The forge still glowed when most of Rivermarch slept. The coals were banked low, but Marin stood over them, hammer in hand, her braid damp with sweat. Each strike rang sharp against the quiet night.

  Aanya pushed the door open, blinking against the glow. “Marin? It’s past midnight. What are you doing?”

  “Finishing something,” Marin muttered, eyes fixed on the blade cooling in the trough. Steam hissed, curling like ghostly ribbons.

  Aanya stepped closer. “That’s not another nail, is it?”

  Marin snorted. “Not unless nails grew taller than your forearm.” She lifted the blade and laid it on the anvil. Even in the dim light, Aanya could see its clean lines — simple, but balanced. A short sword, meant for speed rather than brute force.

  Marin set the hammer down and folded her arms. “That little knife you’ve been swinging won’t keep you alive. So I made you this.”

  Aanya froze. “For me?”

  “You’re serious about this adventurer nonsense,” Marin said. “And I’m serious about not burying my best friend before she turns eighteen. Take it.”

  Aanya reached for the hilt. The leather grip was still warm from the forge, smelling faintly of smoke and oil. It fit her hand as though it had been waiting.

  The bracelet on her wrist pulsed.

  A faint hum stirred in the air, and light shimmered along the sword’s edge — not fire, not lightning, just a pale, steady glow. The metal seemed to breathe in rhythm with her heartbeat.

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  Aanya gasped, nearly dropping it. “Did you—?”

  Marin shook her head slowly. “That wasn’t me.”

  The glow faded as Aanya’s grip loosened. When she tightened her hand again, the light returned, faint but undeniable. Warmth spread from the bracelet into her arm, flowing into the blade.

  “It’s me,” Aanya whispered. “It’s the bracelet. Or… both.”

  Marin leaned closer, eyes wide. “You’re channeling. Through steel.”

  They experimented clumsily, Aanya focusing until sweat beaded her brow. Each time, the blade shimmered faintly, humming like a struck bell. When she released it, the glow vanished.

  Finally, she set the sword across her lap, chest heaving. “I don’t understand it.”

  Marin sat beside her on the step outside the forge. “You don’t have to. Yet. Just means you’re not just swinging steel. You’re… something else.”

  “Magic,” Aanya said, the word strange and thrilling on her tongue.

  Marin nudged her shoulder. “Great. As if you weren’t trouble enough with just a knife.”

  They both laughed, the sound carried on the cool night air.

  For a while they sat in silence, watching the moonlight catch the blade’s edge. Aanya traced a finger along the hilt, the glow flickering faintly in response.

  “I’ll make it to the academy,” she said softly. “But first — we earn that house. Our forge. Our base.”

  Marin leaned back, folding her arms behind her head. “One job at a time. One coin at a time. And now, one sword at a time.”

  The forge embers dimmed behind them, but the blade across Aanya’s lap gleamed faintly, as if the night itself had recognized its new bearer.