"Focus on your surroundings."

  Marcus’s voice echoed through the grand chamber, resonating from the ter where his statue stood, its presence casting long shadows against the stone walls. Encirg the statue were Rok’ka, the tribe’s shaman, and five other trolls, all seated with their eyes shut in deep tration.

  "The mana in the air you breathe, in the h your feet... Focus. Feel it. Let it reach out to you."

  The trolls inhaled slowly, their hulking frames unusually still. Marcus observed as the ambient mana respoo their presence, shifting like unseen currents in the air.

  He had tasked Rok’ka with seleg maive trolls, curious to see if they could be trained as shamans es—at least to some extent. To his surprise, nearly every troll possessed a natural e to mana, though they had been unaware of it. Their attu was raw, unscious, like an instinct they had never reized.

  With this revetion, Marcus had chosen the most promising among them to undergo proper training, hoping they would ter teach others. To aid in their growth, he had also bestowed upon them additional essence, enhang their ability to manipute mana. The results were evident—intricate markings now adorheir upper bodies, faint at first but brimming with potential.

  The markings, like aattoos, suddenly ignited with a dark blue glow. Mana surged toward each troll, some drawing in more than others. Rok’ka, in particur, absorbed vast amounts, his very breath thick with energy.

  "Good," Marcus said, his voice steady. "Remember this feeling. Let it bee familiar. Then, shape it to your will."

  One by ohe trolls opeheir eyes. A faint mist swirled around them, the lingering effect of their gathering mana. Rok’ka was the first to rise, his expression filled with newfound uanding. He bowed deeply.

  "Thank you, Guardian, for yuidance."

  The others followed suit, their respect evident.

  It had been over a year since Marcus first entered the trolls. Progress had been slower than he had hoped, but now that the foundation was in pce, he could shift his focus elsewhere.

  As the trolls departed, Marcus let out a quiet breath. His form flickered, and in an instant, he was outside the cave. He cast a g the expanded gates of the troll vilge, taking in the sight of their growilement.

  Then, without hesitation, he unfurled his wings. With a powerful beat, he took to the sky.

  There was something he o check.

  The flight didn’t take long, but Marcus still savored the sensation of s through the sky, the cold wind brushing against his body. It had been a while since he st flew, and the freedom of it was something he missed.

  Hours passed before he finally saw it.

  ‘The Howling Abyss.’

  Or at least, what it would be called iure. As his gaze swept across the vast, desote expanse, he detected no signs of the Firstborn. That firmed it—he had arrived before they discovered this pce.

  As he flew closer, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe. The bridge stretched across the abyss, an enormous structure that seemed to stitch the nd together like a wound forced shut. The sheer scale of it was breathtaking, and Marcus could tell that Ornn had pleted it not too long ago.

  One, no… two years at most.

  The terrain still bore the signs of ret work—roatioo fully settle, scorch marks where molten stone had cooled. Even from a distance, he could see the craftsmanship in every detail, a testament to Ornn’s divine skill.

  It was sheer luck that one of his undead scouts had discovered this pce. If the trolls had traveled here on foot, it would have taken them weeks. This only reinforced Marcus’ belief—if civilization among the trolls advaoo quickly, it wouldn’t go unnoticed. Volibear would e.

  He o find Ornn first.

  With a sihought, dark mist erupted from Marcus’ body, swirling outward and coalesg into skeletal structs. Without hesitation, they scattered in all dires, their mission clear: Find the Fod.

  "If I’m right, Ornn should still be searg for the perfect volic cavern to build his fe. Hopefully, he’s not too far."

  He let his thoughts drift as he walked along the bridge, running his hand along the cooled stone. Every inch of it was solid, unyielding—Ornn’s work was unmistakable. Just as he was beginning to admire the craftsmanship further, one of his scouts delivered good news.

  They had found him.

  Not far, just as Marcus had hoped. He wasted no time, taking to the air and flying toward the location.

  The entrance was massive, a yawning cavern carved into the rock. Even from a distance, he could feel the heat radiating from within, thid suffog. This was it.

  A smirk tugged at Marcus’ lips as he stepped inside.Cast a quice at the nd nearby, ththe is would one day be home to the Heartblood line.

  "So humans arrived in the Freljord earlier than my shitty lore knowledge remembered…" he mused, shaking his head.

  The deeper he vehe hotter it became—not unbearably so, but enough to make his presence feel intrusive. The rhythmig of metal strikial grew louder with every step, reverberating through the cavern like the heartbeat of the mountain itself.

  From the state of the entrance, Marcus could tell Ornn hadn’t been here long. The walls were still rough, untouched by his fe’s craftsmanship. This was newly cimed territory.

  And then, at st, he saw him.

  The path led to a ledge overlooking a vast chamber, where molten va flowed in r rivers beh him. The heat shimmered in the air, casting ahereal glow across the space.

  In the ter, hunched over an anvil, stood the Fod. His back was turned, muscles shiftih thick fur as he swung his massive hammer, striking molteal with the precision of a master.

  Mararrowed his eyes. He’s big.

  He had assumed Ornn could alter his size—perhaps simir to how Marcus could. But at this moment, the demigod stood at around six meters tall, noticeably rger than the average troll. Not the tallest, but his sheer width and bulk made him appear immovable, a living mountain of flesh and steel.

  -^-^-^-^-^-^-^

  Ornn stopped his hammer mid-swing, sensing something. His molten eyes narrowed as he turned around. Standing at the pathway was a cloaked figure, his avian face barely visible beh dark feathers. The presehis being carried felt familiar to Ornn—like the presence of his siblings, though not quite the same.

  “Who are you?” Ornn rumbled, gripping his hammer.

  “I am Kon’su, and I have a request for your help,” Marcus spoke, his voice even.

  “Not ied,” rumbled, turning back to his fe. The metal on his anvil still glowed with heat, and he had no patience for distras.

  But before he could bring the hammer down, Marcus raised a cwed hand. Shadows swirled, densing into something tangible. With a low, ominous rumble, a massive skeletal fragment materialized and crashed onto the cavern floor with a resounding thud.

  Ornn stilled.

  Even without toug it, he could feel the sheer fire affinity radiating from the remains. Slowly, he turned back, stepping closer, his molten gaze now fixed on the .

  “The skeleton of a va serpent,” Marcus expined, watg as Ornn studied the massive ribcage, its surface bed and hardened beyond anything natural. “A beast that thrived in fire, its boempered by the moltehs. It is harder than steel, more durable than ented metal, and as unyielding as the mountains themselves. Even the greatest of smiths would struggle to work with it.”

  Ornn reached out, his broad fingers running along the charred bohe texture, the density—this was no ordinary material. A challenge. Something that would test his skill.

  But as Ornn ied the skeleton further, something else caught his attention—a lingering presence, subtle yet undeniable. His fingers stilled as reition flickered in his gaze.

  “…These.” His voice was quieter now, almost ptive. “Where did you get them?” His molten eyes narrowed slightly. “They carry the lingering esseny brother.”

  Marcus hesitated.

  He had expected Ornn to be intrigued by the material, but not this. He had no idea the remains would resonate so deeply with the Fod. His mind worked quickly, but there was no point in lying—not to someone like Ornn.

  “…I took them from a beast,” Marcus finally admitted. “A great va serpent, ohat roamed the volic depths. It had strength beyond most creatures, its body resisting the very fmes that fed it.” He paused, sidering his words carefully. “If it carried your brother’s essehen perhaps it was once a creation of his.”

  He lied, but Orn o know that.

  Ornn’s expression was unreadable, his fiightening slightly around the bone.

  He did not speak for a long moment, as if weighing Marcus’s words. Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose, sending a wave of heat into the air. Whatever thoughts he had oter, he chose not to voice them.

  Marcus took the opportunity to tinue.

  “This material is unlike anything else,” he said. “Few, if any, could hope to craft with it. But you .” He gestured toward the skeleton. “In exge for this, I ask that you teae of the trolls the art of smithing. Not all of them—just a handful. They will serve you, gathering rare materials iurn for your knowledge.”

  Ornn’s fingers drummed against the bone, sidering. The idea of trolls as smiths was ridiculous, but having them as gatherers… was useful. Less time wasted searg for rare ores, more time spent w the fe.

  He let out a deep grunt.

  “The trolls are reckless. Stubborn. If they waste my time, I’ll hammer them into something useful.”

  Marcus smirked beh his hood. “I expeothing less.”

  For a long moment, Ornn simply stared, glow of molten rivers casting heavy shadows across his broad frame. Then, with a low huff, he turned away, already mentally pnning how to test the serpent’s remains.

  “Fine,” he said at st. “But if they fail, don’t expect me to be kind.”

  Marcus dipped his head in aowledgment.

  The deal was struck.