Perhaps there is no species on Pangera more suited to mass industry than the ants. They’re addicted to work and have an endless level of focus when applying themselves to even the most mundane of tasks.
Combined with their numbers, it’s little surprise they were able to achieve what they did.
- Excerpt from ‘The Antdustrial Revolution’ by Niahm
“Clear the crucible!” Smithant roared.
“Clear the crucible!” her call was echoed around the cavernous hollow within the mountain.
She leaned back to look high overhead, more than two hundred metres up, where another carver met her gaze. Smithant raised the flag she gripped in her opposable claws and waved it.
For several seconds, nothing happened, then a dark red glow suffused the opening at the apex of the cavern. That light grew stronger and brighter as each second passed, until finally, the molten iron reached the opening and began to fall.
Immediately, the temperature in the entire cavern rose precipitously, to the point that Smithant’s carapace began to smoke. Were it not for the many mutations that allowed her to resist high temperatures, she’d be taking damage just from the heat.
As it fell, the liquid metal reached the first of the heat-infusing rings, the discharge of energy feeling like a physical impact. The rods, sunk dozens of metres into the cavern walls, transferred heat from the lava pools trapped in the rock. At the wall, they glowed cherry red, brightening to pure white where they met the ring. As the metal fell through, it glowed ever brighter as additional heat was dumped into it.
The temperature rose yet again and Smithant could hear herself starting to sizzle. Three rings to go.
As the liquid fell, it passed through each of the heat-infusing rings in turn, and each time, the liquid glowed brighter and brighter, until it was white hot and so bright Smithant had to turn her back.
Were it not for her protective enchanted metal equipment, her eyes would have boiled out of her head.
The pour of liquid from the ceiling ceased just as the first drips entered the crucible below. Smithant could identify the exact moment as a dull roar shook the cavern. Fire Iron didn’t like to melt. The more the ants heated it, the more obstinate it grew, but eventually it would break.
The super-heated iron from above completed its pour and Smithant waved her signal flag again. Seconds later, she heard a resounding clang as the lid slapped shut and, thankfully, the temperature began to drop once more.
“Ignition,” she called, and her orders were repeated down the line.
It wasn’t visible from where she stood, but she could certainly hear it when the gathered mages drew in their power and unleashed it. There was a rush of air followed by the roar of flames as the teams worked together to produce the hottest fire they could and blasted it into the crucible.
The gigantic furnace weighed over a thousand tons, but under the tremendous forces they subjected it to, it shrieked like a human kettle. The air inside had been superheated to such a degree that regular iron would be reduced to slag in a second. Yet for Fire Iron, it still wasn’t enough.
She turned and signalled for a final time, and the teams of carvers went to work. A vast network of pipes, levers and dials had been constructed around the crucible, and it was to these the nimble crafters of the Colony set their attention.
“Pressure is rising, but within tolerable limits!” one reported.
“Oxygen levels are falling.”
“Temperature is holding steady!”
“Release the valves!” Smithant ordered.
Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!
In sync, the ants pulled three separate levers, causing the pipes to shiver as they became pressurised. They huddled around their dials, checking the readings. All the while, the crucible shuddered, rocking the entire mountain beneath their claws.
Satisfied with what they saw, the carvers grasped the release valves in their mandibles and, with perfect timing, turned them at exactly the same moment.
Superheated, flammable gases flooded the chamber, igniting in an instant and causing such a roar that the crucible lid tried to jump from its housing, causing three of the locks pinning it in place to shatter.
“Check the readings!” Smithant demanded.
“Holding steady!” came the reply.
All they needed to do was hold firm. There was no metal the Colony could not tame, no matter how wild and unruly the mana contained within.
They held their nerve, and after several agonising minutes, the shaking subsided, the ear splitting screeching dimmed, and the crucible settled into place once more.
“It’s done,” Smithant announced.
The carvers all looked at each other. Then they sprinted down the stairs to the lower level, climbing over each other in their haste.
They arrived just before the pivotal moment. With casual precision, the smith in charge swung the chute into place, locking its position with deft twists of the mandibles, before she turned to the crucible and hauled back on a lever.
Eighteen steel locks, each a metre thick, groaned as they peeled back from the round opening just above the chute. Blazing gases hissed out, still so hot they shimmered in the air and emitted tongues of flame before they dispersed. After a few moments, Smithant got what she came to see.
From the opening came a molten iron like none she had ever seen. Even as a liquid, it glowed a deep, rust red. The fluid trickled out at first, but the flow increased and steadied as the chute filled. The entire chamber glowed with that light, and Smithant could almost smell the rich fire mana in the air.
From the chute, the molten iron flowed down into the moulds where it would be formed into ingots. Soon, they would arrive in her forge and she would shape them into powerful new tools for the Colony.
“How much did we get this time?” she asked the foreant.
“About ten tons, it looks like,” the soot-covered ant replied. “Not as much as we would have liked, but we’re still tinkering with the process.”
“That’s better than they’re doing at the other smelters,” Smithant assured her. “There’s a reason I only came to visit this one.”
“Good to know we’re doing the Colony proud,” the foreant acknowledged, gazing back at the crucible. “If you don’t mind, though, I have a suggestion for something you could develop for us.”
“Oh? If you have a need, I’m happy to hear it.”
The foreant jerked an antenna toward the enormous crucible.
“I need you to find a way we can use Fire Iron to line the crucible. The metals we’re using aren’t up to the task, despite all the measures we’ve taken to mitigate the heat. This one is good for probably ten more firings, but after that, the damage will be too great for us to use it safely.”
She clacked her mandibles in frustration.
Smithant was already considering the problem, her mind a mess of hammers, sparks and sizzling metal.
“I’ll get right on it,” she replied absently, her head already at the forge.
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