Erith sacrificed the memory of her daughter’s laugh. She pulled it out of her mind—that sound of pure, unbothered joy—and she folded it into the iron. Every hammer strike was a sob. Every quench in the volcanic lake was a goodbye.
April 14, 2026
The lore says she walked into the caldera of a dormant volcano, carrying a single piece of iron—a broken horseshoe from her daughter’s favorite pony. She did not pray to the gods of the forge, because those gods had ignored her cries. Instead, she spoke to the other thing that lives in the heat: the memory of pain. soulwrought spear
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