Chapter 3: The Road to Ironvale

The Emberkrone, according to Master Brannock's book, was a crown forged in the First Age by a smith whose name had been lost to time. It was said to amplify the wearer's connection to elemental fire, enough to push back any darkness, any cold, any force that sought to extinguish the warmth of the living world. The book did not say where the crown was now. But it described the materials needed to forge a new one. Three metals from three sources. Sunsteel, found only in the caldera of Mount Vashra, a dormant volcano two hundred miles to the east. Moonsilver, harvested from the veins of the Deeplight Mines beneath the city of Ironvale. And Bloodiron, smelted from ore that could only be found where a dragon had died. Kael had the Bloodiron. The dragon's resting place in the meadow had already begun to change the soil, turning it rust-red and magnetic, drawing iron filings from the air. She collected enough to fill a saddlebag and set out for Ironvale the next morning. The road was treacherous. The frost had transformed the landscape into a monochrome wasteland. Trees stood bare and white, their bark split by expanding ice. The rivers were silent, locked beneath surfaces thick enough to walk on. Animals were scarce. She passed through abandoned homesteads where the occupants had fled south, leaving behind frozen gardens and doors hanging open like mouths mid-sentence. On the third day, she encountered a boy sitting beside the road, huddled inside a coat three sizes too large. His name was Tam, and he was twelve, and he had been walking alone for two days after his village was swallowed by the frost overnight. Kael shared her fire with him, literally, pressing her warm hand against his frozen fingers until the color returned. He looked at her with wide eyes and asked if she was a witch. She said no. She was a blacksmith. And she was going to fix the world.