Night fell, but the forge never slept. Shadows twisted against the workshop walls, flickering with each pulse of firelight. The air hung thick with iron, coal and sweat… the scent of creation and destruction entwined.
Vaan and Garix had worked tirelessly the previous night, refining the blade’s shape, smoothing its rough edges, and ensuring the Duskiron remained evenly tempered under the forge’s heat. But there was still much to do.
Now, as they stood at the anvil again, the sword had begun to take on its true form. The jagged rawness had been replaced with a sleeker, more defined silhouette, and the metal’s strange, shifting glow was even more pronounced. Tonight, their focus would be on refining the balance and adjusting the weight. They would then even out the taper, and prepare it for the delicate process of final tempering.
He flexed his fingers around the hammer’s worn grip, meeting Garix’s gaze. A nod. No words. Just the weight of shared purpose.
Vaan raised his hammer, steadying his breath, and struck. And then he repeated.
Sparks flared. The night stretched.
The rhythm was only broken when Garix limped away, his steps unhurried as he made his way toward the coal stash to fetch more of it.
Vaan remained at the anvil, his thoughts unwillingly drifting. The confrontation with Andryr, the boar hunt, and the strange encounter the night before.
He had used his skill, Unwavering Blade, three times now. Each instance had felt distinctly unpredictable, yet undeniably powerful.
The first time, there hadn’t even been a blade in his hand! Only raw instinct surging through him, enough to drive back the creature of the night. The second time, wielding an actual sword during the boar hunt, he had felt the rush of focused energy, a sharpened edge to his vigor and finesse. But even then, it was more than just power or speed. The skill had amplified the blade’s intent, as if it moved with a will of its own.
The third time against Andryr had been the most different. Sharper. Controlled. The weightless pull, the eerie precision. He could still perfectly recall the vivid, orderly slash that chopped off the spearhead.
Skills were often manifested expressions of one’s spirit through ‘flair,’ a primal affinity that each being had. Garix had speculated that Vaan’s flair could be either Order or Blade. Vaan had always thought Order was simply a surge of power, a burst of energy and speed. His Unwavering Blade skill certainly aligned with that.
But there was more to it. The way his sword had sliced through Andryr’s spear was strange. It wasn’t just any spear! It was of the watch’s finest quality, and his father, the swordsmith, had vouched for its craftsmanship. So how had Vaan’s blade cut through it so easily? Could his flair perhaps be for the Blade itself? One thing he was sure of was that both ‘Order’ and ‘Blade’ were definitely resonant flairs.
It had worked seamlessly until now, leveling up his Unwavering Blade just after his third use. How had Petros known that though? The guard chief had in fact noticed it leveling up even before Vaan. Was it just because of Petros’s proficiency with swords that he could easily sense when someone’s else’s skill had improved? It couldn’t have been through the inspect skill alone! Inspect can give only high level details of one’s class and levels depending on many factors.
Vaan had always thought Vigor and Finesse were the most important attributes for his class, given the skills he’d gained. After all, the description of his singular class skill stated that it would amplify those two attributes at the cost of mana. The more points he invested in Vigor and Finesse, the more powerful he would become. Almost everyone he knew generally thought that for any combat oriented class, physical attributes like Vigor and Finesse were what truly mattered.
Flair and Muse, however, were the most perplexing attributes, especially in the village, since they didn’t contribute anything to physical strength. Some referred to them as the Mystic attributes, dismissing them as largely useless. Vigor, Finesse, and Mettle, on the other hand, were categorized as the Vital attributes, crucial for any melee class like his, and even for rangers and archers. Focusing on the mystic attributes was often dismissed as a fool’s errand, offering diminishing returns. It was said that mages or those with pseudo-mage archetypes might perhaps find value in investing in them. Perhaps runesmiths or scribes, too. Personally, Vaan had never met a mage. Scribes, he already knew one of them and had never cared to find out about the class.
He sighed and yawned.
Given everything that had happened, he was happy for his skill to have leveled up. His goal was to grow strong quick enough to compete in the Grand Trial that could happen in a few months time. The first time he had used his skill was without a blade. His arm had moved as if guided by something beyond his control. The spectral presence of the creature had been fleeting, but his force had driven it back, even without a weapon. Was that the true power of the skill? Could he replicate it again without a blade?
He focused within and tried summoning his skill. Unwavering Blade.
It didn’t work.
Strange. It had worked without a blade yesterday night when that wretched creature had accosted him! Perhaps, an element of danger was missing now. Nothing he could do about that. He still felt like it would work… he just needed… an anchor of sorts to his skill to materialize!
He focused on Garix’s clay teapot that lay near the table.
Unwavering Blade!
The inanimate pot stared back at him. Vaan sighed. What was he expecting?
Vaan’s gaze then fell on the unfinished blade of Duskiron that seemed to radiate heat. The metal was still raw, unshaped.
Why not?
Taking a steady breath, he activated the Unwavering Blade.
It felt strange, like trying to reach for something unseen. An invisible weight pressed against his palm. As if a hand waited to grasp his own but never quite made contact. The sensation, familiar yet amplified, thickened the air around him. It was as if something was ready to be used but was waiting for the right moment.
Then, he felt it.
A strange hum filled the air, a pulse flowing through the forge. The blade before him shimmered, almost imperceptibly, as though it was responding to his skill. For a brief moment, he could swear the metal was alive, shifting beneath his hands. The Duskiron glowed brighter, its eerie sheen intensifying as if the blade itself had reacted to his command. The raw, unfinished blade bent… just a fraction. His hand twitched, and the metal snapped back, the pulse fading like it had never been.
Vaan stared at the blade in awe. Had his skill just activated the metal, or had the metal responded to his focus?
At that precise moment, Garix returned, holding a fresh batch of coal. He cast a curious glance at the sword they were working on and frowned.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Strange,” Garix remarked, his voice tinged with excitement. “I thought it would take two more days to get to this stage of forging... The Duskiron’s shaping up well.”
The blade shimmered softly, its eerie glow flickering in the forge's heat. Garix was right. The progress seemed ahead of schedule. Normally, it would have taken at least another day of steady hammering to refine the thickness, followed by another round of heating and shaping to unlock the metal’s true potential.
Though a hint of confusion lingered, Garix’s excitement quickly took over.
“We’re already in the rough shaping stage,” Garix explained enthusiastically as he adjusted the coal into the fire.“Look! This Duskiron… it’s not just any metal. It’s responding quicker than I expected. Now we need to smooth out the edges, make sure the spine is properly aligned. After that, we’ll temper it, let it cool, and harden it. But... something feels different with this one, doesn’t it?”
Vaan's gaze returned to the blade. The resonance in the air was undeniable, as if the Duskiron itself was eager to reach its final form.
After adjusting the fire, Garix tapped the blade gently with the back of his tongs, his smile widening. “Let’s get to work. With Saira’s blessing, we could finish it in a day or two, if the forge is kind to us.” He chuckled, his lone eye glinting with the excitement of a blacksmith who could already feel the shape of something extraordinary taking form.
Vaan nodded, lifting his hammer. His mind, however, was still racing with the implications of what had just happened. What had he felt when the Duskiron responded to his skill?
The sun hung lazily over Wragford, casting long shadows across the market square. Tomorrow was Aerisday: the day Vaan and the other initiates could finally enlist in the Watch. But today? Today was just another stretch of empty hours.
Ronald was still recovering, and though Vaan meant to visit him later, it was Tal’s absence that gnawed at him. The boy was usually underfoot on quiet days like this, spinning wild tales or pestering the merchants for scraps. But today? Vanished.
Vaan wandered into the market, boots scuffing against the worn cobblestones. The air smelled of roasting meat and overripe fruit, but the usual bustle felt hollow. He really didn’t need to buy anything. What he would really like was armor, and that wasn’t something that could be bought in a market stall. Tomorrow, when he joined the Watch, armor would be provided at a discounted price. And so, he meandered around aimlessly.
Until he caught the whispers…
Tal’s name.
Echoing from the baker’s stall. Humming between the fishmonger’s barrels.
"—single-handedly fought off a boar—"
"—saved both of them, you know—"
"—Ronald would’ve been gutted if not for him—"
Vaan clenched his jaw. Tal had always been a storyteller, but this?
Vaan frowned.
This was a masterpiece. Tal should have gotten bard for a class! He chuckled.
A hand caught his sleeve.
"Vaan!"
The miller’s daughter stood before him, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with the thrill of secondhand heroism. "Is it true?" she breathed, leaning in like they were sharing a secret. "Did Tal really save you from that boar?"
Vaan forced a smirk. "Oh yeah. Absolute legend, that one."
She gasped, gripping his arm tighter. "How big was it? They’re saying it was monstrous! Tusks like daggers!"
He could’ve indulged her. Could’ve spun the tale taller. But it somehow felt wrong after what had happened to Ronald. He still didn’t know how he was faring and there was also this guilt… sure, the boys were always up to mischief, but Vaan knew they would have never ventured beyond the village perimeters if he hadn’t pushed them. His restlessness had cost them the disaster.
The girl was totally oblivious to Vaan’s turmoil and kept chattering.
"Ah… Mirren needs me," he lied, nodding toward the far stalls. "Delivery to finish."
Before she could protest, he slipped into the crowd, letting the chatter swallow him whole.
The market’s edge brought quieter company, a cluster of village girls by the fruit stalls. One waved, and Vaan ambled over, hands in his pockets.
"Hoi. No Risa today?"
Giggles. Smirks. A shrug. "She’s practicing. Out by the old mill."
Vaan stilled.
The old mill.
The place was near the village outskirts, with the burial grounds further beyond.
A cold prickle traced his spine.The night before last, shadows flickered in his memory… the unease, the silence, the way the trees had seemed to breathe.
"Why there?" he asked, too sharp.
The girl blinked. "Says the Watch won’t bother her as she practices her bow. Likes the quiet."
Or the danger, he thought. Silly girl!
He was moving before he’d decided, boots kicking up dust as he cut toward the village outskirts.
The mill’s skeleton loomed ahead, its broken wheel creaking in the wind. And there stood Risa.
Risa, Tiller
Archer, Lvl 1
Bow drawn. Spine straight. An arrow hit the target right on target. She wasn’t bad! Maybe she was even better than him. There was a fluidity in her movement. Was it her class already acting up? Or had she always been this good.
Unfortunately, Elijah stood close beside her, clutching a book like a drowning man grips driftwood.
"I brought you the next volume," he said, uncharacteristically hesitant as he thrust the volume forward. "It’s really good. I don’t mind shar-"
Risa’s bowstring stayed taut. "I don’t want it, Elijah!"
He recoiled as if struck. “Elijah? Since when do you–” His voice cracked. “It's Eli. And this is a sequel to the one you begged me last year!”
"Eli." She turned; eyes flinty. "If I wanted tales, I’d listen to Tal."
His knuckles whitened around the book which he was still thrusting. “You loved these,” he muttered.
“And then I grew up.” The bow creaked as she adjusted her stance. “Surely, you must realize now. We aren’t kids anymore and there is a world out there!”
Vaan cleared his throat.
Risa’s gaze snapped to him—and changed. The ice melted. A smile of relief lit her lips.
“Oh, Vaan,” she said, her shoulders relaxing. “Thank the three saints! I’ve been practicing, but I’m getting nowhere.”
Vaan's pulse jumped as his eyes caught the tree line beyond the mill. The shadows between the birches looked too deep for midday. He remembered how the branches had clawed at the moon last night, how something had moved just beyond…
"Not the best place to practice," he said, forcing his voice steady. The south clearing had better sightlines anyway. Open ground where nothing could approach unseen. He reached for Risa's quiver strap before thinking better of it. "Wind's cleaner by the oak grove. No distractions."
Risa was already nocking her last arrow. "Lead the way."
Behind them, Elijah made a choked noise.
Vaan didn't look back. Let him think he was being possessive. Maybe he’d complain to his father, Vincent. Vaan didn’t care. The truth was that every rustle in the undergrowth made his shoulders tighten. He wasn’t going to explain that to anyone! They would think him mad. Risa's bow bumped against his arm as they walked, solid and real. That was enough.
Do you think Vaan was right to intervene between Risa and Elijah?
