An Isekai Story

The Entropic Forge is a vaulted chamber buried deep within the Cradle of Undoing, far from heat and hammer. No bellows roar here, no anvil sings—only silence, cold and constant. This is not a place of creation but erosion. Blades brought here weep with rust in minutes. Enchanted armor peels apart like old bark. Even artifacts of legend, inscribed with fate-forged glyphs, find themselves dismantled by unseen forces. Runes unravel. Pommel-gems crack. War ends here—quietly, methodically. The Forge’s magic doesn’t destroy; it convinces objects they were never whole to begin with. Some say it was built to house the guilt of the Unmaker’s summoners, others believe it’s a monument to the final utility of violence. Behind a thick obsidian vault sealed in seven locks lies the only item ever “made” in this place: a blade forged from void, shaped not by fire, but by subtraction—a weapon without origin, known only as Nullbrand.

A long, sunken chamber lined with ribbed iron walls, slick with condensation that never drips. Half-melted swords lean like wilted flowers against cold black stone. Chains hang from the ceiling, unmoving. At the center, a crucible glows faintly blue—not from heat, but memory. Shadows curve unnaturally in its light. Along the far wall, a seven-locked vault pulses like a heartbeat, surrounded by silent tools that have forgotten their names.