Remains of a fire

Chapter 3: A warm welcome

The song became louder, joyful instead of mournful. Every step the god took was remarked by a slight heat increasing. The mine he had found himself in, was similar to those that the heath blood build around his home, and yet no sense of similarity had hit him yet. This place while similar felt like the people from piltover conquered his land, weird creatures from metal thrown like corpses in a battlefield.

Trailing along the walls of the mine, he wondered, not a trace of minerals yet quite extensive mining. A slight trace of magic ran through the cracks in the wall. Deeper and deeper he went, as the traces of humans started to disappear; a sense of home hit Ornn.

Scorching, any sort of machine that had reached so far, started to look like a puddle. Ornn, looked at the craftsmanship in disappointment. Like a plague it had traces of the same magic that was leaking through the walls, slowly corroding the structure. Humans never seaming to learn, had finally given him the reason as to why this mine.

Once having reached an opening. The god became stunted, a bright light colored everything in sight a hue of red. From the wall to the entrance red crystals spew from the rocks. At the center a giant formation of crystal touched the floor of the cavern, melting anything it touched. The rock that had been melted created a bubbling pool. But for the god, all that amount to nothing, such descriptions were more than useless, as everything could be reduced to a single word "Home".

Ornn walked slowly, his fingers dragging along the stone of the cave, stopping at every crystal. Inspecting, grazing through the surface of said crystal, it sparked small waves of heat. A simple sensation, small for one that had been used to the heat for so long.

The simple touch of the god turned to a grip. Slowly increasing his grip, cracks started forming resounding through the entire cave. Silence....accompanied by a loud bang. The god, with his beard now filled with ash, sighed in amazement. For as much as the god detested the idea of magic on his constructs, due to magic, cursing them with fragility. This crystal, made from unstable magic, brought an idea. A forge, a new start. The place that would bring peace.

His fingers started tingling, the thoughts started running. He grabbed his hammer.....or would have, yet he didn't find it. A wave came over him, every scream in the freljord, every splat of red in the snow and the never ending ocean. The scream of the boy as he charged, with gleam in his eyes. To the surprise of the god, he had been able to hold the hammer. Yet what use was it to the one who never let that name die "the hearthstone". For his people who barely came back, as their god once again he lost them. To that void that devoured everything in their sight.