The Crucible of Aelinthar wasn't a forge. It was a chamber—circular, ancient, breathing with heat and history. Flames hovered midair, dancing without fuel. Runes along the walls pulsed, reacting to Kael's presence.
Eira stepped back. "Only the Chosen may enter."
Kael nodded and walked inside. The moment he crossed the threshold, the fire flared, surrounding him with illusions. The world shifted.
He stood on a battlefield—not a memory, but a test. Armies clashed around him, shadows wearing his friends' faces, voices whispering his fears. He gripped his blade, but doubt made it heavy.
Then, a voice—his own, but older. "Courage is forged, not born."
Kael screamed and charged forward, striking down doubt, burning illusions. Each strike solidified his spirit. When the fire receded, the chamber was calm.
In his hands now wasn't just a sword—it was Ashrender, reforged in truth.