Deep within the blacksmith's workshop, the darkness of the night was more than the mere absence of light—it carried a suffocating weight that pressed heavily upon Kael's shoulders. Outside, the wind whistled softly between the rocks, while inside, only the rhythmic crackling of the forge's embers disturbed the silence. The boy leaned over the table, his trembling fingers brushing against the shattered fragments of Axiom. The once-proud, gleaming metal surfaces now lay lifeless in pieces upon the rough wooden table, like the ruins of a fallen empire.
The old blacksmith, whose deeply lined face appeared even more mysterious in the reddish glow rising from below, stepped beside the boy slowly and almost soundlessly. He did not look at Kael; his gaze remained fixed on the fragments, as though he were reading a letter written in an unknown language. After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice rough like steel grinding against stone. He remarked that this had been the boy's peonza, and admitted that extraordinary power had truly dwelled within it. Kael could not hold his gaze. Lowering his head, he quietly replied that now they could only speak of it in the past tense.
The old master's hand, hardened by decades of labor, carefully reached for one of the shards. As his fingers closed around the metal, he shut his eyes for a brief moment, and the air in the workshop seemed to freeze. Kael stared in shock as the supposedly dead fragment began to glow faintly, pulsing within the old man's palm. The blacksmith sensed the rare, vibrating energy that still lingered even within the broken pieces. Hope flickered in Kael's eyes, and he urgently asked whether it could be repaired. But the old man slowly shook his head, and his answer struck like the blow of a hammer. Yet before the boy could completely lose hope, the master added that perhaps something entirely different—something new—could rise from the ashes.
The old man walked to the forge and stirred the fire with a long iron rod. As if obeying his command, the flames instantly surged higher, dancing across the walls in shades of orange and crimson. He began telling a legend preserved from centuries ago. He spoke of a peonza that had not been forged by ordinary craftsmen within the safety of a workshop. This weapon had been created by a lone blacksmith who descended to the deepest point of the world, into the heart of a roaring volcano, to retrieve a metal capable of enduring even the fires of hell.
Kael absorbed every word. As the old man spoke, something strange happened within the forge's flames. In the swirling fire, the dark and unmistakable silhouette of a peonza began to emerge. At last, the master spoke the name that made the air itself tremble:
Iron Blaze.
At that very moment, the flames burst upward with such force that Kael had to raise his arm to shield his face. The old man warned the boy that, according to legend, Iron Blaze was feared not only for its raw power, but also for its flames, which could burn through any shield and force every opponent to their knees.
The vision within the fire deepened further. The flames no longer shaped only an object, but also a figure. A massive warrior clad in glowing armor appeared, wielding a blazing greatsword in his hand. This was the spirit of the peonza—an ancient fire entity that bowed to no one. The old man looked seriously into Kael's eyes, and his voice carried more weight than ever before. He explained that Iron Blaze served only those whose hearts and wills were harder than iron itself. If a warrior's soul faltered, if their heart proved weak, the peonza's flames would consume not the enemy, but its own master.
Kael did not back away. He tightened his grip around Axiom's fragments, feeling the sharp edges nearly cut into his skin. Defiance and determination burned within his eyes as he firmly declared that he would learn to master this power. The old man nodded, as though he had been waiting for precisely that answer. He believed the time had come for the legend to take form once more. By then, the forge radiated such heat that even the workshop walls seemed to sweat. Within the core of the flames, the new form finally became complete:
Iron Blaze, the weapon of rebirth and destructive fire.
Suddenly, the scene changed, and the darkness of the past became the battlefield of the present. The vortex of flames born within the workshop now raged around the arena itself. Kael stood at the edge of the stadium, feeling the hot, pulsing energy in his hand that the old man had foretold. Across from him stood Akira, whose Shadow Cyclone spun ominously in the center of the arena like black mist, swallowing every trace of light. Kael closed his eyes and, deep within his soul, connected to the fire spirit dwelling inside his peonza.
"Iron Blaze… Flame Drive!" Kael roared, his voice echoing throughout the entire arena.
Iron Blaze shot onto the battlefield like a single blazing streak. Its rotation was so fast that it created a miniature tornado of fire around itself. Shadow Cyclone tried to evade, but the flames seemed to bind it in place. When the two peonzas finally collided, the explosion shook the very ground. For a brief instant, the giant shadow of the fire warrior appeared once more behind the flames and struck down upon the black mist.
At the moment of the tremendous impact, all of Shadow Cyclone's energy vanished into nothingness. Iron Blaze's flaming edge struck Akira's peonza so powerfully that it helplessly flew out of the arena in a wide arc, trailing dark smoke behind it. A sudden silence fell over the stadium. Only the victorious, low humming of Iron Blaze could be heard as it continued spinning in the center of the arena, glowing red-hot.
Breathing heavily, Kael stared at his peonza and realized that this was only the beginning of the fire that would now burn within both him and his weapon forever.