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"We should go," she interrupted, stepping back from him. "We don't want to be late."

As we filed out of the chambers, I caught Archer's eye, silently demanding an explanation. His expression was grim, his jaw clenched with what looked like barely suppressed panic.

Whatever Sierra had told him, whatever secret she was keeping, I had a sinking feeling we were about to find out, and that none of us were going to like it.

57

Callum

Icast the protection spell with practiced precision, my hands weaving intricate patterns through the air as shadows gathered around us. The ancient words fell from my lips in a rhythmic cadence, each syllable charged with power that rippled outward like ripples in a still pond.

"Obscuro, protego, defendere vitam," I intoned, feeling the shadows respond to my command, thickening around our small group like a living cloak.

Sierra stood between Rowen and Archer, her silver hair gleaming in the dim light of the elevator that would take us down to the deepest level of Hell. Her face was composed, but I could see the tension in the set of her shoulders, the way her fingers nervously twisted the hem of her shirt.

"The spell will shield us from the worst of the heat," I explained as the final words of the incantation settled into our skin like a second layer. "But it won't last forever. We'll need to work quickly once we reach the forge."

Lightsbane hung at my side, its familiar weight both comforting and strangely heavy today. My fingers wrapped around the hilt, my knuckles whitening with the force of my grip. This blade had been in my family for generations, passed downthrough the royal line of the Dark Fae. To lose it would be to lose a piece of our history, our legacy.

But the sacrifice was necessary. I knew that. If transforming Lightsbane into Lightbringer was our only hope against the Shadow Beast, then so be it.

The ancient elevator groaned and shuddered as it began its descent, the metal cage rattling around us like bones in a tomb. The farther down we traveled, the warmer the air became, despite my protection spell. By the time we reached the bottom, sweat beaded on my brow, trickling down my temples.

"This way," Rowen said, his voice echoing in the cavernous space that greeted us when the elevator doors creaked open. "The forge is several levels deeper, accessible only by the stairs."

Sierra's eyes widened as she took in our surroundings. The walls were made of obsidian so dark it seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Veins of molten red ran through the stone like blood through arteries, pulsing with an inner heat that made the air shimmer.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, reaching out to touch one of the walls before thinking better of it.

"And deadly," Archer warned, his ice-blue eyes scanning our surroundings with practiced caution. "Don't touch anything unless Rowen says it's safe."

We moved as one unit, instinctively forming a protective circle around Sierra as we approached the staircase Rowen had indicated. It spiraled downward, carved directly into the obsidian rock, each step glowing faintly with runes that responded to Rowen's presence.

The descent seemed to take forever, the air growing hotter with each step. My protection spell shimmered visibly around us now, a faint blue barrier against the increasing heat. Despite its power, I could feel sweat soaking through my clothes, my skin flushing with the effort of maintaining the enchantment.

"Are you alright?" Sierra asked softly, noticing my discomfort.

I nodded, not wanting to waste energy on words. The truth was, maintaining a spell of this magnitude was taxing, especially in an environment so hostile to fae magic. The depths of Hell were Rowen's domain, not mine, and my power was diminished here.

Finally, the stairs ended, opening onto a vast chamber that took my breath away. The forge of creation, the birthplace of demon lords and celestial weapons, spread before us in all its terrible glory.

A lake of liquid fire dominated the center of the chamber, its surface bubbling and churning like a living thing. The heat that radiated from it was beyond anything I'd ever experienced, making even the protection spell flicker and strain. Platforms of black stone jutted out over the molten lake at various points, providing precarious access to the forge itself.

"By all the ancient powers," Archer breathed, his wings manifesting unconsciously in response to the primal energy that permeated the chamber.

Sierra stood transfixed, her silver eyes reflecting the orange glow of the forge. There was something in her expression. A strange mixture of fear, awe, and... acceptance? The sight sent a chill down my spine despite the overwhelming heat.

"We need to move to the central platform," Rowen instructed, pointing to the largest outcropping of stone that extended into the heart of the lake. "That's where the ritual must be performed."

I gripped Lightsbane tighter, feeling the sword respond to the proximity of the forge. It seemed to vibrate slightly in my hand, the runes along its length glowing with a deep blue light that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

As we carefully made our way around the edge of the chamber toward the central platform, I noticed Sierra hanging back slightly, her gaze fixed on the molten lake with an intensity that unnerved me.

"Sierra?" I called, extending my hand to her. "Stay close."

She nodded, but there was a distant quality to her eyes that made my unease grow. Whatever she'd whispered to Archer earlier had left him visibly shaken, and he hadn't had a chance to share it with us before we began our descent.

The central platform was larger than it had appeared from a distance, roughly circular with ancient symbols carved into its surface. The heat here was nearly unbearable, my protection spell straining to its limits despite my constant feeding of power into it.