuming disgust she had for her failure and how she had been undermined by the simplest of forces to the front of her mind, the clinging mortification forcing her down to her knees. The weakness she displayed burned across her flesh like a brand. Her pitiful reactions were enforced by her own internalized indecisiveness in her abilities.

If she had something to allow her the edge—a smidge of confidence in her facilities—over the armored opponents of the conniving star-sent, she would not have had to suffer with such shame. She would have been welcomed with gratuity and applause from her sisters… not revulsion.

Her thoughts swam and crashed into one another in the deluge of simmering indignity and calculated malice, all returning her focus back to the otherworldly stones. She could have sworn the chained yellow rock she witnessed earlier in the night was one. Was the Truthkeeper using an artifact? Why would a pillar of the Grounded Faith have one in his possession…? Did his profession not work entirely to oppose the enemies of their Mountain lord?

Now that she considered the effects of the Titans, was the blessed intent gifted to all Malkrinkind not also a derivation of their wrathful power? Would it not be the same to wield the artifacts' miraculous abilities?

…The Inquisitors and the text-keeper were wise. Why not take what the Titans have left and make it their own? It was no different than the genesis of Pinan'khee's kind. The Mainland was for them to conquer and bring forth a new hand of the Land Kingdom. Such a task included the harvesting of resources, which certainly was not limited to the natural aspects of the continent.

The mire of liquid disappointment she festered in dried and wilted away at the prospect. Her profession—her life's labor—was defined by how strong she acted in her Lord's stead. Any and all additions to her success should be taken and used to their fullest. The artifacts would only be an extension, augmenting her to bridge the gap between pitiful failure and grand success.

The paladin took in a soft breath, reigning in her zeal. "I see. What else must I need to know for this artifact's use?"

The text-keeper seemed to have regained himself for the most part, erratically rapping two sets of talons on the stone slab. "This artifacts use? Oh no, this one shall not be used… it is *far** too pure. Yes yes, too pure. It would do no good for equipment, Iskala tells me. All you must understand is how your imbued equipment w-will work, and that is not my expertissse."*

Her head tilted in confusion against her wishes. "Pure? A-And who is Iskala? Please, forgive my ignorance."

He glanced at her passively, ignoring her poorly-worded query before pointing a feeble digit toward one of the room's few exits, his other shaky talons clicking together. "You shall meet Iskala, the Terraforger, soon enough for your t-tempering, yesss. She is one of the inquisitors, born to prepare their faction of the Order's… *unusual** armamentsss… *

"And, as for the purity of artifacts, there is little to inform. Some are simply more potent than othersss. An artifact may nullify what even the-the most scholarly laborers know about the physical world, mmmm? Erasing the fundamentals themselves within their influence, whilst others may offer a near-unnoticeable change to their surroundings. The weaker aberrations are dessscribed as 'impure' whilst the stronger ones are deemed 'pure.' There are other ways of describing their potential, but Iskala has yet to teach me more about the study and no-nomenclature."

Pinan'khee's eyes widened. The keeper of the Texts of Origin needed to be taught? "She teaches you?"

The skeleton-like male glared at her, silencing any further questioning with his singular, glowing eye. He took the Mother's Beads away and placed them back on the blue-wood shelf with the assistance of the other green artifact he kept on hand. "Mmmm. I keep texts. Yes-yes, that is correct. However, my profession is not limited to my understanding of precursor scriptsss. I am a purveyor of knowledge! My-My God-given task is that of a ssscholar. I am to understand the Texts of Origin, the history of our blessed world, and the unknown that residesss underneath every corner. "

The text-keeper turned around, looking straight back at the paladin with the sternness of Kegara. The ever-present and subtle quiver of his form seemed to stop long enough for him to scold her. "Iskala is well learned in the latter, ha-having experience with that which I have yet to see before. I shall not squander this opportunity to acquire the Inquisition's knowledge… Now, I do not believe you will assimilate much of my words, were I to ramble on about the elements of artifactsss, hmmm? You must see the Terraforger herself and become tempered. Come see me when you underssstand the purpose of these blessed charms, yes."

Pinan'khee nodded. "Where shall I find her?"

He glanced down one of the exits to the room. "You-you may find her down the corridor of ssstone… I believe her latest project should be com-completed soon. I would not advissse you to disturb her, were you to catch her working. Have patience, if so, Sword of God."

"I shall heed your warnings, text-keeper," she responded deferentially, bowing by her waist before leaving.

The frail male gave her no further mind, sitting back down on his chair and scrounging the various leaves of parchment. The motion raised his cloak enough to reveal his thin, completely finless tail, showing off the glowing orange hagstone-like object held in his curled appendage. Another artifact?

The paladin gave it no mind, continuing down the squat passageway of near-perfectly smooth walls. Distant 'clangs' and subtle 'sizzles' echoed down the hallway, slowly overpowering the subtle scraping sounds that her foot talons made along the ground.

A warm glow of a soft yellow caressed the corridor's exit, welcoming her into a larger room. The light covered a fraction of the area beyond, blackness covering the rest of the far walls. The only sign of life was the radiance of a singular soul, laboring away into the abyss surrounding it.

The smolder of white-hot metal, the strike of a hammer, and the sizzle of quenching sparked the air in bright flashes. The burly female hunched over her sturdy anvil, gaze transfixed on her craft. All four of her arms were used to their fullest, deftly mixing in and out of each other's way in the endless motions.

A fiery artifact of orange spikes held within blue-wood melted the metal until it glowed with a candent aura. The shaped iron was clasped still with tongs, braced for the calculated hit of a hammer, further forming the weapon. Her final hand, malformed and more akin to stone than talon, brought forth a spherical white stone, chilling the orange-hot metal until it was stable once more.

Again and again, the assumed Terraforger went, melting, striking, and cooling her craft, never failing to cease her flow. Every repetition only lessened the time between, perfecting every deliberate move.

Her labor warped the world within her illuminated area, an atmosphere of certainty and focus enveloping her, whipping the dusty air in a sphere around her. Pieces of stone shook and floated about like observers to her spectacle, hovering higher and higher. The mere rocks shone and flickered in the yellow light stemming from just above the Terraforger's head like a holy aura. The drumming beat of her forging caused them to dance to its tune, encircling her in a mystic flow of primordial nature as if it were their birthright to swim in her rhythm.

It was so beautiful and so distracting, warping Pinan'khee's mind away from her senses, lulling her into their presence. Vibrations thrummed through her bones as the blacksmith worked, beating in tune with her heart. She felt her tail whipping back and forth with every sizzle of heat and clang of metal.

Her head bobbed in pace with the growling chants echoing out from the mystical laborer, and the peculiar swirling stones almost seemed to call back to it, ringing in a chorus to their master's song. Their tempo increased as the Terraforger did, the energy in the air clenching, straining, and compacting like the primal pulse of the Mountain. The voices of the Ershan rocks melded like a monolith, focusing in with a final crescendo. Their fervor built and built, reverently ringing into a blessed falsetto until—

Clang.

The finale reverberated through the entire room like the clap of God himself, resounding several times along the walls and rattling Pinan'khee's skull.

A subtle hiss of the glacial, white artifact sent the dancing stones back to their rest on the floor. Their inanimate forms felt uncanny, reminding the paladin of lifeless husks lying dead on the battlefield. The immediate lack of energy drained her as well. A singular blink left her eyes sore in place of the supernatural.

"A heart of stone…" the blacksmith's deep, gravelly intent shook Pinan'khee out of her thoughts. Iskala's tone left her frills slowly and powerfully. "A reinforcement of wind… And, a tip of flame. I bless this monument of my soul to be wielded righteously. I pray this extension of my labor shall become the sword of God it was destined to be. I give unto you… my faith."

The Terraforger rested two lower hands on the metal's length, her other two wrapping the handle of the weapon with blue leather, tightening it until it could be formed flat in line with the pommel. The Hand guard was fitted in seamlessly with the blade, slotted in with a singular hammer strike. Iskala held it into the air, deftly feeling her palms along every corner of the long sword, being extra careful around the sharpened sides. The way her talons slid flatly across the flat surfaces told she was not worried of harming herself, instead focusing on not blunting the edges in any way.

It was only in the absence of otherworldly influences that Pinan'khee was given a good look at the blacksmith. Her torso was almost entirely bare, revealing her toned, white belly and deep-gray skin elsewhere. Thick iron chains formed around her shoulders and across her chest, encircling her arms like serpents.

Her head was entirely obscured, covered in the shadow of a sea predator's skull worn like a headdress. The bones were flaky, showing great aging, alongside the few places where indecipherable scripts had been chipped into. The two sides of the skeleton's split jaw ran across the Terraforgers's temples, ending in two green, gem-like artifacts. The eyes further up were embedded with yellow versions, shining a dull glow over her work and the surrounding area.

As for Iskala herself… The paladin squinted, trying to make out the contours of her shaded face. Her irises did not glow. Not just that, there were no eyes to be seen, mere holes in place of her vision. Mountain Lord, how did she—

The blacksmith laid the long sword on the anvil with a hearty 'thunk.' "I sense your presence, paladin. Reveal yourself."

Pinan'khee stiffened, realizing that she had been lurking for some time during her observation. "I am Pinan'khee of the Order's First Faithful Battalion, stationed on the mainland under the Grand Paladin Kegara."

"The shameful one," Iskala stated flatly, as if the statement were one and the same with her name by then. "You are here to be tempered."

The paladin flushed her mind of the humiliation, holding three arms over her chest in a salute. "That is correct."

"Strip."

"What?"

"Strip your chest piece and garments. I smell iron and leather on your skin."

She could smell them? What in the Lord's name did that mean? The repenting female took in a slow breath, figuring she had no other choice than to follow her orders. She unclasped the plates of metal from her form, allowing them to fall into her hands, where she subsequently placed them neatly at her feet. Her leather leotard took the longest to get off, its texture ripping at the still-raw lashes along her back, reopening the wounds to the balmy underground air.

Iskala had removed the weapon from the anvil in the meantime, freeing the area for work. "Lay upon my canvas."

Pinan'khee did as asked and laid across the still-warm block of iron. It heated her bare skin from her frills to the backs of her thighs, ending at where her knees curled over the edge. It was only when she locked eyes with the blank holes of Iskala had she truly thought about what she was doing. She was laying atop the other's 'canvas.' Was she to be treated the same as the metal?

A trickle of nervousness encompassed her… but she did not falter. It was her 'tempering.' If she was to be forged anew via flame and hammer, so be it. She gritted her maw and subtly flexed her muscles, preparing herself for the worst as the blacksmith took hold of a thigh and a shoulder within her bulky hands, pressing the paladin into place.

The Terraforger placed a cool, green-hued stone onto the center of Pinan'khee's sternum, raising her hammer to the sky. She raised her voice in prayer, solemn and proud.

"Blessed be this Sword of God made flesh. Lord of our labor, Lord of our souls, Lord of our destiny, bestow this one with your protection and rend the Goddess' poisons from her enchantments. May her sinew rupture and entwine with the energies of Ershah. Allow her immunity and certainty in her being. Gift her the strength to bear this land's hideous dangers."

The paladin resisted the primal need to close her eyes shut and bare herself from observing the imminent strike. The blunt tool fell.

Her chest flexed. A swift motion cut through the air.

There was no pain. No pressure. Nothing. Only the sound of shattering glass.

Her flesh was covered in tiny pinpricks of soreness, a legion of exhausting needles puncturing deep into her musculature and spreading amongst her bones. She looked down, noticing the last traces of green melding into her chest until there was naught but a subtle tint on her white torso.

Iskala continued, her intent much quieter yet just as dignified. "May you face the curse of artifacts head on and without fear. May you take the mantle of responsibility and use your protection for the aims of our Mountain Lord."

Pinan'khee still lay there in her most natural form, uncertain as to what the other meant. "W-What have I been tempered into?"

Iskala did not move, the yellow lights from her skull headdress glaring into the supine female's eyes. "Imbued with the immunity of the Sky Goddess' poison, you shall be free to climb the mountain, free from her ire. You are now one with the artifacts, and shall live and die by them. Your weapons will be saturated with their power as you nourish off them. Stray from their aura, and you shall wither."

The paladin's eyes widened. "I will die without their influence?"

"You must feed on them as grass feeds from the rain. You will stay here until I have replaced your armaments, lest you succumb to the elements. Now, leave my anvil, so that I may begin preparing them at once… and listen to what I am to teach you."

Once more, she did as asked, finding her legs limp from both the threat of a hammer strike to her heart, the weariness from the artifact laced into her skin, and the uncertain consequences of her tempering. But such was a meager price to pay. So be it that she was constrained to the otherworldly energies. If she was allowed that advantage and decisiveness in battle, she would never fail Kegara again…

Her rebirth in the sweltering underworld beneath the mountain had only begun.

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