Caledon Brimstone watched as his younger sister danced around his father, flames swirling around him, lashing at her to no effect.

‘You’re getting slow old man! Age catching up to you?’

Amidst a burst of flame, his sister launched herself into the air, whirling down at him with her twin swords that flashed as they cut downwards.

Highlord Berevan Brimstone, his father, let out a roar of laughter, casually deflecting her strikes with his greatsword and shoving her away with a flick of his wrist. Viveria landed in an agile crouch, an equally wild grin on her face.

At times, he felt flashes of envy towards his sister. But they were quickly overwhelmed with pride. Her mastery over the sword was second only to their father. When they were young, she had often been an easy target due to her fiery personality. Quick to anger, and easily provoked. Those that dared to provoke her quickly faced her wrath.

[Swipe of the Blazebear]

His father followed up his counter with a broad sweep of his greatsword, sending a wave of rolling flame towards his sister in an instant, invoking his Fear.

Fearshaper.

The title granted to those that descended into the depths of their Fear to acquire power. Unbidden, it came to Caledon’s mind at the sight of his father’s attack. The sight of flame made his heartbeat heighten slightly, provoking his own Fear.

Unlike their parents, Viveria and Caledon had yet to have awakened as Fearshapers. It was a process that he had doggedly interrogated his father about, to no avail.

‘When the time comes, I’ll explain it to you Caledon. Forget about that, show me what you’re tinkering on!’

A familiar refrain, that his father had used to great effect.

Yet, a part of him was grateful that he had not awakened as a Fearshaper. With that power came responsibility, one that he dreaded, when fulfilling it meant to wield it against Brimstone’s enemies.

‘Wait! No fair-‘

His father sent Viveria soaring into a pillar. Caledon winced as heard the impact.

His sister wobbled to her feet, her father still laughing.

‘What did I tell you about reminding me of my age, Vivy?’

She pouted, uncaring of the bruise that was rapidly swelling across the cheek that had been kissed by the stone pillar her father had so graciously sent her flying into.

Caledon chuckled as he realised that the stone pillar had gotten further than any of the other budding young men so enamoured with his sister. Especially that prick Dravel.

‘Dad! You invoked your Fear! You aren’t fighting fair.’

His father shot him a knowing smile. Caledon rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, here came the lecture. His father deepened his voice artificially, adopting the booming tone he did when he mocked them.

‘Young Viveria, you know as well as I do that our enemies-‘

‘-don’t fight fair! I know, you’ve told me a million times.’

His sister’s skin was turning pink from minor burns across her body, but she paid them no heed.

‘Again.’

‘Viv…’

‘Come on! I know I can avoid it this time.’

Unfortunately for Viveria, Silas arrived to Highlord Berevan’s aid. The loyal butler had a hint of mischief in his eyes which Caledon was only able to detect due to his familiarity with the man.

‘Apologies, mistress. Your father is needed.’

The girl glowered at Silas, the greatest thief of her father’s attention.

Caledon rose from his seat with a groan, starting towards his sister.

‘Come on sis, you’ve got to get those burns treated. If you turn into a flaking mess, you’ll be at a loss for suitors.’

A wild smile spread across Viveria’s face. Uh oh.

‘That’s a wonderful idea Cally. Maybe this way those Feardamned idiots will stop chasing me.’

His father boomed with laughter as Viveria stomped off with a snort towards the medical bay. He pitied the healers who worked tirelessly to keep her in fighting shape throughout her training.

‘A gentleman is here to see you, Highlord. It is of the utmost importance.’

‘Is that your assessment of the situation? Or just what the gentleman would have me believe.’

‘The former.’

His father turned to Silas, nodding and dismissing his greatsword in a flash of flame. Silas at times, bore a resemblance to the puppets he feared.

His lifeless eyes, and the unnatural tilt to his head had creeped out a younger Caledon to no end. The butler shot Caledon a wink, which he returned with a grin.

The same “weird and creepy” Silas also had an unparalleled sense of humour, which a young Caledon had come to quickly realise.

He quickly became a mentor and friend to him, and he was glad that he hadn’t stubbornly adhered to his assumptions about the man. He remembered speaking about it with his father.

‘Father, Silas is creepy. So is his Fear. What happens if he’s able to Fearshape like you? Will he send puppets after us?’

‘Only the nobility can shape their Fear into power, son. It is a burden that we alone bear. It is also wrong to judge man by his Fear, Cal. We do not choose what we are tormented by, and neither can we avoid being influenced by our Fears. It is only natural to grow to embody it in some ways. Give him a chance son.’

He had always been curious about Fearshaping. Who wouldn’t be? An elusive power granted exclusively to the nobility? A burning mystery that he was determined he would get to the bottom of. Yet he received no assistance from his parents. He still recalled when his mother had departed to the Archcity of Dreams, Somnolence, and had returned a Fearshaper. What occurred in that city that sparked her awakening? That was a mystery.

‘You’ll know when the time comes.’

That had been his parents’ only response. When he had mentioned it to his sister, she hadn’t been of much help. Instead, he had received a face full of water when she sprayed her drink at him, unable to contain her laughter.

‘Cally I got that response from mother when I asked her how babies were made. In her defence, she was ri-’

All Caledon had been able to do was run and entreat the sky above, begging to know what he had done to deserve such an infuriating family.

---

Brimstone, the Archcity of Flames was as grand on the surface as it was below.

Descending into the undercity revealed a sprawling cavern bathed in the warm orange glow of a lake of lava that rested below. Brimstone’s undercity was built into the sides of the cavern extending inwards, suspended above the vast pool, and supported by immense stone pillars.

Much like the lavaways above, it reminded Caledon of knowledge lost, and architectural feats yet unrepeated.

House Brimstone put them to use – housing a legion of the land’s most legendary smiths, metalworkers and miners – the cornerstone of Brimstone’s industry.

To Caledon, it was a second home.

‘Aye Cal, come down ‘ere to spend some quality time with us aye? The girls not pretty enough surfaceside?’

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Caledon grinned at Brimstone’s foremost smith, an unassuming burly and short man approximately a half of his height. The apprentices around him laughed jovially, slapping him on his back.

‘Aye Sakar, would be a tragedy to go a day without seeing your beautiful mug.’

Sakar was one of a few smiths capable of shaping darksteel. He was the very smith that had crafted his father’s armour. Any other metal turned to liquid in the face of the inferno his father was capable of conjuring.

His eyes passed over the smith’s heavy brows, sweat dripping from his face.

Sweat? That’s strange.

For as long as he had been an apprentice, he had never seen Master Sakar sweat. Even doused in the flames of the Undercity, the heat waves from the lava beneath them emanating upwards. Or baked in the flames of the forge that he worked – he had never seen even a drip. Or a hint of exhaustion. The man worked ceaselessly, creating marvels.

‘Sakar… are you well? I noticed…’

The man bellowed out a huge laugh, making Caledon jump.

‘Aye, I’m as spritely as I ever was!’

He turned to his apprentices, a mischevious gleam in his eye.

‘Lucky me, drawing the attention of young Lord Caledon over here, aye lads?’

Caledon’s cheeks coloured as Sakar’s teasing words evoked a wave of laughter.

After a moment, Caledon joined in with relieved laughter, shooting a grin at his friend Barain, a senior apprentice.

So much for checking on his wellbeing – the old smith seemed as lively as always.

‘Yer finally done then?’

Caledon cradled a bundle in his arms, his latest creation.

Caledon nodded, self-conscious of the looks he received from the other apprentices. Sakar was famous for setting his apprentices eccentric challenges to overcome when they wished to learn the secrets of darksteel smithing.

He had apprenticed under Sakar for three years now, all in the hopes of learning how to shape darksteel. Ever since he had seen his father don his darksteel armour, he had been enamoured. But it wasn’t for the reasons that many of the other apprentices were.

Caledon cared nothing for wielding power as his father did. While regeneration was key to his Fearshaping, his flame wrought destruction.

The ability to create?

That was something else.

Caledon thought back to his conversation with the smith when he had first expressed his interest in learning about darksteel smithing.

‘I know what yer want to ask son. Speak up.’

‘Ah, yes smith. Why do you ask your apprentices to forge you something they would hate?’

‘If I wanted to find any ol’ apprentice to whip me up a sword or axe, I’d only have to turn a corner to stumble over some lad or lass with aspirations to create Brimstone’s next legendary blade. Yer see son, I’m looking for the ones who wish to innovate. Brimstone is entering into a new age of invention and creation. You understand, dontcha.’

The smith had wanted to test his apprentices’ ability to be versatile. To depart from convention, and to delve into the unknown. Part of that was being willing to create things you abhorred, delving into areas that you never would willingly.

To a lot of the other apprentices, that meant creating something boring. Something that wasn’t plate armour, a greatsword, axe or killing instrument of some sort. The other apprentice’s had been jealous when they heard – they would have leapt at the opportunity to do so.

His task? Sakar had charged Caledon with creating an abominable killing weapon. Sakar knew how he abhorred instruments of war. Sakar practiced eyes had picked up on Caledon’s aversion to weapons practically on sight.

He hefted his creation, covered in tarp to the old smith.

‘What do yer think yer doing yer lazy bastards! Back to work!’

The smith waved his hammer at the gathering crowd of apprentices, all curious to see what Caledon had produced. They hastily returned to work. His friend Barain, a fellow apprentice shot him an encouraging nod.

Sakar unveiled Caledon’s creation. It was a hollow sword. A twisting blade, like a newborn sapling, sprouted from an oddly crafted hilt. Rather than typical broadswords that boasted a keen double edge, his sword resembled the more elegant rapier. However, it appeared to be at least four times thicker than that of any ordinary rapier. The twisting steel that comprised the blade was perforated with holes. The blade’s hilt sported a small, hollow entrance which appeared to tunnel to the other holes appearing across the blade itself. Sakar nodded with a huff as he grasped the function of the odd design.

Caledon nodded, gulping down his anxiety. It was crafted such that a Fearshaper that wielded fire could send a burst of flame through the hilt which would be channeled through the tunnel structure in the blade to spear out of it at from holes peppered along the surface of the blade. If someone were unfortunate enough to be stabbed by it, it would quickly incinerate them from within.

Sakar gave Caledon a serious look which made his hopes fall.

‘Oh come on old man! Enough of your Feardamned bullshit!’

Barain called out to the smith fearlessly, who picked up an errant hammer and flung it at his senior apprentice. Barain laughed fearlessly, and Caledon noticed that the old smith was barely holding back a mischievous grin. He looked back to Caledon.

‘Not bad.’

‘I’ll set ‘yer’ arse on fire old man. You know as well as I do that it’s ingenious.’

Barain mocked the old smith, but Sakar couldn’t help but grin at his senior apprentice’s words.

‘Aye, aye! Well said. Barain’s as thick as cobble but he’s got a point. Well done, Brimstone.’

Caledon let out a triumphant yell he didn’t realise he had been holding in.

Success, finally.

In the hands of an ordinary soldier, the blade was nothing special. It would even be a hindrance. But he hadn’t made it for your ordinary soldier.

With Viveria’s fighting style – quick, elegant and sharp, it turned into another monster altogether. Someone unfortunate enough to be speared by it could have chunks blown off them in a millisecond with a strong enough burst of flame through the blade’s hilt. Caledon knew though, that the sword wouldn’t hold up for long. A Fearshaper's flame distorted steel, and the intricate tunnel network that channeled the flames to the blade’s surface would quickly fall a part. It would make the perfect gift for his sister once she awakened.

However, the brutal killing instrument would only realise its full potential with darksteel, capable of withstanding more intense heat. Caledon understood the assignment.

Barain clapped him on the shoulder. The son of a miner, his shoulders were broad, and he was one of the few men that matched Caledon in his stature and build. Their friendship had been forged from the time they were young, nipping around the smithy, curious at what their elders were creating.

‘Looks like we’re due for a drink Cal. We might not be able to today though, behold. I spot pricks over yonder.’

He gestured with a shrug to a group of young men laughing outside the undercity’s sole bar. Likely back from their training in the mines. Vassals of House Brimstone. Not that their status deterred them from picking on him.

The ringleader turned, catching his eyes.

Great. There goes celebratory drinks.

At the motion of their leader, the group turned as one in his direction.

‘Barain, won’t be a minute.’

‘Don’t leave, let them come.’

Caledon didn’t want to get his friend involved. For all his strength, he was still lowborn. Dravel, the leader of the group of merry idiots was a noble. His posse were comprised of the sons of minor lords from the provinces, all reporting to his father. That made all the difference.

‘Why hello Lord Brimstone, how nice of you to join us. Feeling the heat a little?’

‘Speak for yourself Dravel. You seem to feel it at the sight of my sister. Wouldn’t you agree, lads?’

Dravel’s entourage snickered, abruptly silenced when he shot them a look of hatred. Caledon smirked. The damage had been done.

The young lord’s face turned red and he clenched his fists at the provocation. While Viveria had inherited their father’s mastery over battle, he was grateful to have received his father’s build. Dravel shot uncertain looks at Caledon’s barrel of a chest.

The young lord spat in his direction and walked away with his posse in tow. It was a familiar dance between them, trading insults which amounted to nothing of substance. If Dravel raised a finger against him, there would be hell to pay.

Noticing with a quick glance that Dravel’s group had returned to the bar, Caledon shot Barain a quick nod. He returned to Sakar’s forge, his apprentices looking uneasy, uncomfortable to see a son of Brimstone humiliated. Sakar nodded to him and turned to his juniors.

Sakar spat to his side, an apprentice dodging out of the way.

‘Take notes everyone. The better a smith yer become, the more of those nobles you’ll have to deal with. If one of those pricks picks a fight with you, bow yer head. Don’t let yer pride be the death of you.’

Pride? Caledon didn’t have the luxury of it. The old smith wasn’t done. He looked at Caledon steel in his eyes.

‘But don’t yer dare lose yer drive. Yer might think me an idiot-‘

‘Aye!’

His group of apprentices chorused. Caledon joined them jovially, having brushed himself off. Sakar swung his hammer at them, causing the group to hop a step back.

‘-but I’m smart enough to know that a house is nothing without good smiths. How many of those uppity young gents do you think would try to take a swing at me, eh? If I threatened to leave, our Highlord Brimstone would have them publicly spanked to get me to stay.’

Caledon had no doubt about it. His father’s lack of patience for idiot lords and ladies was renowned.

‘Also remember. Not all lords are made equal. Our Caledon here, is especially troublesome, aye?’

The group laughed, he received some consolatory pats on the back after Sakar’s speech.

‘Now get back to work yer lazy bastards!’

Sakar turned to Caledon with a mischievous smile. Caledon waited in anticipation, but the smith just remained silent.

Finally, darksteel.

‘Alright then boy, now go down to th-‘

‘Apologies, master smith.’

Silas stood behind them, seemingly appearing out of thin air. He wore a look of regret on his face.

‘Congratulations are in order lord Caledon. However, master Sakar, I’m afraid the young master’s lessons will have to wait, perhaps for some time. The Highlord has summoned you to his chambers.’

Dread filled Caledon. His shoulders slumped.

‘Surely it won’t be fer long Silas? The boy has been looking forward to this fer as long as I can remember! Yer know this.’

Silas bowed, revealing a small break in his usually impassive expression.

‘I’m afraid he might be indisposed for a while yet.’

So close.

The smith let out a sigh like a bellows. Sakar stepped on his tip toes to give Caledon’s shoulder a reassuring grip.

‘You’ll be back in no time lad. We’ll get yer started straight away.’

Resigned, Caledon nodded at Silas, and avoided meeting Sakar’s eyes. He’d waited this long.

Waiting a little longer wouldn’t hurt…

Right?