Toast and Terrence continued their descent from the ledge, but the distant rumble in the valley below gnawed at the back of Toast’s mind. The moon's eerie glow slowly began to rise, painting the sky with a foreboding, reddish hue. He kept his thoughts focused on the path ahead, but the growing tension was palpable. As they reached the base of the cliff, the warmth in the air increased, signaling they were nearing the Earthen Furnace again—a dangerous section of the dungeon where heat and fire ruled.

They treaded carefully, aware of the magma that bubbled below the surface, its fiery breath rising through the cracks in the ground. It was here, amidst the blackened Soul Vines twisting along the ground, that something unexpected happened.

A thick vine, charred and brittle from the intense heat of the Earthen Furnace, suddenly shuddered as they passed by. From its center, a ghostly figure began to take shape—its form hazy and indistinct, but unmistakably dwarven. The spirit seemed ancient, its face lined with the hard edges of someone who had worked the forges for lifetimes.

Toast halted, eyes wide as the apparition floated before them. The spirit's hollow eyes locked onto his, and a chilling, low moan escaped its spectral mouth: "The Forge? The Forge?"

Before Toast could respond, the spirit seemed to crackle and distort, its body dissipating into steam, leaving only those haunting words behind.

Toast turned to Terrence, his mind racing. "Did you hear that?"

Terrence nodded, though he seemed more concerned with the heat rising around them. "Yeah. A ghost dwarf looking for a forge? Not the weirdest thing we’ve seen today. But… what forge?"

"The Earthen Furnace is full of them," Toast replied, glancing around uneasily. "But what if there’s one we haven’t found yet? One connected to the Soul Vines… and the Harvester?"

Terrence rubbed his chin, intrigued despite the danger. "Sounds like a mystery worth solving, but right now, we’ve got to keep moving before the whole place turns to magma under our hooves."

They pressed on, the heat intensifying with each step as the passageway narrowed once again. Sweat dripped down their necks, and the air was thick, making it hard to breathe. Finally, the corridor opened up into a cavernous room, the sight before them more unnerving than anything they’d seen so far.

In the center of the wall, a giant stone face loomed, its features twisted in rage. Its eyes, glowing red-hot like molten iron, watched over the room, and its mouth—wide and gaping in a silent scream—seemed to pulse with heat. It was terrifying, as though the dungeon itself had taken on a monstrous form.

But more disturbing was the realization that the mouth wasn’t just a grotesque feature—it was a door.

"It’s a dead end," Toast muttered, eyeing the molten cracks that ran through the stone. "Except for that… mouth."

Terrence stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Looks like that’s our only way forward. Though, I don’t like the look of it."

Toast examined the face, trying to ignore the oppressive heat pouring from it. There was something ancient about it, something far older than even the dwarven spirit they had encountered. The mouth beckoned, but Toast’s instincts screamed that this was no ordinary doorway. There had to be some sort of mechanism—or worse, some trap they couldn’t see.

"Do we have a choice?" Terrence asked, leaning closer to the mouth. "It’s either go through, or we turn back and face whatever’s waking up behind us."

Toast knew they couldn’t turn back. The Harvester had been watching them, and the valley’s rumble hinted at a coming storm—one they didn’t want to face. But the mouth, glowing with the same rage as the molten cracks surrounding it, felt like walking straight into the belly of a beast.

"I think it’s a test," Toast finally said, voice steady. "The flames… the heat… Everything here is about endurance. Maybe that’s what the Forge means. We’ve got to endure the fire to get through."

Terrence smirked, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. "Alright, Toast. If you think we can handle it, I’m game. But if you're wrong about this... you're toast... Toast. Lead the way."

Ignoring the terrible joke and taking a deep breath, Toast tentatively stepped forward. He could feel the heat intensify as he neared the mouth, the glow from the eyes growing stronger, hotter. His heart pounded, but he forced himself to push onward, trusting his gut.

As they approached the stone face, the molten glow seemed to pulse, and the mouth slowly began to widen, a low, grinding noise reverberating through the chamber. Toast braced himself, preparing for whatever lay beyond.