The Forge Plot Novels & Stories

Waddled up to the door of the Victorian on the bend. Their life seemed perfect. I suppose I was wrong. In any case, the Fosters were inseparable—even when she got older. They would waltz around town laughing; sit at cafes looking like someone ought to be photographing them for a perfume campaign. And it stayed that way for a while, mind you. Until Chloe climbed out from a Taxi—and this I saw through my kitchen window.

The forge in the heart of Nightveil had long been cold. Once, it had birthed weapons of legend—blades carried by heroes whose names were now lost to time. Now, the old stones sat silent, the anvil dust-choked, the hearth dead. But tonight, it lived again. Veyra stood before the ancient forge, her heart a storm of grief and resolve. In her hands, she held the remnants of a shattered sword—the last relic retrieved from the ruins of a temple days earlier.

Hello my friends! I apologize for not updating this week. There were some unexpected, yet happy changes in my family and I've been with my family out of town celebrating. This time off is also helping me get my outlines for the final arc of Forsaken Mate. That's right, we are nearing the end of this story. I want to go out with a bang and make sure it is interesting for you all. I really appreciate all the support you've given me for my first GoodNovel story. I'll be sure to make a proper thank you at the end!!

It felt like my world came crashing down when I heard Trevor say he wanted to forgive Roxanne. Cyril was our only child born after ten years of marriage. He was our miracle. His body lay cold and stiff upstairs in the surgery room, yet Trevor was determined to forgive the ones who had killed him. "Trevor Walker! Are you insane?" I yelled, completely losing it. I charged toward him and slammed my fists into his chest. "That was your son! How could you say that? How could you…"

• Ava's POV • "What?" I asked. Grandma ignored my sudden surprise and spoke up, "It is said to be formed in the Underworld." I refrained myself from groaning out loud when I heard her say that. "And stolen from there." I looked at her this time, instead of the black gemstone. "Who stole it?" The thought of somebody stealing something from the Underworld, more or less a human, was crazy. "Nobody knows." She sounded very much genuine saying that. As if Underworld even existed. "Many believe it was formed by the dark Furies who went against Hades. They formed this stone for Persephone."

It looked like a dead, charred cinder. Under the cover of the "Carbon-Shield," the Union began its most ambitious industrial project yet: the Forge of Defiance. If they were to survive the incoming fleet, they could no longer rely on the Great Engine Aethelgard as their only bastion. They needed to turn the entire planet into a weapon.

The Royal Forge was a cathedral of industry, a massive circular stone chamber at the base of the palace’s highest tower. For the final trial, the Council had gathered in the gallery above, looking down like spectators at a gladiator’s arena. At the center stood the Great Furnace, a beast of iron and brick that had birthed the crowns of kings for five hundred years. Julian stood before the hearth, his leather apron fastened tight. To his left sat Aris, acting as the "Overseer of the Materials" by ancient right—a position the Duke had fought to ensure.

Seraphina replied. Suddenly, the gold-shards crown over Kaelen’s head began to spin, creating a vortex of "Liquid Gold" that started to pull the boy toward the sky. "The Forge has initiated the 'Reclamation'!" Nyx screamed from the shadows, his Vanguard warriors being encased in white porcelain. Silas lunged for his son, but a wall of invisible, white glass slammed into his chest. From the center of the Forge above, a figure descended. It wasn't a creature of starlight or shadow. It was a man made of solid, polished silver—the "Lead Architect."

"And I am here to negotiate the final liquidation of the Thorne-Vance name." The leader of the Foundrymen, a massive man with a bionic eye and a soot-stained coat, looked down at me. "The name is worth nothing here, lady. We’re melting down the statues to make plowshares." "Then let me help you melt them," I said. "I have the codes to every automated forge in this city. I have the location of the deep-soil geothermal taps. And I have the only child who knows how to talk to the machines that are still sleeping under your feet."

"What does Vera know that the story doesn't include." He was quiet for a moment. "The creature will go for you specifically," he said. "It knows the unmaking requires the person who performed the forging. It will ignore the pack males. It will come through Vera if it can. And its primary target will be you." He paused. "Catalina was nearly killed. She had bruising on her throat for three weeks. Vera was the one who pulled it off her." Danielle looked at the paint swatches. All those colors. All those careful gradations between one shade and the next.