Chapter 4 – A Race of Hammers and Heartstrings, Part 5: The Forging of Legends and a Queen's Ascension

Part 5: The Forging of Legends and a Queen's Ascension

Renji returned to the Dwarven Forge of Khaz-Borim not as a supplier, but as a conquering hero of logistics. His final teleportation rune deposited him at the great gate, but it wasn't just him that arrived. With a series of coordinated, rumbling thumps, massive, iron-banded barrels and heavily sealed crates materialized in the courtyard behind him, a king's ransom in fuel and booze.

The dwarves who had been on guard duty dropped their axes in sheer, dumbfounded awe. Before them sat fifty barrels of the orcs' finest, most volatile Blood-Wine, a legendary brew known to be both an extremely strong spirit and a surprisingly efficient fuel source. Alongside them were crates packed with the Woodland Elves' new "Ever-Coal," a form of charcoal forged with lost alchemy from enchanted resins, rumored to be able to burn with a clean, intense heat for up to ten years without losing a single spark.

Thane Borislav Krukov himself emerged from the forge-heart, drawn by the commotion. He took one look at the mountain of high-quality fuel and premium alcohol, then at Renji, who stood there looking exhausted but triumphant. A slow, wide grin split Thane's stony face, a rare and momentous sight.

"By my father's beard and my mother's hammer," he boomed, his voice echoing with genuine respect. "The boy didn't just win the race. He brought the victory feast with him." He clapped a hand on Renji's pauldron that felt like a tectonic plate shifting. "You've kept your end of the bargain, wolf-boy. You have brought us not just legendary materials, but the means to do them justice. The forges of Khaz-Borim are yours. We begin at once!"

A great roar went up from the assembled smiths. Hammers were raised not in threat, but in salute. The work was about to begin.

The days that followed blurred into a single, glorious, deafening montage of creation. The heart of the mountain became a symphony of fire and steel. The great bellows, fed by the Ever-Coal, roared like captive dragons, breathing life into the forges until they glowed with a white-hot intensity. The master smiths, their bodies glistening with sweat, moved with a grace and power that was a form of worship, their hammers striking the glowing metal in a rhythm that was both a battle drum and a hymn.

Renji watched, mesmerized, as the legendary materials were transformed;

He saw them smelt the Ironwyrm ore, the strange, dense metal glowing with an inner light as it was purified in the forge-fire. He watched as Borislav himself took up a great hammer to set the thunderstones into what would become Gorund's warhammer, the runes of power being hammered into the metal with strikes so precise they seemed to be weaving thunder itself into the steel.

He saw the master wood-carvers handle the chunk of Ael-Donar with a reverence usually reserved for kings. They did not just carve the great bow for Eirwen; they seemed to coax it into its final shape, following the living grain of the mana-wood. The bowstring, spun from enchanted sinew and moonlight, was strung so that it hummed with a latent, deadly power, ready to birth arrows of pure energy.

He watched as the bright, mana rich wood of the Elder tree was carefully shaped into Caelum's staff. The process was unnerving; the wood seemed to drink the very light from the forge. When the jeweled, golden heartstone of the Aurelic Carp was set at its apex, it glowed with a strange, hungry, life-draining light that made even the stoic dwarves uneasy.

Rina's tiara was a work of delicate art. The finest dwarven silversmiths, their massive hands impossibly steady, wove threads of mithril and moonlight into a graceful circlet. When they set the Holy Tear at its center, the sanctified stone pulsed with a soft, calming light, its power focused and amplified by the intricate design.

But it was Evelina's ring that was the true masterwork. Borislav himself oversaw every step of its creation, his best smiths working in hushed concentration. It was forged from a blend of Ironwyrm ore and purified starlight silver, imbued with layers of protective wards and, finally, sealed with a single, perfect drop of Nith's own draconic essence, a gift the ancient armor had offered with grudging respect. It was more than a piece of jewelry; it was a pact, a promise forged in fire.

Days later, Renji returned to Evelina's castle, not alone, but with a retinue of dwarven smiths carrying great, cloth-wrapped bundles. He was exhausted, smelled faintly of coal smoke and ale, and had never felt more triumphant in his life, yet everything about him screamed that he needed a shower and a long one.

The Throne Hall was assembled, but the mood was not one of grim war councils. It was one of tense, hopeful anticipation. Representatives from all the allied races were present; Gorund stood stoically, his Aetherarm humming. Eirwen watched with a calm, steady gaze. Caelum loomed in the shadows, a flicker of something that might have been eagerness in his dark eyes. Rina was practically vibrating with excitement.

And on the throne, Evelina watched, her regal composure a thin veneer over the hope that shone in her eyes. Renji, with a theatrical flair he was beginning to enjoy, directed the dwarves to unveil the weapons one by one.

First, for Gorund. The warhammer was a masterpiece of brutal elegance. Its head, forged from the dark, shimmering Ironwyrm ore, was inlaid with the thunderstones, which crackled with contained lightning. As Gorund took the weapon, his massive hand closing around its haft, the Aetherarm on his other side seemed to whir in sympathetic resonance. He let out a booming, joyous laugh that shook the rafters. "It feels," he rumbled in perfect, translated Orcish, "like holding a storm by its throat."

Next, for Eirwen. The bow was long and graceful, its wood the pale, luminous color of the Ael-Donar heartwood. The string hummed with a soft, magical light. Eirwen took it, her movements fluid and precise. She drew the string back without an arrow, and a shaft of pure, green energy materialized, its tip sharp as a needle. She smiled, a quiet, deadly expression of pure satisfaction. "It sings the song of the forest," she whispered. "And the song of the hunt." the bow seemed to hum alongside her, as if an old partner with whom she was finally reunited.

Then, Caelum. The staff was a thing of dark, twisted beauty, the elder wood seeming to absorb the light around it. The golden carp-stone at its apex pulsed with a strange, hypnotic rhythm. When Caelum's fingers closed around it, the stone flared, and for a moment, the shadows in the hall seemed to deepen, drawn to him. A cold, thin smile touched his lips. "It feels… hungry," he said, his voice filled with a necromancer's glee. "I approve."

For Rina, Renji presented the silver tiara. As she placed it on her brow, the Holy Tear at its center pulsed with a gentle, clear light. Rina's eyes widened. "Whoa," she breathed. "It's like... I can see everything. Every possibility, every lie, every fashion faux pas in this entire room. Evi, your posture is impeccable, but Caelum's robes are so last season." She grinned as she avoided making eye contact with Renji knowing full well what dumpster fire his mind was.

And finally, for Evelina. The hall fell silent. Renji approached the throne, holding a small, velvet-lined box. Rina, unable to help herself, whispered loudly, "Majide, he's totally proposing!" she said her hands were visibly shaking as her new tiara was allowing her to see all possible futures.

Renji's face went crimson, but he knelt in front of his queen, offering her the box. "Your Majesty." he said softly, trying to look her in the eyes, yet his hands slowly shaking and Nith as if on purpose refusing to stabilize them.

Inside, the ring gleamed. A simple band of dark Ironwyrm silver, set with a single, flawless gem that seemed to hold a dragon's eye within it. Evelina took it, her fingers brushing his for a fraction of a second, a touch that sent another jolt through him. She slid it onto her finger.

The effect was instantaneous. A wave of immense power washed through the hall. The ring flared, and Evelina gasped as she felt her own vast reserves of mana triple, a new, draconic magic coiling within her, and the ancient, nagging weakness to holy light simply, vanishing. The ring was giving her something she could not imagine; power, resistance to her one key weakness, and yet warmth, as it came from him.

"The dwarves called it a 'Ring of Sovereignty,'" Renji said, his voice a little shaky. "It has few defensive features, that your majesty can probably access right about now."

As if on instinct, Evelina tested her new magic. She focused, and from her back, two magnificent wings of shadow and violet light unfolded with a silent, breathtaking grace. They were not flesh, but pure, elegant magic, draconic in shape and regal in bearing. They were also large enough to rip the back of her formal queenly robes clean open.

There was a sound of tearing silk, and the back of her gown fell away to reveal that, underneath her regal attire, she was still wearing the practical, form-fitting black and violet gym outfit from that morning's disastrous training session.

The entire hall froze.

Renji stared. His mind, already running on fumes, simply ceased to function. The image of his majestic, all-powerful, dragon-winged queen, now revealed to be wearing a sports bra and shorts, was a paradox too beautiful for his mortal brain to handle.

He made a small, gurgling sound. A torrent of blood erupted from his nose. And for the second time that day, he fainted dead away, collapsing onto the steps of the throne in a heap of black-violet armor.

Just as he fell, the great doors of the Throne Hall opened once more. A delegation of human town elders, their faces etched with worry and hope, stepped inside, ready to pledge their allegiance to the queen they now saw as their only hope against the Alliance's tyranny. They stopped, utterly bewildered by the scene before them: a dragon-winged queen in workout clothes, a fainted knight bleeding on her steps, and a court that was just beginning to erupt into a mixture of horrified gasps and unrestrained, hysterical laughter.

Evelina, her face a shade of crimson that rivaled the banners of war, stared down at the unconscious Renji. She was moved by the humans' pledge, horrified by her wardrobe malfunction, and utterly panicked about her knight. Rina leaned over, peering at Renji's peaceful, unconscious face.

"Well," she commented cheerfully to the stunned room at large, "I guess it's official. My boss has a Renji-killer body."

Meanwhile,

Far to the east, in the cold, sanctimonious halls of the Cathedral of Centralia, the Elven Queen was not laughing. She slammed a fist onto her marble desk, the sound cracking like a whip. The reports were a litany of failure. The Hero's party had been bruised, battered, and humiliated by dragons. They had been banished by the dwarves. The weapons they had finally managed to forge from lesser materials were cursed, draining their wielders of their strength. Key human settlements she had counted on to supply her armies had openly pledged themselves to Evelina.

She could feel her goddess's power waning, flickering like a dying candle as the old gods of her enemies were remembered and revered. She could feel Lux Sancta's rage, a cold, burning fury that mirrored her own.

Her eyes, bloodshot and wild with a fanatic's fire, locked onto the grand map of the continent. She swept a hand across it, knocking pieces representing armies and cities to the floor.

"No more tricks," she hissed to the empty room. "No more quests."

She strode to the balcony, her voice magically amplified to carry across the entire city. "To the generals of the Alliance! The time for waiting is over! March! Burn their fields! Salt their earth! I want that heretic cow's head on my dinner plate, even if it means to burn our own kingdom to get to her!"

The war has begun.

End of Chapter 4.