Seram Kilns are the giver of power.

Kilns are the giver of power.   Clad in a visage of ceramic artistry, these structures bear the hallmark of an otherworldly origin, not wrought by mortal hands. Their genesis is shrouded in mystery, they materialized upon the world over half a millennium past, and unto this day, no duplicate exists; each is a singular marvel unto itself, scattered across the expanse of our lands.   Some loom majestically over verdant valleys, while others maintain a modest size of man. They defy the very laws of nature, some hovering aloft in the air, seemingly upheld by the very essence they exude. Each kiln exhibits its own distinct form—some bearing the unmistakable mark of a master artisan's deliberate hand, while others manifest in abstract, seemingly haphazard shapes. From their openings, molten metal cascades forth, pooling upon the earth below, forming shimmering lakes of celestial alloy.   To some, this phenomenon is hailed as a bestowal from the divine, while others decry it as the handiwork of malevolence incarnate.   Anomalies can occur in the vicinity of these monoliths; rocks levitate, trees contort in aberrant growth, and the molten metal flows with a paradoxical coolness. Each strain of the kiln's metal bears a unique hue, with some akin in color yet distinct in shade. Those who dare to venture into these radiant pools find themselves subject to the kiln's influence: once immersed, they are overcome by an inexplicable force, causing them to float in the divine metal, as if the very essence of the kiln seeks to commune with their very spine. Upon receiving this potential divine benediction, the recipient emerges, now a Ferrus, forever altered by the touch of the kiln.   Frequent are the grand pilgrimages that unfold, as folk from far and wide converge in hopeful throngs, bearing their newborns and young progeny, seeking the bestowed boon of the kilns. Yet, enigmatic is the manner in which the kilns bestow their gifts, for no discernible linkage can be drawn betwixt the kiln and the inherent aptitude of the child. The true mettle of the youth remains a mystery until they recline upon the molten metal, whereupon they are graced by an absence of pain as the inaugural metal melds with their spine. The extent of their spinal shrouding serves as an emblem of their nascent fortitude, a trait that may be honed with the passage of time, albeit within defined bounds...   "Innocence is the key to the gift," intone the voices of the southern lands, resonating as the child is enshrined within the metal's embrace. Meanwhile, the northerners, in their own venerable tradition, exclaim, "The gods favor the fledgling souls."   Though adults too may partake of the kilns' beneficence, it appears that youth augurs a greater likelihood of reception. Many a grown soul has chanced upon a kiln, yet not all have been anointed with the gift.   Those who diligently hone their bestowed abilities undertake sojourns back to their inaugural kiln, seeking to augment their reservoir of metal, an endeavor that proves successful solely with a deepening of their inner fortitude. The kilns, it seems, only deign to bestow anew after the passage of a year since the prior visit—surely a testament to the disdain of the divine for avaricious pursuits.   Unfathomable it remains that the metal defies depletion, regardless of the years that have passed or the multitudes it has anointed.   Those who have turned kint, are usually brought back to a kiln so that the divine metal can be returned to that which bequeathed it.