The forest that lay beyond Mossblight was not a place maps liked to acknowledge. The trees were too tall, their roots too deep. They whispered to each other in languages older than time, and even the wind tiptoed through the leaves, as if afraid to be heard.
It was here, in the tangled wilds of the Echowood, that Sid and Sapphire traveled.
Well. Sid walked like a shadow with a destination.
Sapphire walked like someone who kept forgetting they were in a forest.
"Did that branch just hiss at me?" she asked, pausing mid-stride.
Sid didn't look back. "It's a Bloodpine. Don't make eye contact."
"...It doesn't have eyes."
Sid stopped. "Doesn't it?"
There was a long silence.
Then Sapphire hurried to catch up.
As the mist thickened around them, the air took on a shimmer—like the world itself was holding its breath.
And that's when they heard it.
A clang.
Not just any clang. This was a pure, perfect, soul-vibrating ring of metal against metal. It sang through the trees like the chorus of a forgotten god.
Sapphire's ears perked. "That's dwarven forging. Has to be. No human can make steel sing like that."
Sid said nothing, but a faint flicker of interest crossed his expression.
They followed the sound, deeper into the woods, until they reached a clearing unlike any other.
It was circular. Perfectly so. The grass was unnaturally green. A stream of molten silver flowed through the rocks like a living river of light. And at its center stood a forge, glowing gold-red, worked into the trunk of an enormous, petrified tree.
Beside it stood a dwarf.
His beard was braided in six different directions and tucked under a leather apron covered in soot and burn marks. His arms were thick as tree limbs, his fingers quick and precise. His eyes were emerald fire—fierce, focused, alive.
He was hammering a blade.
Not forging. Not crafting.
Creating.
Each strike sent a pulse of magic through the air.
The trees leaned in.
Even the shadows paused to watch.
"By the roots of the mountain... it's really him," Sapphire whispered. "Zinga Ironheart. The Myth-Hammer. The Maker of Moonsteel. The guy who forged a sword so sharp it cut through regret itself."
Zinga didn't look up. "You forgot 'Savior of the Brew-Keg Rebellion' and 'Inventor of the self-cleaning axe.' But I'll let it slide, elf-girl."
Sapphire flinched.
Sid blinked. "You knew we were here."
"Of course I did," Zinga said, still hammering. "Forge sings louder when fate gets nosy."
The dwarf finally looked up, eyes locking onto Sid. He studied the boy like a jeweler inspecting a cursed diamond.
"You're the one they sent, eh? The shadow-born lad with eyes like forgotten graves."
Sid shrugged. "People say things."
Zinga grunted. "People also say cheese sings to the moon. Doesn't make it useful."
"But I am," Sid replied calmly. "Useful. Especially if you have something to kill demons with."
Zinga's hammer froze mid-air. The silver blade on the anvil gave a soft, mournful hum.
"Demon King, is it?"
Sapphire nodded. "The prophecy—"
"I know the prophecy." Zinga waved her off. "Everyone knows the prophecy. What they don't know is who else knows it."
As if summoned by dramatic timing itself, a cold gust blew into the clearing. The molten river hissed. The trees recoiled.
Then came the voice.
Smooth. Velvet-dark. With just enough venom to make your skin crawl.
"Well, well, well. I didn't think you'd get this far, boy."
They turned.
She stood at the edge of the forge's glow, cloaked in black-and-green silk that fluttered like dying leaves. Her eyes shimmered like oil. Her smile could curdle milk.
Evie, Queen of the Swarp.
Part snake. Part woman. All bad news.
The Swarp were swamp-dwellers, creatures of magic and mutation. And Evie had risen above them not with power alone, but control. She twisted the world to her whim. Sweet as honey, sharp as fang.
Sid stared at her. "You smell like decay and ambition."
Evie bowed mockingly. "And you, dear Sid, smell like trouble with a touch of destiny. How charming."
Sapphire stepped in front of Sid. "You're not stopping us."
Evie sighed dramatically. "Darling, I'm not here to stop you. I'm here to warn you. The Demon King isn't what you think he is. And if you walk this road, you'll end up like the last child who tried. Ash. And tears."
Sid cocked his head. "What was his name?"
Evie smiled. "Yours."
Zinga grunted, stepping between them. "This ain't your swamp, snake. And my forge ain't your playground."
Evie's grin widened. "Oh, Zinga. Still playing with fire and steel? You should try poison. Much more... subtle."
She vanished in a swirl of mist and whispering leaves.
Silence fell.
Zinga exhaled. "Right. Then."
He turned to Sid.
"You want to kill a king made of nightmares, kid? You'll need a blade the world's never seen. One that drinks fire. Whispers to shadows. One that chooses its master."
He looked down at the blade on his anvil. Still half-forged. Still humming.
"Lucky for you," Zinga said, "this sword's been waiting a long time."
Sid stepped forward.
The sword pulsed.
And the forest held its breath.