Forge of Fate

The Garon was still out there.

The thought weighed heavily on Kalem's mind, even as he tried to resume his routine. Every creak of the tunnels and shift of shadows reminded him of the monster that had decimated so many. It wasn't just a beast; it was a walking calamity, an unstoppable force that had brought chaos and death to Warsaw. The city's defenses might hold it off for now, but Kalem knew the truth—it was only a matter of time before it struck again. And when it did, he wouldn't be caught unprepared.

He couldn't rely on luck. He couldn't rely on the sacrifice of others. Next time, he wouldn't be a helpless miner cowering in the shadows. Next time, he would face the Garon—and he would take it by the jaw.

Kalem's first move was to relocate. His savings were nearly gone, and renting a room in the city had become unsustainable. He found refuge in an abandoned house in one of the outer districts, close to where the Garon had last been seen. The house was decrepit and dusty, but it was shelter—and more importantly, it was quiet. Here, Kalem could focus on his preparations without interruption.

By day, he returned to work as a miner, earning just enough to buy food and basic supplies. The tunnels were no longer just his workplace; they became his training ground. Every moment he wasn't working was spent honing his skills. He practiced with his spear until his hands were raw, ran drills until his legs ached, and studied the Garon's strength and movements based on what he had witnessed.

But skill alone wouldn't be enough. Kalem needed a weapon—a weapon capable of doing what no one else had managed.

Using his experience with ores and minerals, Kalem began crafting a new spear. This wasn't just any weapon; it was a weapon designed specifically to kill the Garon. He started with a long shaft of reinforced steel, ensuring it could withstand the beast's immense strength. The blade was jagged, with grooves carefully etched along its edge to prevent it from getting stuck in the Garon's thick flesh.

Kalem's most daring innovation, however, came from an illegal acquisition. In the back alleys of the city, he managed to procure a small quantity of volatile minerals. These substances, highly unstable and difficult to handle, could trigger small explosions upon impact. With painstaking precision, Kalem embedded fragments of these minerals into the grooves of the spear's blade. It was a risky modification—one wrong strike could backfire—but it offered the potential for devastating damage.

The spear wasn't his only creation. Knowing the Garon's brute strength, Kalem also crafted a reinforced shield. Layers of metal and leather were bound together, creating a surface designed to absorb the creature's crushing blows. Grooves along the edge of the shield were added to catch the Garon's claws, giving Kalem a chance to control its movements in the chaos of battle. The shield was heavy, but Kalem trained relentlessly, learning to move with it as though it were a part of his body.

The forge in his new workspace became his sanctuary. The heat of the flames was oppressive, and the clang of metal on metal filled the air as Kalem worked late into the night. Each prototype brought him closer to his goal. He failed more times than he could count—blades that shattered under pressure, shields that buckled under weight—but each failure taught him something new.

Slowly, his vision became a reality. The jagged spear stood tall against the light of the forge, its blade gleaming with the faint shimmer of embedded minerals. The shield, sturdy and battle-worn, felt solid in his hands. Together, they represented months of effort and an unyielding determination to face the inevitable.

Kalem's preparation extended beyond the forge. He began mapping the tunnels near his new home, committing their twists and turns to memory. The Garon's size and ferocity made it a nightmare in open combat, but in the narrow passages of the tunnels, its movements would be restricted. Kalem planned to use the terrain to his advantage, setting traps and forcing the beast into choke points where he could strike without being overpowered.

He sketched crude maps, marking potential ambush points and escape routes. He thought of ways to weaken the beast before engaging it—collapsing parts of the tunnel to injure or slow it down, luring it into areas where he had the upper hand. Each detail of the plan became another piece in his arsenal, another step toward survival.

As Kalem honed his craft, Tharic continued to visit. The dwarf watched with a mix of pride and concern as Kalem pushed himself harder than ever. "You're a stubborn one, boy," Tharic said one evening, leaning against the doorframe of the abandoned house. "But stubbornness alone won't keep you alive."

Kalem looked up from his workbench, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's not just stubbornness," he replied quietly. "It's necessity. I can't wait for someone else to save me, Tharic. I have to be ready."

Tharic nodded, his expression softening. "Aye. Just remember, there's more to life than fighting. Don't lose yourself in this."

Kalem didn't respond immediately. He knew Tharic was right, but he couldn't ignore the urgency of his mission. The memory of the knight's sacrifice, the faces of the men and women who had died that day—they wouldn't let him rest. Preparing for battle wasn't just about survival; it was about redemption. It was about proving to himself that he could stand, that he could fight, that he could make a difference.

Weeks turned into months, and Kalem's preparations finally took shape. The jagged spear and reinforced shield were unlike anything he had ever wielded. The weapon's balance felt perfect in his hands, the grooves and volatile minerals promising deadly precision. The shield, though heavy, moved with him like a second skin. Together, they felt like an extension of himself, tools not just for survival but for victory.

And as he trained, as he worked, something began to change within him. The fear that had once consumed him began to fade, replaced by a quiet determination. He wasn't just preparing to fight the Garon; he was reclaiming his sense of purpose, his sense of self. The boy who had cowered in the shadows was gone. In his place stood a young man who was ready to face the darkness head-on.

Kalem tightened his grip on the spear, its weight solid and reassuring in his hands. "I won't run this time," he muttered to himself. "I'll end this."

The tunnels were silent, the darkness stretching out before him like a promise. Kalem stepped forward, ready to face whatever came next.