The ancient forge was dead.
Orion stepped into the chamber first, Lunaris drawn, the silver-blue blade reflecting flickers of distant flame that shouldn't have been burning. Runes shimmered faintly on the anvil ahead, like breath exhaled in a cold room.
Behind him, the others spread out. Azrael moved with silent precision. Serah's eyes were drawn to the broken chains hanging from the wall. Iris lingered by a rusted forgeplate, fingers twitching with unease.
Then the floor rumbled.
Not a tremor. A heartbeat.
Chains snapped taut in the dark, then fell loose with a metallic clatter. A low, grinding growl echoed out as something stepped forward from the gloom—massive, slow, deliberate.
It was molten rage forged into a shape. The Warden of Ash emerged, a living suit of ancient, blackened armor fused with fire, lava spilling from the cracks in its scorched frame. Its helm glowed from within—eyes like twin furnace-cores. In one hand, it dragged a cleaver so massive it screeched against the stone floor, carving deep glowing lines in its wake.
It raised its head toward them.
And charged.
"MOVE!" Orion shouted.
The Warden slammed its cleaver down where he'd stood. Stone shattered. The shockwave flung him back, skidding across the floor.
Serah unleashed a blast of cinders at its chest, but the flame only made the Warden glow hotter—absorbing the energy.
"It feeds on heat—" she cursed.
"Then we don't feed it," Iris said, already moving. She conjured a disc of light and slid it under Orion, halting his slide with a shimmer of protection.
Azrael dashed past the Warden's right side, dragging his blade across one of the molten cracks in its leg. Sparks flew, and the beast turned—fast.
CLANG!
The cleaver nearly took Azrael's head off. He ducked and rolled, gritting his teeth.
"We're not hurting it!" he yelled.
"We will," Orion said, rising. His eyes narrowed. "We just have to think like one."
The Warden advanced, dragging its blade in wide arcs, slicing through stone columns like parchment. Heat rolled off it in waves. The air shimmered.
Orion dashed in, Lunaris humming with silver light. He struck—not to kill, but to draw its attention. Each blow glanced off the obsidian armor, leaving faint trails of lunar energy. He ducked a cleaver swing, barely, then leapt back as it roared, molten breath pouring from its helm.
"Azrael—strike its legs again! Iris, shield Serah! Serah—hit it when it glows brightest!"
The team moved.
Azrael flanked left, waiting for the moment the Warden lifted its foot—and drove his sword deep into a glowing joint. The Warden staggered. Lava hissed.
Iris threw her hands wide—shields shimmered around Serah just as the Warden's cleaver arced toward her. The shield cracked under the force but held.
Serah gritted her teeth. "Don't absorb this."
She lifted both arms, channeling her flame not into heat—but into concussive pressure. A focused blast struck the cracked spot Azrael had opened. The armor dented. The Warden stumbled again.
"It's cracking!" Orion yelled, dodging around to its back.
But the Warden roared—a sound like molten rock grinding against steel—and slammed its cleaver in a spinning arc. The ground erupted. Azrael was flung hard into a wall. Serah hit her knees, winded.
"We're losing ground—" Iris muttered, breath hitching. The cleaver rose over her.
Then Orion was there, intercepting the blade with Lunaris. Moonlight clashed with fire. He held firm—for a second too long.
The impact hurled him into a support pillar.
Silence.
Then: Selene's voice, cold and sharp inside his mind.
"You know how to lead. Then lead them."
Orion rose. Bleeding. Determined.
"We end this. Together."
The Warden of Ash let out a thunderous roar, molten breath venting between jagged teeth as smoke hissed from the cracks in its armor. Flames pulsed from its core—hotter, wilder—the dying heartbeat of something ancient refusing to fall. The cleaver it dragged behind it had left scorched trails across the broken stone of the Forgewarren. Now it lifted the weapon one last time, a slow, deliberate arc as the beast locked eyes with Orion.
Orion's legs trembled. His lungs burned from smoke and exhaustion, and Lunaris felt heavy in his grip—but he held his ground.
Serah moved first.
She darted wide, her boots barely touching the soot-slick floor. Her sword lit with the ember-glow of the Star of Cinders, and she flung her sword deep into the warden's side sending a wave of scorching flame inside of him. The flames met its molten plates and flared—distracting, not damaging—but enough.
"Now!" she called out.
Iris dashed forward, leaping off a broken forge table and launching herself high with a burst of Mara's light. She landed on the Warden's shoulder and drove her blade downward, piercing the gap between two scorched pauldrons. Sparks flew. The Warden screamed, flames flaring upward in a spasm of pain.
But it wasn't enough.
With a roar, the Warden hurled Iris across the chamber. She hit the ground hard, skidding near Azrael—who caught her arm before she could rise again.
"You okay?" he asked, voice tight.
"Yeah," she winced. "Go. I'll cover you."
Azrael turned toward the creature—his star flaring in his chest like a storm held barely in check. He stepped forward. Calm. Controlled. His blade—etched with jagged black veins of the fallen star—began to hum.
He whispered to the voice inside.
"Not yet. But lend me your strength."
A pulse. The mark on his arm flared.
Azrael sprinted.
The Warden brought its cleaver down in a deadly arc—but Orion intercepted it, throwing his body into a side parry. Lunaris met the cleaver with a burst of silver light, and the clash threw both of them back—but it was enough.
Azrael leapt.
One clean strike.
His sword plunged into the Warden's exposed chest, right where molten cracks split its armor like veins of lava. The blade sank deep—deeper than steel should—and the Warden froze mid-motion.
Then Orion, dragging himself to his feet, raised Lunaris and whispered, "Selene… guide me."
The moonlight flared once more, and with a final burst of silver brilliance, he drove his sword into the Warden's spine from behind.
The beast let out a low, rumbling growl… and dropped to one knee.
Serah stepped forward, flames building in her palm.
"I'll finish it," she whispered, and released a focused beam of fire directly into the exposed core between its ribs.
The Warden of Ash exploded from within, its armor cracking open as molten flame burst outward like a dying sun.
Its cleaver clattered to the floor.
Its core went dark.
And in the ringing silence afterward, the only sound was their breathing—shaky, ragged, but alive.
The Warden of Ash's fiery core flickered and died, leaving behind only the hollow echoes of its final breath. For a long moment, no one moved. The chamber was thick with smoke and silence, the forge's rhythmic hum now a distant memory in the wake of their victory.
Orion stood panting, the weight of the fight crashing into him. His hand gripped Lunaris tightly, the sword's moonlit glow still faint, like the last vestiges of a dying star. But his eyes… they drifted to the remains of the Warden, where something was shifting in the wreckage.
Serah, ever the first to sense the pulse of the forge, stepped forward, her boots crunching over the shattered floor. Her gaze locked onto the spot where the Warden had fallen, and there, amidst the molten remains, something gleamed. A small shard—glowing softly with a flickering, ember-like light—rose from the wreckage, its heat radiating with a strange, almost sentient energy.
It was the heart of the fallen star. Its dark, fiery essence was a remnant of the creature's once-fiery soul—an ember left behind, still burning even in death. It pulsed gently, as if recognizing the presence of those who had bested its former vessel.
"Look," Serah said, her voice a whisper. She knelt beside it, fingers brushing over its surface. A spark of recognition flickered in her eyes. "This… this is it. The soul of the Warden. The forge itself must've recognized the kill."
Azrael stepped up, his expression unreadable but calm. "It's more than just a relic. It's… a symbol." He reached out slowly, taking the shard from Serah's hand with careful reverence. "A piece of what we've overcome. A bond forged in the heart of fire."
Iris stepped forward, her usual quiet determination now filled with a sense of purpose. "It belongs to us now. Just as we belong to each other."
Orion felt a sudden surge of warmth, not from the shard, but from within himself—from the unity they had achieved. It wasn't just about defeating the Warden. It was about everything they had overcome, together. His gaze moved to each of them: Serah, with the fire of the Cinders; Azrael, steady and calm, unyielding; Iris, full of quiet strength; and himself—no longer the lone survivor, but part of something far greater than he ever imagined.
"It will be part of our banner," Orion said, his voice steady. "A reminder of what we stand for."
The air in the ancient forge was heavy with the scent of burning embers, the heat rising as House Selira gathered around the forge's central anvil. The Warden's shard now lay in the center, bathed in the soft glow of the forge flames. The forge, as if alive, responded—its flames licking higher, then settling to a steady burn.
Orion stood at the head, Lunaris in hand. "We each contribute a piece of who we are," he said, his voice unwavering, "to forge something greater than us."
Serah stepped forward, her Star of Cinders flaring in a blaze of crimson light. She stretched her hand over the shard, and from her palm, fire poured forth, spiraling around the ember. The flames danced and twisted, shaping the shard into a perfect, solid core of heat.
Azrael followed, placing his blade on the anvil. His connection to the fallen star had always been quiet, but now it thrummed in his chest, resonating with the ember's essence. He whispered a quiet prayer to the star within, and the blade hummed, vibrating as the steel softened under the heat. With a swift movement, he struck the shard, embedding it into the metal.
Iris was next. Her hand glowed with Mara's soft light, the warmth of the sun's rays. She pressed her palm to the banner's fabric, and the light seeped into the fibers, tracing intricate patterns that symbolized her bond to the sun. As she worked, the fabric grew stronger, its golden threads twining together with purpose.
Finally, Serah's fire flared once more, igniting the banner's edges with burning brilliance. The fabric itself seemed to shimmer as it absorbed the flame, its colors melding into a fiery, vibrant red that represented both their trials and their triumphs.
Together, they stood back as the forge flames settled, the banner now complete. It rippled in the air, a living testament to their journey. The Warden's shard—its essence now woven into the fabric—shone at its heart, a symbol of their strength, unity, and the unbreakable bond they shared.
Orion placed a hand on the banner, his heart heavy with pride. "This is ours. We are House Selira."
The others stood around him, their eyes fixed on the banner. Serah, Azrael, Iris—each of them had added something irreplaceable to its creation, each piece a part of themselves, a part of their story.
The Warden was gone, but its ashes were now their strength. Their banner, forged in fire and unity, was more than a symbol—it was their promise, a promise they would carry forward into whatever came next.