Rise of the Living Forge

There was one thing in the world that Eleven truly hated. That wasn’t to say Eleven didn’t hate other things. She found that she met the vast majority of things in life in a general state of displeasure.

Eleven hated mornings. She hated the evenings too, if just because it meant the next morning was going to be coming sooner than it was welcome. Eleven hated responsibilities and people and light and the sun as a general concept.

But, more than everything else, Eleven hated the part of the day where she had to get out of bed. It was always the same story. There was some job or another that was so important that it constituted Two dragging her — often kicking and screaming — out of the comfort of the sheets.

There were a bunch of other people that were more than capable of dealing with Two’s bullshit. But, for some godforsaken reason, he always decided that she was the one that had to get hassled.

Eleven made sure she voiced those complaints as regularly as possible to make sure the rest of the guild was more than aware of them. For some reason, it never seemed to work. All she wanted was a day or two where she could actually fall asleep without something going and ruining her peace.

She was fed up with bad days.

And, as of about one minute ago, today had become a bad day.

“I hope you trip and fall down a flight of stairs and bounce on your head every step of the way down,” Eleven said.

A hand gathered the thick strands of black hair that hung around Eleven’s face up and pulled them back, letting the hated light pierce into her eyes.

Two stood before her, his pristine white armor reflecting the light streaming through the window that Eleven knew for a fact she’d closed. It caught on his noble features and danced in his silver eyes like shooting stars passing through the sky.

Hideous.

She let out a hiss and tried to squirm away, but Two was relentless.

He pulled her hair up into a bun and tied it onto the top of her head before grabbing a coat from a hanger near the edge of her bed and throwing it around her, pulling her arms through the sleeves despite her best attempts to remain free from the vile constraints of stiff clothing.

“Would you stop?” Two exclaimed, exasperated. “The sooner you finish, the sooner you can get back to being a lump.”

“I don’t want to finish. Tell One to assign the job to someone else. I want to be a lump.”

“Now you sound like a child,” Two admonished. He straightened Eleven’s jacket before turning and striding to the dresser in the corner of her room. The tall man pulled it open and started rummaging around within it.

Eleven glanced over to the window above her bed. It was large enough to dive through. She’d done it a few times before, but it was generally a lot more effort than it was worth.

Then again, this job does seem like quite the hassle. The window is starting to sound more appealing by the second.

“There’s a net,” Two said, not even glancing over his shoulder.

“What?”

“Below the window,” Two said. “I had them put a net in. In case you’re planning to jump.”

“I wasn’t.”

She had been.

Two turned around, a pair of pants dangling in his hands. He arched a manicured eyebrow — one that Eleven was actually rather jealous of, though she’d never admit it. She’d never been able to tame her hair. It hung in long, ropy strands that went all the way to her waist. Taking care of it took effort, and effort fell among the list of things that Eleven hated.

“Good. Are you going to put these on, are or are you going to make me do it for you?”

Eleven heaved a sigh and took the pants from Two. She pulled them on reluctantly, not missing the fact that they felt softer than normal. They’d been washed.

“Were you messing around with my clothes again?”

“You hung them up covered in blood. I cleaned them. Gods know somebody has to do it. You certainly aren’t.” Two grabbed a large comb off the dresser and removed the tie from Eleven’s hair before starting to brush it out. “I take it you’ve entirely missed the debrief?”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“I was sleeping at the time that One barged into my room and started blabbering. Who wouldn’t miss the debrief?”

“You were awake enough to mention you didn’t want to go.”

“That was me sleep-talking.”

“Right,” Two said dryly. He pulled the comb through her hair, the corner of his lips twitching in amusement. “Do you want a summary?”

“No. I want to be a lump.”

Two arched an eyebrow.

Eleven sighed. “Fine. Give me a debrief.”

“Twelve is dead.”

“Good. Twelve was a fucking asshole. I hope he cried like a little bitch on the way out. Who killed him? I’ll send them a thank-you card. Whenever I can be bothered to, that is.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” Two said, continuing to brush her hair as he went on. “And most of the guild feels similarly. One is still sad about it, though. You’d best keep those words to yourself.”

“One wants to rehabilitate every single rancid piece of roadkill he finds. Twelve was just taking advantage of him.”

“Eleven. Not today.” Two took her by a shoulder and pulled her chin up so their eyes met, his eyes deadly serious. “One is far from perfect. We all know that… but he’s hurting. Don’t tell him something you’ll regret later.”

Heat built in Eleven’s cheeks and she jerked her head to the side, breaking their gaze. “Okay. Fine. I won’t say anything. I won’t even complain too much about the job as long as it isn’t too much of a pain.”

The teeth of the comb met Eleven’s hair again as Two started to brush it out once more.

“Good,” Two said. “Thank you. I know how much you hate these jobs, but it’s important for you to get out there. The world is worth seeing, even if you’ve been exposed to the worst of it.”

“The world is fucked.”

“Perhaps,” Two allowed. He set the comb to the side and pulled Eleven’s hair back into a ponytail before tying it in place. “But makes our job all the more important. And let’s be real. You don’t actually hate the jobs that much. You just hate getting out of bed.”

“Which I have been forced to do.”

“I did it for you,” Two corrected. He took a step back and looked over Eleven with a critical eye before nodding. “You look good.”

Eleven glared at him. “Stairs. Head first.”

“You’re welcome. One is outside. He’s ready to send you off. We won’t even make you travel to the job on your own. Nice and convenient.”

Eleven’s cheeks reddened again and she glanced to the side, breaking eye contact. “I’m not a child. I know my duties. I’ll do what must be done.”

“Good.” Two stepped back and reached for the old stone door at the back of the room.

“Two?”

He paused and glanced back at her. “Yes?”

Eleven touched her hair, then inclined her head slightly. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Two pulled the door open and stepped into the intricately carved hall beyond it, disappearing from view. His footsteps faded down the corridor.

And, in their place, another footstep echoed. It carried with it the ring of heavy armor. Eleven’s back straightened despite herself.

A shadow passed before the entrance of the room a moment before a huge man appeared in the doorway. His body was clad in ancient, worn-down armor that had once been a beautiful silver. Any engravings upon it had long since been ground away. A tattered cloak hung from his shoulders and a heavy, plain iron sword was affixed to his side.

The man’s face was just as grizzled and worn as his armor. A thick mop of pale, white hair covered the top of his head. His features were partially obscured by a well-kept salt and pepper beard.

“One,” Eleven said, nodding her head.

“I’m sorry for having Two wake you. I have need of your abilities.”

“Because Twelve died, right? I’m sorry.”

“Twelve was… complicated,” One said after a long pause. He let out a defeated sigh. “I had hoped… no matter. Hopes are the smoke of a dying fire. All that matters is what is. The manner in which Twelve was killed concerns me. It was done with a sympathetic soul poison. There are very few people in this world capable of making such a poison, and even fewer who would dare use it against us.”

“Did you kill someone important again?”

One’s lips curled up into a grim smile. “Perhaps, but I do not believe this is the cause. I fear it is something far worse. The pieces in play have started to converge. The world is stagnant. It begs for change… and I believe that time is coming.”

Change means less sleep. I hate change.

“That’s… great.”

A bark of laughter erupted from One’s lips. “Oh, Eleven. You really need to find some excitement in life. There is no purpose to a life lived in solitude. It is in joy that we witness what the world truly is.”

“I like my bed.”

“I’m sure you do. That is why it pains me to rip you from it — but we do not have the liberty to wait any longer. The Proving Grounds approach, and our ranks must grow if we wish to succeed. I have prospective members participating within it.”

“What, is one of them the one that cooked Twelve?” Eleven hesitated for a moment, then winced. “Sorry. I know you wanted better for him.”

“No offense has been taken. I know your heart does not align with your words. Twelve understood the purpose of our mission but not the heart behind it. In time, perhaps I could have changed him, but the past is set. All we can influence is the present. I need you to investigate someone for me. A group participating in the Proving Grounds.”

“Just one?”

“I’ve looked into the others through other means to avoid disturbing you.”

A pinprick of shame poked into Eleven’s back. Spying was her job, but One was going to out of his way to accommodate her.

“I’ll take them out,” Eleven said.

“No!” One said firmly. “You must not interact with them. Do not even speak a word in their presence. Observe them and return to us.”

Wow. That’s a big reaction. Is One… scared?

No. Not possible. There’s only one person he’s ever been scared of, and there’s no way he’s sending me after him.

“Understood,” Eleven said.

“Good. Be careful, Eleven.” One pressed his palms together, then pulled them apart. Bands of twisting black energy stretched between them. They hissed and popped with churning energy that connected to itself, forming into a spinning disk. “I will open the way for you again in twelve hours.”

“I won’t miss it. But who is it that I’m investigating? Surely they can’t be an actual threat to the Setting Sun.”

“He may be so much more than that. Your target is the leader of a guild,” One replied grimly. “A smith that goes by the name of Ifrit.”

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