The dwarven morning arrived not with birdsong or a cool breeze, but with a dry heat that seeped in through the stone walls like breath from a furnace.

Luca woke slowly, eyes blinking open to the muted glow of mana-lanterns. For a moment, his thoughts were scattered… then they settled—predictably—on the same thing he'd been thinking about before falling asleep.

I hope everything went well with Master and Selena.

He pushed himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he padded toward the window. Beyond the carved stone frame, the sky stretched clear—bright blue, sun blazing fiercely above the mountains. Dwarves were already bustling about like ants in a forge, their rhythmic hammering echoing faintly even from here.

Luca exhaled softly.

"Finally," he murmured, fingers resting against the cold stone sill. "The Forgeheart Crucible will resume today."

He reached into his storage ring and pulled out a small dagger—simple, unadorned, but its weight familiar. He turned it in his hand, watching the morning light flicker across the metal.

"It looks like… your use is finally near, huh."

After a brisk shower—dwarven-made, with steaming mineral water pouring through a rune-etched pipe like a miniature waterfall—Luca dressed quickly and stepped out of his room.

The corridor hummed with the faint vibrations of dwarves starting their day.

As Luca made his way toward Lilliane and Sylthara's rooms, he didn't have to go far. Both girls were already outside, standing together. Lilliane's fingers fidgeted with her sleeves, her nerves visible in the slight stiffness of her posture; Sylthara's ears twitched, her legs tapping the ground continuously, contained arcs behind her—more controlled, but betraying a sliver of anxiety.

"You two ready?" Luca asked as he approached.

Both nodded at once—Lilliane with a breath drawn in, Sylthara with a firm set to her jaw. Determination hardened their expressions.

Luca nodded back, almost automatically matching their spirit.

"Let's go."

The three walked together through the stone corridors, boots tapping rhythmically against the floor. They hadn't gone far before Luca slowed, eyes widening slightly.

Two figures came into view ahead.

Two figures with the same pale hair—one youthful, cold, sharp; the other mature, elegant, veiled.

Selena and Tower Master.

For a brief moment, none of them spoke. The Tower Master's veil fluttered faintly as she turned her gaze toward the group. Selena walked beside her with quiet footsteps—face calm, expression unreadable, but not hostile.

Luca bowed deeply.

"Master."

A simple nod was her reply.

Sylthara's eyes darted between mother and daughter—searching, curious. Lilliane kept her head bowed a bit longer than necessary. And Luca… Luca wondered silently.

They're together… so things should be good, right?

The silence stretched just long enough to become awkward.

Then—

"Shouldn't we start walking now?" the Tower Master said lightly, breaking the tension with effortless poise.

Luca blinked, startled out of his thoughts. "We… Master, are you coming to watch as well?"

Her eyes curved slightly behind the veil—a smile hidden but obvious.

"I can't risk my disciple worrying for me when I am not in front of him and then failing the trial, can I?"

Luca let out an embarrassed, dry laugh, one hand rising to awkwardly scratch the back of his head.

"Hehe… right."

Their group merged with the larger flow of dwarves heading in the same direction—families, merchants, warriors, and smiths, all murmuring hurriedly as excitement crackled in the air.

"Wonder what today's trial will be."

"After what happened on the 1st two days ? Spirits help us, it might be even crazier."

"The fire girl and the thunder-ice one… what monsters will come next?"

When they reached the arena, it was as if the entire mountain had been packed into one place. Tens of thousands of dwarves filled the stands—armor gleaming, beards braided, voices booming. High above sat the seven dwarven elders on their rune-carved platform.

As their eyes scanned another platform. Lilliane's breath caught softly.

"There seem to be even more reporters today," she whispered, eyes drawn to the far stands where humans clustered with crystalline cameras and enchanted quills.

Sylthara scoffed lightly. "Looks like the Tower Master's appearance attracted them too."

The Tower Master glanced toward that same stand, eyes narrowing slightly—as if recognizing more than just reporters.

"Those are not only journalists," she said calmly. "It seems some nobles have arrived as well."

Luca scanned the rows—indeed, he noticed noble crests from several human territories.

"Huh… makes sense," he muttered. "Let's head to our challenger stand."

The group walked up the steps to their designated platform. Seats carved from polished obsidian stone awaited them. As they settled in, dwarves all around quieted in anticipation…

The Forgeheart Crucible was about to begin again.

The announcer strode into the center of the arena with the theatrical flourish only dwarven commentators possessed—cloak snapping behind him, beard swaying proudly as he raised a glimmering amplification crystal.

The moment he lifted it—

"DWARVES OF THE ANCIENT MOUNTAIN—!"

His voice detonated through the forge-heat air, booming so loudly the very stone vibrated under their feet.

"WELCOME BACK TO THE FORGEHEART CRUCIBLE!"

Thunderous cheers erupted immediately—boots pounding on stone, fists rattling shields, the entire arena roaring as if magma surged beneath their ribs.

The announcer paced dramatically across the center, voice rolling like a storyteller at a great feast.

"Two days have passed in this grand crucible! Two days of fire! Two days of glory!"

He swung around, cloak flaring.

"On the first day, we witnessed the Drayden siblings shatter our expectations!"

He pointed up toward Elder Hilda with a flourish.

"The fiery girl awakened an ancient phenomenon—enough to make even Elder Hilda take a disciple! A rarity not seen for generations!"

Elder Hilda puffed up proudly, beard beads clinking as she nodded with visible satisfaction. A wave of "Oooohs!" rippled through the crowd.

Then the announcer's tone dipped, lowering into a somber hush.

"But on the second day…"

A heavy pause.

"An unfortunate incident befell the young ice mage…"

Dwarves stirred uncomfortably, murmurs rippling through the stands. Even now, uneasy sympathy lingered among them. But before the mood could sink further, the announcer snapped his fist upward, voice exploding back to full volume—

"BUT TODAY—!"

A blazing smile split his beard.

"WE RETURN TO THE FLAMES OF TRIAL!WE CONTINUE THE ANCIENT RITES OF FORGE AND FIRE!"

The arena erupted again—cheers like avalanches, roars like rolling thunder.

"LET THE THIRD DAY OF THE FORGEHEART CRUCIBLE—BEGIN!!"

He spun toward the challengers' stand, his expression shifting into something smug… almost arrogant. His chest puffed forward, and he adjusted his beard like he owned the mountain.

Because in the challengers' stand—

Right in the front row—

sat the Tower Master herself.

Her power might have been sealed, but her presence was unmistakable. A primordial calm, a noble stillness. Enough to make even a dwarf announcer overperform in front of her.

He smirked, raising a brow theatrically.

"Well then… who among you dares to step forth as today's challenger?!"

He delivered the line with flair—voice dripping in bravado, chin tilted up as if challenging a legend directly.

In the challengers' stand…

Luca turned toward Lilliane and Sylthara.

His expression softened.

Encouraging.

Warm.

But steady—like a forge that had never once failed them.

"Who wants to go?"

There was no hesitation.

Both girls exchanged a single glance—silent communication passing effortlessly between them. Acceptance. Agreement. A decision already forged long before he asked.

Lilliane stepped forward.

Her movement was small—barely a shift of her foot, the lift of her chin—but her entire presence changed. Her green eyes steadied. Her fingers stopped trembling. Her breath deepened. Wind stirred softly around her ankles like a gathering breeze responding to her resolve.

"I will go," she said.

Her voice wasn't loud.

Wasn't forceful.

But it carried a calm determination that made Luca smile.

A real smile.

Proud, gentle, confident.

"All the best, Lilliane."

Sylthara flicked her hands lightly, offering a fanged smirk. "Do well. Try not to faint on the first trial."

Selena—cool, composed, sitting straight with her hands folded neatly on her lap—glanced at Lilliane with quiet, unreadable eyes.

But she spoke softly.

"…Good luck."

Coming from her, it meant a lot.

Lilliane inhaled once.

Then stepped up onto the railing.

A faint swirl of wind gathered beneath her feet—lifting her effortlessly as if the air itself bowed in support. With a graceful leap, she descended into the arena, landing lightly on her feet, her cloak fluttering like a bird settling upon a branch.

She stood tall—shoulders back, spine straight—as she raised her face toward the elders' high platform. The dwarven sun glinted across her light hair, giving her an almost ethereal aura.

Tens of thousands of dwarven eyes locked onto her tiny figure.

A human girl

small among giants

but steady as the wind she commanded.

And Lilliane

lifted her chin

and stared back

without flinching.

The third day…

had truly begun.

The announcer swept his gaze down toward Lilliane, crystal amplifying his voice so loudly the air trembled.

"So then, girl," he said with a booming grin, "whom do you expect to challenge today?!"

Thousands of dwarven eyes locked onto her instantly—the crowd falling into a sudden, heavy hush.

Lilliane stood alone in the center of the arena.

The wind curled around her boots—soft, nervous, unsure—mirroring the faint tremble in her fingers. Her chest rose and fell once, sharply, as she gathered a breath deep enough to steady the storm inside her.

Everyone is watching… stay calm… you promised yourself.

Her gaze drifted upward—not to the elders at first,

but to Luca.

He sat at the edge of the challenger's stand, leaning forward, eyes warm and steady—no pressure, no demand—just quiet reassurance.

Her shoulders loosened.

Her heartbeat steadied.

She turned back to the towering platform of the Elder Council.

Seven dwarven elders stared down at her—stone-faced, ancient, imposing. Their beards swayed slightly in the heated air rising from the molten channels beneath the arena.

She straightened her posture.

Lifted her chin.

Placed her hand over her chest in the formal challenger's salute.

And with a clear, respectful voice that cut through the silence—

"I, Lilliane Fairemoore," she declared,

her words carried by a soft breeze,

"respectfully ask Elder Huldor Forgevein for guidance."

A shock rippled through the arena—

gasps, murmurs, the sudden clatter of weapons against armor.

Even Elder Huldor himself leaned forward, one thick brow rising in silent surprise—his furnace-etched cloak flickering with ember-light.

The third day of the Crucible…

was about to ignite.

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