Victor blinked, and the words were gone. He frowned. Had he simply imagined it?

No, that wasn’t possible. The word had clearly been there, and not only did he remember it — he could still feel it, as the word was etched into his mind like a searing brand. Soulforge. But what exactly did that even mean?

Frowning, Victor ran his finger across the page, considering how to begin questioning the book. There were so many ways to begin, and his mind spun. Finally giving up, Victor rolled his neck before asking the first thought that came to mind.

“Okay, so what is ‘Soulforge?’ Is it another spell?”

No.

Frowning, Victor was about to agitatedly ask for more, but the book had already continued.

Spells use arcane energy to manipulate the works of Creation. You, however, now also possess a fragment of Creation itself.

I have named it Soulforging.

Squinting as he read the page, Victor tried to understand what the book meant. In all honesty, he wasn’t particularly well versed in either theology, magic, or the theory of Classes and Focuses.

The last time he had been in a church, it was to receive charitable aid several winters ago, and he had walked away with a small, but delightfully soft wool blanket.

He had been grateful for the gift, but admittedly hadn’t paid much attention to the words of the preacher. To Victor, Creation was little more than a figure of speech, so the idea that his newfound abilities stemmed from a so called ‘fragment’ of it didn’t really mean anything to him.

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe it, he just lacked any context.

But now wasn’t the time to get deep into theology — he just needed to understand what he could do.

“So I don’t have to spend any arcane energy to use it?”

Correct.

Victor opened his mouth again, but the words were already shifting.

But your power still comes at a cost. Use it wisely.

Furrowing his brow, Victor considered what to ask next. There were so many questions… Taking another sip of water, he tapped the page. “What is the cost?”

The ink swirled, but new words didn’t form. Victor thought he could just barely make out hints of letters forming, before they broke apart again. It seemed like the book was thinking.

As a servant of Creation, I chose you. Our purpose is to assist mortals, so that one day a few might Ascend. You have something very special, Victor, through no virtue of your own.

Don’t waste it.

Don’t make me regret choosing you.

Victor suppressed a shiver. He couldn’t actually tell whether there was a threat there, which unsettled him. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he took a few calming breaths. At the same time, he realized that the book hadn’t really answered his question — but something told him not to push it.

“What do you mean by Ascension?”

Victor regretted asking as soon as he spoke — his read on the book was that it was currently hesitant to give much specific information, for whatever reason — but the ink was already shifting before his eyes.

To become a god. To serve Creation.

Victor raised an eyebrow. “…right.” Stretching slightly, he decided it was time to get back on track. “So what does Soulforging actually do?”

That is something you need to figure out for yourself.

Victor suppressed a groan.

But I think I can give you just enough to get started.

You remember what your class is, yes?

Victor sighed. “I’m a necromancer.”

What? No. You’re not a necromancer.

Victor blinked. “Wait, then what am I?”

You are an artificer. A craftsman. Your materials are the spirit and the flesh… and your tools are borrowed from those mages you know as necromancers.

Frowning, Victor turned the idea over in his head. A craftsman of life and death… and that which lies between. Victor couldn’t help it — he laughed. “So what, make a cudgel out of a femur, shove a soul in it and call it enchanting?”

Precisely.

Victor blinked. “That was a joke.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Fine. It’s a little more intricate than that, behind the scenes — but for now? Why not. I can make that work. All you need to do is craft your item — mind the materials, of course — and then just choose one of your harvested souls for the enchantment.

That’s it. You can let me handle the rest.

Victor stared skeptically. “Right…”

Go on. Try it out, see for yourself.

Closing the book, Victor sat up, stretched, and crawled back over to the charred skeleton of the enormous rat. There… wasn’t exactly much here that he could use. The only thing that remained other than ash were the larger bones.

What could he do with them? There had to be something.

Digging through the pile, Victor sorted through the skeleton while half heartedly trying to come up with a workable idea. But after several minutes, he gave up.

What the hell. The fangs are long and sharp enough.

Grabbing the sharper of the two enormous fangs — each one stretched from his wrist to just past the tip of his middle finger — Victor turned it over in his hands. It was, in all honesty, likely a better weapon than the little knife from the chest.

Well, here goes nothing.

Concentrating on the fang, Victor reached for where the so called ‘fragment’ was burned into his self. It responded to his spiritual touch immediately, and glowing silvery letters glittered within his mind’s eye.

**Enchant Rat Tooth Dagger with Harvested Soul: Festering Great Rat?*

Yes.

Victor couldn’t say whether he expected to feel anything, but what he did end up feeling was a bit underwhelming. It felt like the soul was being stretched out on a tether, then anchoring itself to the fang.

Nothing else changed.

Frowning, Victor turned the fang over in his hands again. After a few moments, he realized that he couldn’t just feel it with his hands — he could feel a bond between his own inner self and the ‘dagger.’

On a whim, he tugged on it in the same way as he did the book — and to his surprise, the fang vanished into empty air.

Rat Tooth Dagger of Rot (Rank F) added to inventory.

Victor blinked. He could still feel the supposedly enchanted item, but it was nowhere in sight. He pulled on it again, and the fang materialized back in his hands.

Well that’s actually super useful.

But what else could it do? Was that the only benefit of the enchantment? Surely not.

Victor glared at the book. He had a terrible suspicion that his Focus would be of absolutely no help at all. Sighing, he opened it anyway. “Alright, I made this,” he said, holding up the fang, “apparently it’s a ‘Rat Tooth Dagger of Rot,’ and also it’s ‘Rank F.’”

He paused. “So how do I figure out what it does, exactly?”

Use it.

Victor rolled his eyes at the book. How helpful. “Rank F is the lowest, right?”

Victor couldn’t say why, but the alien letter — which he somehow knew how to pronounce — suggested the lowest on a list.

Yes. Ranks progress from F, to E, D, C B, A, and S.

Nodding, Victor twirled the dagger over in his hand. “So to get a higher rank item, I need a more powerful soul.”

Yes, and a little more effort and creativity. You call that crafting? All you did was shove a soul in a particularly large tooth.

If you want to excel, you will need to earn it.

Glowering, Victor shut the book. It was rather annoying how sarcastically and condescendingly it often answered his questions — though he had to admit that it was pretty great that it answered questions at all.

As far as he knew, no other Focuses did that — even ones that provided some kind of information, like Lord Harvey’s alchemist’s tome.

Without anything else to do there, Victor decided it was time to try to open the large stone doorway again. Picking up the key — it had cooled down enough to comfortably handle — he stood up, dusted himself off, and began searching for any kind of hole to stick it in.

Several holes later, Victor found one that clicked. The key fit in perfectly, and upon twisting it, the massive stone door began to groan. Slightly alarmed, Victor stepped back.

The door slowly opened away from him, grinding across the stone floor as it did. Continuing to back up, Victor peered into the darkness beyond.

It was nothing more than a small, barren stone bedchamber. A pitiful bare cot was pushed against the left wall, and a small stone basin stood against the right.

Victor glanced at his flaming summon. “…Would you mind going first?”

Instead of responding, the creature simply drifted inside, bathing the tiny, low ceilinged square space in crimson light.

Nothing happened.

Sighing, Victor stepped inside. There was another stone door directly ahead — pretty much identical, except this one had a prominent iron lever in place of the keyhole.

Turning around, Victor realized the first door had shut behind him. His brief alarm calmed down as nothing leapt out to attack him.

It really did seem like just a rest room.

Victor knew that the dungeon provided rest areas for delvers to sleep — after all, there was only so long even the toughest fighter could last without rest. They were also the safest places in the entire dungeon — but Victor paid attention to the specific word ‘safest.’

It didn’t necessarily mean safe.

Nevertheless, it had been a long day, and it was probably well into the night up on the surface. He knew he needed rest, and it would be better to get it now while it was relatively guaranteed.

Collapsing onto the cot, Victor returned both his book and the soulforged dagger to his so called ‘inventory.’

“Goodnight,” he whispered to the rapidly dimming ball of fire, and then he let his eyes shut.

----------------------------------------

Victor woke up shivering. It took him several seconds to recall where he was, and then he shot up in an instant.

It was quite cold in the small stone chamber, and the cot hadn’t come with any sheets or even a blanket. Looking around, Victor observed his summoned fiend lazily drifting in a tight circle in the far corner.

The flame began to brighten, fiery energy bursting out from its spherical core. The creature shook itself side to side, before floating over to Victor’s side, where he gave it a tired smile.

“Well, might as well see what’s on the other side of the door, right?”

The flame bobbed up and down, and Victor stood up to stretch. After taking a sip of water, he refilled his waterskin from the stone basin. The water within was cool, clear, and awfully refreshing — even despite the chill in the air.

Finally, Victor summoned the rat dagger. Clutching it in his hand, he licked his lips. There was only one way to continue his purpose — forward.

Grasping the cold iron of the lever, Victor pulled.

The door began to grind outward, forcing Victor to step back as a roiling, icy fog rolled into the rest area. Goosebumps rose all over his exposed skin.

As the fog cleared, Victor realized he was looking down a frozen corridor. Thick wooden beams supported stone and earth, and the crimson glow of his summon contrasted eerily with the blues and whites of the frost and bits of ice.

Victor wished he had thicker clothes.

He hoped the remainder of this area wouldn’t be so terribly cold, but he didn’t let his hopes rise. It was fairly common knowledge that each area of the dungeon had a theme, though they changed and shuffled around fairly often.

Taking a deep breath, Victor calmed himself. He could see his breath as he exhaled.

Stepping cautiously into the wide corridor, Victor eyed the end, where it looked like it split off to either side at right angles. It also seemed to be deserted — until one of the icicles above moved.

Victor froze as several pairs of beady blue eyes landed on him. Bats.

Victor licked his lips, and took another step forward. Bats? He could handle bats.