The royal capital, Gelfain. The stone-paved streets of the inner city lay submerged in night's darkness. The iron forge—his destination—sat deep within a narrow alley running from the administrative district toward the commercial quarter. Selion stopped before its door. One deep breath. He clenched his fist. Another. (Tonight is the last.) His heartbeat echoed in his ears. Fourteen years. Fourteen years of living for nothing but this single moment. From the day he crawled from the ashes as a boy until now—always this. Selion pushed the door open. A bell chimed softly. A furnace burned red-hot. The sound of metal striking metal. The crackle of sparks. The workshop was filled with nothing but these sounds. "You came." A woman's voice. Selion looked up. The woman standing before the furnace had long hair the color of deep ash-purple, bound back. Her posture was too straight, too vital for someone of sixty-seven. But her face was carved deep with wrinkles. Livena Goltz. One of the