Flynn took his spot, bouncing on the balls of his feet.Don't stop moving,his thoughts whispered, jagged and fast.Just don't stop.
"And East," Hephaestus looked at Elias. "Design. You hold the blueprint, Weaver. You tell the metal and clay what shape to take. You have to convince the star-metal that it wants to be a woman, not a rock."
Elias glided to his position, his robes tattered, his face pale and drawn. He looked at the Anvil with the expression of a man looking at a guillotine he had helped invent.
"And me?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the slab. The heat rolling off it was a physical wall, pushing against my skin. It smelled of deep earth and ancient, violent creation.
"You," Hephaestus said, leaning heavily on his hammer. "You are the work. You lie there and place your hands here."
He slapped the flat, dark surface of the Anvil. It hissed.
"The Anvil is a reader," he explained. "Those runes on your skin? They are a request for access. The Anvil will read the request. It will trace the lines of your essence back to the source, your heart, and it will attempt to stretch the container to accommodate the pressure."
"Attempt?" Kaelen’s voice was sharp, cutting through the heat.
"There are no guarantees in metallurgy, only probabilities," Hephaestus said grimly. "And I should warn you, the Anvil does not use anesthesia. It uses truth. To reforge a thing, you must first unmake it. You will feel every cell in your body come apart."
I swallowed, my throat clicking dryly. "Okay."
"And you four," Hephaestus swept his gaze over the Princes. "You must be calm. The bond is a conduit. If you pour fear into her while she is open and you will warp the metal. If you panic, if you waver, the imperfections will be forged permanently into her soul."
Be calm.
The command hung in the air, ridiculous and impossible.
I scooted back on the Anvil. It was an absolutely massive block of meteoric iron that seemed to absorb the light of the forge. It pulsed with a low, rhythmic thrumming that matched the beat of the Titan beneath the floor.
As I lay down I reached out my hands, holding them over the anvil where Hephaestus indicated.
My right hand was flesh, shaking, sweat-slicked, the knuckles white. My left hand was a claw of matte-grey metal, steady, cold, and heavy.
I hesitated.
A wave of static crashed into me through the connection in my chest.
It wasn't a sound. It was a scream of four distinct voices overlapping into a cacophony of doubt.
I will burn her,Kaelen’s voice echoed in my head, a roar of fire that he was desperately trying to dampen.I am destruction. I don't know how to create, only how to turn things to ash.
I am not strong enough,Thane’s thought rumbled beneath it, a tectonic groan of insecurity.I failed the ridge. I failed my brothers. I will drop her. I will lose her soul.
I am chaos,Flynn’s mind skittered, a frantic scratching.I am the wolf. I break things. I bleed things. I don't know how to heal.
It is my fault,Elias’s guilt was a high, keen whine, a mathematical proof of his own failure.I wrote the code. I built the trap. The variables are all wrong.
The noise was deafening. It battered against the inside of my skull, drowning out the roar of the bellows. They were petrified. They were supposed to be my anchors, my fuel, but right now, they were drowning, and they were dragging me down with them.
I looked at where my hands hovered over the Anvil. The heat coming off it felt like a warning.
Don't touch,instinct whispered.Run. Hide. Freeze.
I couldn't do it. How could I let them in when they were terrified of themselves? How could I open the door to a storm?
"Aria," Kaelen’s voice was strained, tight. He saw my hesitation. He felt my recoil.
"It's too loud," I whispered, pressing my hands to my ears. My metal fingers clinked against my skull. "You're too loud."
"We are tryin—" Flynn started, but his voice cracked.
