The storm rumbled overhead as Azraela stood in the dim, candlelit chapel of the Catacombs, the echoes of Mirna's words still reverberating in her mind. The revelation about her bloodline, the Sigil, and the Flaming Sword: it all felt too monumental to fully process. Her heart was burdened, a strange heat building within her as if something ancient was stirring. She could almost feel the weight of the sword calling to her, a distant, unreachable desire.
Mirna, now standing by the far corner of the chapel, watched Azraela with a knowing gaze. She was studying her, measuring the change that had already begun to take place in the young warrior. Azraela could feel the shift, the stirring in her veins: a power waking up, something both exhilarating and terrifying.
"You should sleep," Mirna said softly, breaking the silence.
Azraela turned her head slowly, her violet eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight. "Sleep? After everything you just told me? How am I supposed to sleep?"
Mirna smiled faintly, that same sad yet knowing expression. "You won't sleep the same way again. The Sigil has awakened the bloodline inside you, and with it comes visions, whispers, and dreams. At dawn, I'll take you to where you'll claim the Sword. But right, you must save your energy for the journey. So, you must rest."
Azraela wasn't so sure. Rest? Was she supposed to shut her eyes and let the storm within her calm itself? Her fingers twitched at her sides, longing for her twin guns. Involuntary habits her fingers had recently formed at wanting something to pull. Azraela's twin guns were more than just weapons: they were her comfort, her anchor. But something was gnawing at her, an itch in the back of her mind, telling her that the guns weren't enough anymore. Something bigger, something far more dangerous, awaited her.
Still, she missed her guns.
And her fingers twitched longingly for them.
"You still want them, don't you," Mirna said as though reading her mind.
"How did you know I was thinking about my weapons?" Azraela said. She wasn't surprised. Witnessing a glimpse of Mirna's prowess a few moments ago gave her the reason not to be. She was rather curious. Curious about this mysterious Watcher. Curious of what capacity of powers she was capable of wielding.
"I'm not that powerful in the ranks, compared to what you are going to become once you grow fully into your power," Mirna replied. Clearly, she was reading Azraela's mind. She gave Azraela a mischievous grin. "Yes, I can read minds, but only of those I have power over. But with your potential and current bloodline activation, I may not be able to read your mind for long. As for your guns, since you miss and need them desperately, I think I can help you with that."
The excitement on Azraela's face was showing as she let out a radiant smile. "Like when?" Azraela asked.
"Like right now," Mirna replied, walking toward a bone of flaming torch hung on the wall. Pulling the bone-torch off its designed socket, the wall suddenly caved in, revealing a narrow tunnel.
Azraela gasped. Both in wonder and in joy. She was finally going to feel her twin guns again.
"Follow me, young warlord," Mirna said, disappearing into the long and winding tunnel with the bone-torch.
Outside, the storm began to intensify. Azraela could hear the crackling of the winds and the distant rumble of thunder. The heavens were restless, much like her. Her bloodline, activated by Mirna's Sigil, was stirring something deep inside her: a legacy she hadn't asked for, but which was undeniably hers.
The Cave of Armaros breathed like a living beast. Veins of molten gold pulsed beneath blackened stone. The air shimmered from the heat of the forge, every breath tasting of iron, fire, and ancient oaths. At its heart, a figure moved like a legend carved from the cosmos.
The Celestial Blacksmith Armaros.
A Watcher.
Fallen.
Yet, a Human Race Sympathizer.
His skin bore the glimmer of obsidian, with veins glowing like dying stars. A figure carved out of brimstone and starlight. His shoulders were broad as mountain slabs. Eyes molten like twin suns. Arms inked with runes that flared and dimmed in rhythm with the lava's flow. Each strike of his starry hammer rang with history.
For he was a Forger of most mysterious weapons in history wielded by the hands of Men. Great Men.
Not far from him, his apprentice, Kael, was busy trying to forge a stubborn weapon. Each attempt Kael hammered against the junior Anvil of the Gods sparked starry dusts of frustrating failure. The sparks danced through thick smoke like fireworks, his frustration mounting.
"You're still hammering like a mortal," Armaros grunted without looking. "You want the flame to obey? Then own your heartbeat."
"How, Grandmaster Armaros?" Kael asked.
Armaros lowered his voice, as though whispering a secret. "Listen to the flame, and it'll whisper its secrets to you."
Kael tilted his ears in a listening gesture. Nothing happened. Except the wild, flickering noise of the flame. "I hear nothing, Grandmaster," he disappointedly replied.
"You're still listening wrong, young learner; still listening like a mortal."
"How do I listen right, Grandmaster?" Kael asked, determined to learn.
"Good question!" Armaros replied. "Shift," he gestured.
Kael moved away.
Armaros smiled reverently at the flame. And it began to flicker rythmically as though performing a snake-dance.
"How did you do that?" Kael gasped.
"Another good question," replied Armaros. "The flame is a pull of emotion. It feels. To gain its trust, its obedience, its compliance, connect with it with your heart: not your mind. Your mind thinks; but your heart feels. So listen with your heart, boy."
Kael was proud of having this wise Watcher, though Fallen, as his master. What he had just learned now was a secret most masters would not reveal to their apprentices in a hurry. For that, he was grateful. But before he could try out this new fire-bending technique, his forge shifted.
The flame bowed.
Someone was coming. No! Two, Armaros sensed. Someone worthy was being brought to see him.
"Enough learning for today," Armaros said dismissingly to Kael, who bowed slightly and exited through the back door.
From the smoke-choked threshold, Mirna appeared, bearing a subtle shimmer of celestial authority. But it was the one beside her who caught the Celestial Blacksmith's attention.
Sera Valtoria.