Dellen followed his guide. They ascended a flight of stairs, leaving the subterranean dining hall behind. The transition from the dimly lit underground to the upper levels brought a subtle change in the atmosphere. Even though the corridor was built to feel almost like a dungeon, lined with doors and no windows, the air felt lighter once he knew they were no longer underground.

They climbed flight after flight of stairs, stopping only once they had reached the very top. Emerging onto a rooftop garden, Dellen's eyes adjusted to the dimly lit surroundings. Moonlight bathed the open space, revealing rows of neatly arranged sandbeds with trees growing atop the building. Among the shadows, Dellen could make out seven figures raking.

Dellen was handed a rake, it was heavy in his hand, heavy in a way that suggested the heaviness was deliberate, purely for the sake of making the raking more challenging. The implication clear, he was to mimic those around him. It appeared they were cleaning leaves from the sandbeds and raking the sand into precise lines. Each sandbed held an intricate pattern, marred by detritus on the surface. Dellen worked, the soft rustle of leaves being cleared and the rhythmic scrape of rakes against sand filled the night air.

The garden became a symphony of subdued sounds as the night wore on. The only exchange of words was an occasional hushed instruction or a brief nod of acknowledgment. The cool night air caressed his skin, mingling with the earthy scent of the garden and the lingering fragrance of blossoms. It was a stark contrast to the muted halls and the restrained silence of the dining hall below. He was still tired, and he was still a captive, but it was the most pleasant part of his day so far.

Hours passed, and his task neared completion. Dellen's muscles ached with fatigue, his injured wrists throbbing in protest. Yet, there was a quiet satisfaction in the completion of the meticulous garden work. The sandbeds, now devoid of fallen leaves, bore testament to their collective efforts, though Dellen couldn’t fathom the purpose behind their labor, perhaps a visual representation of the order's obsession with structure and control.

Dellen’s guide found him and led him to his room.

There, his guide pointed at the bed and left.

Feeling the exhaustion from the day's labor seep into his bones, Dellen approached the bed and sank onto the mattress. His injured wrists throbbed. With a sigh, he adjusted his bandages, doing his best to find a position that would ease the discomfort.

In the solitude of his room, thoughts whirled through Dellen's mind, each one a piece of a puzzle he was determined to unravel. The nature of The Order of the Red Truth troubled him, its secrets and purpose eluding him. The rooftop garden presented the chance for an escape. He could, if necessary, simply jump from the edge and see himself back in the storm, but he bore the desire to depart through less drastic means.

A bell woke him; he hoped it was the sign of a new day and breakfast. No matter how bland the food, Dellen felt the need for something in his stomach.

He rose from the bed and carefully adjusted his attire, donning the crimson robe and securing the silver mask on his face. He could not help but wonder what challenges the day would hold. The order's daily routines and tasks, like pieces of a larger puzzle, held the potential for him to learn more about the world beyond Copperopolis, and opportunities for escape. He understood that every interaction, every chore, and every moment would be an opportunity to gather information, to observe, and to find a path toward freedom.

Leaving his room, Dellen stepped into the corridor, joining the flow of robed figures as they moved with practiced efficiency. The silence that permeated the air spoke volumes about the order's unwavering commitment to discipline and control.

Breakfast was a dull affair, another bowl of almost tasteless food.

Standing, his wrist was grabbed again. It didn’t hurt as much this time. Dellen tilted his head to the side, trying to determine whether this was the same person who had taken him by the wrist as before. He couldn’t do more than settle on ‘perhaps’ as he thought the height was about right and the hair color was either the same or similar.

They led him up the stairs to a floor that he estimated was a third of the way up the building. His silent guild pulled open a door and walked away without a word.

Dellen stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the area. To his surprise, he found a group of five robed men and women sitting on the ground in a semicircle around a commanding figure standing at the center of the room. The man wore a crimson robe that billowed around him. There was a silver sigil emblazoned on his chest, simpler than the sigil that had been on the robe of the woman who bought him.

Dellen's gaze was drawn to the mask that concealed the man's face. It was just like his own, yet somehow, this figure radiated authority. The man stood upon a metal circle etched with unfamiliar symbols made up of harsh and jagged lines. The circle was repeated a dozen times around the room. Each of the five seated figures sat in the middle of a circle, and each of them, including the man in the center, bore scars with a branching fern pattern somewhere on their necks or on the visible parts of their faces.

The figure, radiating a commanding presence, turned his attention to Dellen. His gaze, though concealed behind the mask, felt piercing and intrusive. The room fell silent as the figure spoke, his voice resonating with a deep, authoritative tone.

"Welcome, initiate," the figure declared. "I am here to guide you on the path of Aetherforging. What is your name?”

With a start, Dellen realized he hadn’t been asked his name since before he was sold.

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"My name is Dellen Northcote," he responded, his voice steady but tinged with curiosity.

The figure listened attentively, his masked face betraying no emotion. A pause lingered in the air as if the figure was assessing Dellen's readiness. Then, with a decisive tone, he spoke again. "Dellen," the figure uttered, his voice carrying weight and authority. "In the Order of the Red Truth, you shall be known simply as Dellen. Leave everything else behind, and embrace your new identity."

Dellen's heart skipped a beat at the command. It was a command to sever ties with his past, to embrace a new path where his former name held no place. This was not something that he would do, but he imagined that each other robed figure in the room had left their old lives behind. He considered declining, if only to see what the man would do, but more than anything, he wanted to see what this man could teach him.

"I understand," Dellen lied, his voice filled with determination. "I am Dellen, ready to embark on the path of Aetherforging."

The figure nodded, acknowledging Dellen's acceptance. "Very well, Dellen. Let us begin your training. You may call me Master Ardentus. Now, stand on a circle,” he said, pointing at where Dellen was to take his place.

Dellen strode to the center of a circle and turned to face Ardentus.

“Take off your boots.”

Without a word, Dellen crouched down, removed his boots, and stood tall, barefoot on the metal.

Electrical Aether surged into him.

Master Ardentus observed Dellen's connection to the Electrical Aether with a discerning eye. He nodded, acknowledging Dellen's initial grasp of his affinity. “Your training is adequate, if odd, the copper and iron laced through your body have the necessary density to continue. To attain the First Trinity, you must further integrate quartz or silver.”

Dellen’s eyes widened, and his lips parted slightly. Just by looking at him, Ardentus had picked out the copper and iron in his body, as well as suggested two compatible materials he could use. Though he did not understand what about his training was odd.

“You need to accomplish this today. You came in with unforged adults, blank canvases waiting to be painted into perfect initiates for the order. They will remain unforged as they are steeped in our teachings, growing in their worth with every passing year,” his head leaned forward, “You do not possess this same value, you are neither unsullied nor even First Trinity, to show your worth you must forge yourself, today.”

Dellen nodded, not quite able to restrain his eagerness. All considerations aside, he welcomed any opportunity to forge.

Ardentus led Dellen to a table adorned with various materials, including ingots of silver. "Today, we shall focus on forging silver."

Dellen's eyes widened with a mixture of anticipation, uncertainty, and greed. He knew that incorporating silver into his body would be a significant step, bridging the gap between his current progress and First Trinity. With a deep breath, he prepared himself for the challenge.

Under Master Ardentus’s gaze, Dellen hefted an ingot of silver, feeling its cool weight in his hand. “Do I return to the circle?”

“Return to the circle, with your ingots, and survive.”

Dellen gave Ardentus a quick look before collecting four ingots and sitting in the centre of a circle, with an ingot balanced on each foot, and his fists wrapped around an ingot apiece, knuckles pressed to the ground.

He concentrated on his Spark Core and the Electrical Aether flowing through him, visualizing the seamless fusion of metal flesh and bone within him, building a map of the metal already in his bones, his organs, and his skin.

Ardentus spoke a single word, “Begin.”

The circle Dellen sat on flooded with a surge of Electrical Aether. Static crackled in the air around him, intertwining with the pulsating power coursing through his hands and feet. He closed his eyes, blocking out the external world and delving deep into his own being.

Within the depths of his consciousness, Dellen connected with his Spark Core, the pulsating center of his electrical affinity. The Electrical Aether responded, surging through his veins and tingling at his fingertips.

The energy enveloped him, and Dellen's focus sharpened. He visualized the map of metal within, envisioning the intricate interplay between flesh, bone, and the electrical currents that coursed through them. His awareness of the metal already fused into his body deepened.

With each passing second, the intensity of the Electrical Aether intensified. It surged into Dellen's body, intertwining with the metal within him, amplifying his connection to the elements. Sparks of electricity danced along his skin, illuminating his form in a mesmerizing display of raw power.

Through the electric symphony reverberating within him, Dellen felt a sense of harmony. The boundaries between his physical form and the currents of power blurred.

He redirected Electrical Aether into the silver ingots in his hands, taking them from shining to a white-glow in a second before they sublimated into gaseous silver and rushed into his body.

The gaseous silver melded seamlessly with the currents of Electrical Aether already coursing through him. It flowed with purpose, guided by Dellen's intent. Lines of silver flowed into his fingertips, burning away impurities in his bones, threading their way around the existing copper and iron, lacing, reinforcing, and strengthening him.

The silver continued to his wrists, up his forearms past his elbows, and up to his shoulders. Metal flowed and met at his shoulders before running down his spine, and across his ribcage.

There was pain and the scent of burning. Dellen ignored them both.

The silver continued on past his hips, down his legs, and into his feet. He sensed the ingots placed there and directed Electrical Aether into them. They glowed before pouring into his skin.

Tendrils of silver snaked across Dellen's steelskin. They traced patterns along his arms and torso, shimmering with an otherworldly radiance. The silver threads intertwined with his existing Aetherforged form, enhancing his conductivity and amplifying his affinity. He threaded silver into the steelskin around his wounds on his wrists and knuckles, taking care not to use it to suture them together.

The silver delved deeper, coursing through his organs, strengthening them, in his mind’s eye, he could see shining threads wrap around his beating heart, gathering there like a dark cloud. It all shot at once into his Spark Core, coating it and strengthening it. What was left surged from his Spark Core, up his spine, and into his head.

Searing pain beset his skull. Dellen’s head rolled back even as he guided the silver along the bones, etching the metal throughout, threading it into his eyes, through his brain, and over his skin.

The Aether stopped flowing from the circle beneath him.

Dellen relaxed his empty hands. The four ingots were gone.

He centered his awareness on his Spark Core. Electrical Aether surged within him. Where before he’d commanded a trickle, now there was a stream. He pushed Aether to his fist and watched it glow before letting it ebb away. His skin faded to the faint shimmer of early steelskin, the etchings from the silver faint.

He had achieved First Trinity.

“I wasn’t convinced you would survive.” Ardentus said, “How peculiar for you to be talented enough, and yet behind. You are the only Aetherforged of the First Trinity in this room. You must still prove your worthiness to be here.”