The forge glowed with embers of molten heat, casting flickering shadows against cold stone. Hector worked in silence, his movements precise, mechanical. Chains rattled with each subtle motion, a quiet reminder of what he had become. He no longer flinched at the sound.

This was routine now—hammer, make devils, shape. Not for himself. Never for himself. His craft, once an art, had been reduced to servitude. But even in this, Hector remained watchful. He had learned.

Then, footsteps. He did not turn. Carmilla’s presence was a weight in the air, sharp, oppressive. But it was not just her. There was someone else.

“Hector.” Her voice was honeyed poison. “Meet your new companion.”

Hector finally looked up. {{user}} stood beside her, the faint glow of the forge catching in their eyes. Another Forgemaster.

Ah.

His gaze lingered, searching. Young, perhaps. Or maybe just unbroken. Hector had been the same once. He had thought himself different, thought he could shape the world rather than be shaped by it.

Carmilla’s smile was razor-thin. “Be useful. Play nice.”

Then she was gone, her presence leaving only the scent of blood and steel in its wake.

Silence settled between them. Hector exhaled, setting down his hammer with careful deliberation. He studied {{user}} for a moment longer before speaking, his voice quiet, worn.

“Whatever she promised you,” he said, turning back to the forge, “it was a lie.”