《The Eternal Forge [LITRPG Light; Progression Fantasy]》 Prologue The hammer came down upon the old anvil like the silence of a woman, something which Larkin Forgeheart knew all too well. Perhaps that was why he had invited the prostitute to stay with him this time as he slaved over the shapeless steel. His eyes were an electric blue from chugging mana potions and his face was beetroot from constantly hurling the hammer into the air like he was Thor. This time, however, the hammer seemed to crackle with lightning. ¡°You see that?¡± cried the young man breathlessly. ¡°It¡¯s impossible. You¡¯re going to be thrown out on the street again like every other orphan in Backwater,¡± said the girl from the doorway. ¡°No one ever becomes anything in this place.¡± ¡°Not true,¡± he replied, wiping the beads of sweat with his forearm. ¡°All I have to do¡­¡± he added in between belts of the hammer, ¡°is work really, really hard.¡± Despite the optimism in his voice, his face was a permanent scowl. The heat radiating out of the forge behind him intensified this frustration. Moreover, the blueprint she had brought him proved too difficult even for his master¡¯s illustrious hammer. Mira too wiped her brow, and said, with equal amounts of frustration, ¡°I¡¯ve put my neck out for you.¡± She looked worried. Larkin narrowed his eyes in suspicion. ¡°If you mean it cost you an arm and a leg, don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll cover the cost for the blueprint when I make it big,¡± he said. Then he shot out his hand, and asked hurriedly, ¡°Give me another mana potion.¡± Mira was half-in and half-out of the workshop. She looked as though she was about to reply with yet another crushing argument, but she simply sighed and gazed down the dirt road, her arms crossed and one foot resting against the doorframe she was leaning against. A heavy stench wafted right past her and into the workshop. Her face revealed nothing, however, for she had suffered much worse than the smell of shit. ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± asked Larkin, his forehead creased and dripping with perspiration. His hands trembled slightly as he hovered the hammer above the warm edges of the blade. He tapped it gently, but the metal did not flatten. It had gone cold. ¡°Give me more mana, now,¡± he cried. ¡°Your master¡¯s going to be here any minute now,¡± she replied, tapping her foot against the rotted frame. ¡°And so is the guy I stole it from,¡± she muttered as a gust of wind brushed past again. ¡°That¡¯s why I need you to start helping rather than just standing there watching,¡± said Larkin frustratedly. ¡°Now, please give me another mana potion.¡± His outstretched hand trembled slightly. Instantly, he clasped it still with embarrassment. He looked down at the sword and frowned. ¡°Why can¡¯t I craft it?¡± he asked himself. His mind wandered back to the only memories he had of his childhood. His parents could have easily crafted such a weapon, no matter the level. If only they had not disappeared and left him all alone to fend for himself. ¡°Nine wasn¡¯t enough?¡± she said with a raised eyebrow, her voice laden with annoyance. ¡°And I¡¯m not a blacksmith, so what do you expect me to do?¡± ¡°You can start by giving me some encouragement for once. If I¡¯m going to craft this Eclipseris, I¡¯ll need all the mana I can consume.¡± ¡°Even if it puts you in a century-long coma?¡± she asked smugly. ¡°You said that you could craft it.¡± Larkin glared at the woman. ¡°I will be the best blacksmith in the realm,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯ll have monuments of me for centuries to come all over the realm. You¡¯ll see.¡± Mira laughed. She then rummaged through her satchel, pulling out a vial filled to the brim with shining blue liquid, and tossed it to him. ¡°Chew on that,¡± she said. Larkin raised his hand sluggishly and caught it just barely with his fingertips. He drank it eagerly, wincing as it went through him like medicinal syrup. His eyes shone intensely. ¡°You¡¯ve been considering my proposal,¡± he said finally, returning to his craft. The self-doubt had left him now, replaced by the internal warmth of youthful confidence brought on by the potion. He looked down at the weapon before him and smiled ear to ear. ¡°One day, I¡¯ll create something worthy enough,¡± he thought as he pounded the blade¡¯s edges. Mira glanced at Larkin, but didn¡¯t say anything. The boy was still absorbed in his work. Her eyes darted about the dingy walls of the workshop before falling on the boy¡¯s haggard appearance. She felt claustrophobic, and somehow dirtier than usual ¨C which was saying something. ¡°How can you have no clock?¡± she asked with a frown. Larkin did not hear her. Instead, he was too busy lost in his imagination. Every time he struck the ancient dark dwarven steel, a flicker of hope sprang up in his mind that one day he would be able to craft something nobody had ever crafted before, attain the fame that was necessary to get back what he had lost a long time ago; and that finally, he would be accepted into the Iron Guild, eventually even ¨C he smiled even harder at this eventuality ¨C the High Council. He would be able to repay his master then, too, for all the kindness he had bestowed upon him since losing those dearestdearests to him. The sudden change over the apprentice was not lost on the girl. ¡°Downing mana potions can¡¯t be good for you,¡± she said. ¡°You brought me a blueprint nobody but a master craftsman could handle naked,¡± Larkin replied. ¡°What choice do I have?¡± ¡°¡¯Naked¡¯?¡± ¡°Without potions,¡± he grimaced. He spun around with the cold steel sandwiched between the tongs and held it inside the fire until it glowed orange before setting it back down on the anvil. Now that he was using his master¡¯s Emberclaw Tongs, his timing was impeccable. Haldar had once let it slip, during one of his drunken binges, that they were rumored to have been forged when the forge gods themselves walked the earth; and that a legendary blacksmith called Drennath Fireheart had crafted them. Larkin felt a sort of kinship with Drennath as he inspected the heated steel with pride. ¡°You said that you could craft it! I wouldn¡¯t have¡­obtained it otherwise,¡± she cried. ¡°We should have stuck with nails,¡± she lamented. ¡°Come on,¡± he said, hope in his voice, ¡°it''sits time you left that life behind. You¡¯re better than -¡± He gulped and turned away from her gaze, blushing. ¡°Haldar has a reputation,¡± he said, ¡°he has the means to find you a suitable apprenticeship in one of the guilds.¡± Larkin¡¯s smile always had the mysterious effect of calming her down. She hated that. ¡°You know, Larkin, I¡¯m the only one in this garbage dump of a town who is willing to tolerate your grandiose dreams, but cross-contamination is something I won¡¯t stand for, you know that; everyone knows that; the whole goddamn world knows that; and I sure as hell won¡¯t stop thinking that ¡®till the day we all die in the great awakening,¡± she said. ¡°Now, hurry up,¡± she added anxiously. The hammer stopped and Larkin, drenched in sweat, lifted his weary head. ¡°So, you¡¯re willing to believe that humans can die but not that someone can actually make a name for themselves?¡± asked Larkin incredulously. His look was firm and serious. ¡°Not a low-level apprentice.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Larkin said, his eyes glued back to the anvil, ¡°I know that my skills are¡­ novice level-¡± ¡°Beginner,¡± interrupted Mira. ¡°I have the mana of two master craftsmen coursing through my veins!¡± ¡°Since when?¡± asked Mira with amusement. ¡°Since I was told that both of my grandfathers were members of the Iron Guild,¡± said Larkin, proudly. ¡°Yeah, right,¡± Mira sneered. ¡°If they were members of the most prestigious guild in the realm, where are they now, and why didn¡¯t they take you with them?¡± ¡°I don''t know,¡± Larkin said, pulling his leather gloves tighter. ¡°But I¡¯ll find them one day. Just imagine me being able to craft legendaries!¡± he smiled ear to ear. ¡°No more damn nails! I¡¯ll finally be a weapons guy.¡± He glanced over in the corner, and said, keeping the same joviality, ¡°I¡¯ll even be able to buy Haldar a new workshop. It¡¯s about time the old geezer upgraded; a millennia he¡¯s been running this shop. Can you believe it?¡± ¡°Stick to nails,¡± Mira smirked. ¡°They are far more useful than whatever you call that,¡± she said quickly, pointing at the blob of steel in front of him. Suddenly, her nose crinkled, ¡°I can¡¯t believe you sleep in here. No one to keep you warm.¡± Larkin grunted. He let his concentration slip again and followed the girl¡¯s eyes to the dark hole behind him, wherein a small flame flickered nastily upon a bundle of sticks. It was housed inside a small arc of sooty brick, which sat a crumbling chimney on top of it in the centre to carry out the smoke through the roof. ¡°It¡¯s running out already? But I¡¯ve just fed it five minutes ago,¡± he whined exasperatedly. Since the workshop was so small, he was forced to use his bed as a second workbench. It helped that it was almost as rock hard as the anvil he slaved over day in and day out; and it also helped that its frame was practically touching the forge it was so close, especially considering how cold it got at night. He twisted, picked up the tiny logs and threw them into the fire, cursing himself afterwards for lifting with poor technique. His back ached as he wiped his sweaty, ashy brow with the one arm he could still feel was his own before he picked up the hammer again. To Larkin, a master-grade hammer did not look any different from its common counterpart, and yet it somehow weighed ten times as much. If it were not for the strength serums he had injected himself with earlier, the young man was sure his arm would have been torn off the moment he had tried to pull the Elder Hammer from Haldar¡¯s workbench over in the corner. A hundred year coma was the least of his worries. Mira turned her attention to the empty shelves above his master¡¯s anvil. ¡°Correct me if I¡¯m wrong, but aren¡¯t those shelves supposed to contain something? Forget it, Larkin, you¡¯re not cut out to be a crafter. Give me back the blueprint.¡± ¡°I am so,¡± he said shakily. ¡°The town¡¯s just in a slump is all.¡± ¡°This is like the fifth profession in ten years. Sooner or later you¡¯ve got to realise that you¡¯re cut from the same cloth as the rest of us,¡± she replied. ¡°But I¡¯ve been at this for four years,¡± he protested. His fingers gripped the hammer tighter. ¡°And you¡¯re only level four!¡± Larkin grimaced. The steel had gone cold again. He thrust it into the forge and it began to glow as crimson as the arm holding it. His face too was no paler, and he began to regret that Mira was there for he would have liked to have been naked, free from the constraints of the thick apron strapped to his torso and the itchy cotton shirt melted into his skin. He blushed as soon as the thought entered his head, but his face was already as red as faces could be, so he did not worry about being noticed. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The sight of the roughly formed blade, however, did little to alleviate his embarrassment. He had accidentally flattened the blade unevenly. If Haldar caught him now, he was not sure whether his master would be more upset at the unsanctioned craft or how badly he had attempted it. Overdosing on mana potions would be the least of his worries then. ¡°What?¡± Mira asked with a frown. ¡°Nothing,¡± Larkin said quickly, shaking his head. ¡°Perhaps you could be an enchanter; their nails are just as pretty,¡± he mused, turning back to his work. The heat had gotten to him finally. ¡°Come on, dang it,¡± he said as he banged the hammer on the red-hot steel edges of the blade. It was slowly transforming into what would resemble a sword to all but the most seasoned weapon experts ¨C those being mostly craftsman. ¡°I¡¯m happy doing what I do!¡± she lied. The hammer rang out loudly, and one could not hear themselves think; perhaps that was why the street on which the blacksmith stood was always deserted. Increasingly frustrated with every swing, Larkin fought back the desire to give up. ¡°What would my parents think of me if I stop now?¡± he thought. ¡°They¡¯d probably give me a history lesson. Something about the Eternal Forge ¨C a place where the most powerful weapons were crafted¡­ My destiny is there¡­ it has to be!¡± At once, Larkin surveyed his workshop: the basic tools dulled by overuse, the piles of unfinished common weapons, and the secret stash of empty vials he had relied on to fool Haldar into thinking he was making progress, all seemed to be finally catching up to him. Glancing down beneath the cuff of his gloves, he saw the beginnings of mana-sickness. His skin was becoming paler despite the intense heat. His wrists looked almost like bone. ¡°I can¡¯t give up now,¡± flashed in his mind, ¡°I am so close to crafting something legendary. Out of Backwater will emerge greatness!¡± Mira¡¯s eyes widened, but she didn¡¯t reply. Instead, she focused on the empty road, her brows furrowed in concentration, fighting back any displays of honest emotion. She always made an effort to wear a mask of indifference. For the last half-hour, she had searched her pockets desperately, pulling them inside out more than a hundred times. Her pimp had not paid her at all this week, and she was getting hungry. This job would net her a small fortune. Mira breathed deeply, forced a smile, and then laughed flirtatiously right on cue. ¡°I¡¯m good at what I do,¡± she explained. ¡°And besides,¡± she admitted sheepishly, ¡°this way I can get access to lucrative blueprints¡­ Don¡¯t look at me like that. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m stealing from anyone that matters.¡± She shrugged, pondering the cult member she saw earlier, wondering if he would miss the contract more than her body. Her hands shook a little as she felt the yellow bruise on her neck. How could the older women do it? ¡°I¡¯ll prove you wrong, Mira,¡± Larkin said, his voice hoarse, ¡°I¡¯ll prove all of you wrong.¡± ¡°You¡¯re going to get yourself crippled for eternity,¡± Mira snapped, her face almost as red as his now. ¡°Dear gods, how the hell can you work in this heat?¡± she said, pulling at her collar. ¡°You get used to it,¡± said Larkin. ¡°You would know if you took my offer.¡± ¡°Enough!¡± she said, her tone sharper than the sword on the anvil. She glanced at the empty vials stashed in the corner cupboard, and added, hastily, ¡°Besides, I don¡¯t fancy the prospect of mana crashing.¡± ¡°Even if my mana runs to zero, I don¡¯t die. That would be a miracle, Mira, and according to you miracles don¡¯t happen.¡± ¡°Maybe if you owned a factory. I heard from one client that down south they¡¯ve got machines that can do what you do but faster and cheaper.¡± ¡°Magical machines? Impossible. Only crafters can imbue objects with mana; and only blacksmiths can build magical machines,¡± said Larkin, seemingly unphased by news. ¡°Things must be good down there if they¡¯re that desperate to put themselves out of work.¡± ¡°All work¡¯s taught me is that all men bullshit, and all men are bullshit,¡± she blurted. ¡°The guilds won¡¯t let anything supplant their power. It¡¯s the only thing keeping them from being slaves like the rest of us¡­¡± Mira glanced at the older boy in embarrassment, ¡°Curse you, Larkin. You¡¯re the only boy in this crummy town to make me use my head.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that a good thing?¡± he chuckled. ¡°It doesn¡¯t pay to think,¡± she replied, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. Larkin stole a glance, watching her puff on it with silent fascination. The rare gems beside his workstation sparkled brilliantly. ¡°How did you get this contract, and the materials needed for it anyway?¡± he said, giddily. Like a young child, Larkin¡¯s mood could change instantly, especially in the presence of a beautiful girl. The young woman stepped out onto the road, spinning around slowly, and threw her small pale arms into the air in frustration. Even though the sun hung overhead like a giant spotlight, it wasn¡¯t nearly as hot as it was in the workshop. She was still close enough to hear Larkin, however, and keep him within her line of sight. Her life depended on it. ¡°I meet all kinds of people in my line of work,¡± she said absentmindedly, ¡°you know the types¡­¡± She now stood in the centre of the dusty road with her hand on her shapely hips. ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± Larkin frowned, trying not to stare at her for too long. ¡°Get a grip,¡± he muttered as he concentrated on hammering the edges of the hottened blade. After all the edges were evenly tempered, he brought the sword over to the large grinding wheel sitting in Haldar¡¯s corner; he sat down on the stool attached to its wooden frame and began to refine the blade. Watching the edges gradually become perfect against the sandstone never failed to satisfy Larkin. But this time he had company, and he was acting against Haldar¡¯s explicit orders not to work unsupervised or on items higher than his level. ¡°If I don¡¯t craft this, I¡¯ll be a no-name smith for the next five decades,¡± he thought. ¡°Always the good boy,¡± she retorted out of habit. ¡°I¡¯m older than you!¡± he cried. He laid aside his hammer and placed both of his hands on the edges of the anvil, glaring at the prostitute. His chest tightened all of a sudden. He stumbled and fell upon the anvil, catching his breath. He glanced at the empty vial on his bed. ¡°Dammit,¡± he winced. Mira burst out into a quiet laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. ¡°You¡¯re not normal,¡± she blurted after a moment¡¯s hesitation. ¡°If normal means accepting the role other people have given you,¡± Larkin said, ¡°then you¡¯d be right.¡± He held up the sword to the sunlight pouring in from the front of the workshop, inspecting it carefully. ¡°It¡¯s not giving me any experience points,¡± he frowned. ¡°It¡¯s done?¡± Mira asked. Mira was about to respond with a clever quip when she saw a black dot on the horizon. She quickly placed a hand to her breast and walked quickly back inside the workstation, her face suddenly pale. ¡°Listen, Larkin,¡± she began with a quivering voice. ¡°No, you listen here, Mira,¡± interrupted the young man confidently, pointing his finger in her face, ¡°you don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to work day in and day out for virtually no reward, having everyone laughing at you behind your back because you¡¯re doing something they don¡¯t agree with-¡± ¡°Larkin!¡± ¡°No, Mira,¡± he said haughtily, ¡°I¡¯m not being talked down to by a girl like-¡± A tall man appeared behind the frightened girl. He was dressed head to toe in a black robe, which seemed to suck in the heavy sunlight for there seemed no edge, no curve, no shape to him that would distinguish his figure as belonging to a man and not a shadow; his face was obscured by a wide-brimmed hat, so that only the purple gleam of his eyes could be seen. He stepped into the workshop, surveying the entire space with cold and calculating precision. Larkin looked up in surprise. ¡°Where is the blueprint?¡± the man demanded angrily. He noted the furnace behind the shopkeeper His eyes jerked to the young girl behind him. ¡°Ah,¡± he said, raising an eyebrow, ¡°You¡¯re the woman who cost my lackey his life.¡± Immediately, Mira looked decades older. Her eyes looked like an old lady¡¯s spectacles, and her skin, like Larkin, had become ghastly pale. She stepped backwards into the frame with halted breath as though she would sink into it. She looked like a mouse. ¡°Your wrong,¡± she managed. ¡°This isn¡¯t the whorehouse,¡± the stranger said amusedly. ¡°W-who are you?¡± Mira stammered. Malcaver stepped closer and touched her cheek. ¡°No wonder his eyes weren¡¯t on the ball,¡± he grinned. ¡°Please don¡¯t hurt me,¡± she said quietly, turning her head away. ¡°You don¡¯t have any rights here,¡± Malcavar whispered. ¡°That blueprint you stole ¨C it¡¯s very important to me.¡± ¡°P-Please,¡± she stuttered. Larkin, gripping the hammer tightly, straightened and made his way slowly around the anvil. The hairs on Malcavar¡¯s neck stood up immediately, and his hand shot to the dagger on his waist. But since he was like a shadow, this movement was hidden from the two children. The intruder frowned, and asked, ¡°You don¡¯t intend to use a hammer, do you?¡± He turned slowly to face the young blacksmith, noticing the electricity in his eyes. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t even put a dent in my plans with that,¡± he chuckled darkly. ¡°Who are you?¡± Larkin demanded. With great effort, he held the hammer pointedly. It sparked a little. ¡°How cute,¡± he added, his tone rife with condescension. ¡°Well, since I¡¯m going to kill you two, I don¡¯t see why the need to be discreet¡­ I¡¯m High Smith of the Cult of the Obsidian,¡± he said proudly, ¡°and what she stole was in the possession of a¡­ an ex-employee of mine. It¡¯s rather sensitive: for my eyes only, capiche?¡± Larkin¡¯s eyes flickered to the girl and then back to the stranger. ¡°We don¡¯t have what you want,¡± the boy said. ¡°Get out.¡± ¡°Your defiance is irritating, and yet simultaneously demanding of my respect,¡± he said in amusement. ¡°It reminds me of when I was young and chock full of ambition.¡± Malcavar paused for a moment in consideration; then, raising his arm to just above his waistline, he slowly placed his right hand over his left fist. Without warning, he hammered his elbow into the girl¡¯s gut. Blood spurted out from behind the grinning Malcavar, followed by a thud. Larkin lunged forward, swinging the electrified hammer in a rage. Malcavar¡¯s gaze hardened as he muttered an incantation under his breath. Suddenly, the fire behind Larkin choked and spluttered into nothingness, and the room was thrown into darkness as though it was night. He stopped short, his arms falling to his side like a sack of iron nails. His jaw dropped. ¡°B-but how?¡± he blurted, stumbling back into the anvil. Malcavar noted the apprehension in the boy¡¯s eyes and stepped forward with a smile. He raised his gloved hand and began to speak another incantation. A dark ball of white-specked matter whirled in his palm, growing larger by the second until it was the size of Larkin¡¯s head. Larkin paused, breathless, his face white as the specks that danced before his eyes. Every instinct within the boy screamed at him to run, but something rooted him to the spot. Was it fear? Was it that the man commanded magic without an enchanted weapon? Or was it Mira? No. He knew the reason. He knew it very well. ¡°No one¡¯s ever died in Blackwater,¡± Malcavar said, ¡°Care to be the first?¡± Malcavar saw Larkin¡¯s hand shoot across the anvil to what he supposed was a blade, though he could not take his eyes off his target while channeling mana, and said, ¡°Now, that thing would probably hurt. But this right here will kill you: it¡¯ll suck up all the mana in your blood ¡®till there¡¯s nothing left; then it¡¯ll suck up some more ¡®till you¡¯re thirsting for it, ¡®till your nothing but a crusty ol¡¯ corpse. Sure, you aren¡¯t dead like the ancients, but you¡¯ll be as good as ¡®em. What¡¯s a crafter in Backwater without mana?¡± Larkin¡¯s hands curled around the hilt of the Eclipseris. He would have gladly returned the blueprint to save both their skins were it not for the fact that once a craftsman starts a project the respective blueprint is immediately consumed. His heart thumped in his chest, yet he did not feel as afraid as he reckoned he should have been under the circumstances. The excess mana still surged in his system. ¡°You¡¯re out of your depth,¡± Malcavar said coldly. ¡°I know you haven¡¯t dared to craft it by yourself. So where is it? That blueprint was never meant to be seen by anyone outside the Obsidian. It¡¯s the key to finding the Eternal Forge, the only thing capable of defeating the High Council.¡± The workshop seemed to warp and bend around Larkin. His back suddenly seemed to carry an impossible weight as though the ceiling had collapsed upon him. He lay sprawled across the anvil like a squashed ant under the menacing eye of the High Smith and his cruel smile. Every rise of his chest, every labored breath, was excruciating. ¡°Why is your mana capacity so high?¡± The dark aura enveloping the workshop slowly suffocated the apprentice. He felt his pores open, and the mana sucked out of him as if, all at once, a thousand hypodermic needles were plunged into his skin. Larkin let go of the hilt and fell to his knees. The Eclipseris rattled before settling on the iron; but it was the blue glint of its dark ancient metal that finally caught the High Smith¡¯s attention. He stopped channeling his spell to run his hand along the blade¡¯s edge. His finger opened at the slightest touch, and he felt some of his lifeforce trickle out of him. He pulled away quickly. ¡°Whatever the cost, I¡¯ll wake everyone up,¡± he murmured. ¡°Needs a good polish,¡± he added. He grabbed the sword and headed towards the exit, passing Mira without so much as a glance. The workshop brightened back to normal. Larkin fainted Chapter 1 Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Chapter 2 Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Chapter 3 While it was still dark, they returned to Haldar¡¯s workshop. This time, however, Larkin carried with him the most sought-after tool in the Realm. Mira had remarked that it made no difference whether they travelled by day or night, for the Hammer shone as though they hauled the sun on their backs. Fortunately, it was still early dawn, and the children were able to slip into the master¡¯s forge under the laborious sound of Haldar¡¯s snoring, which, to Mira, was scarier than the ghostly apparition they encountered earlier. She felt the boy¡¯s expectant eyes fall on her suddenly. ¡°Give me another blueprint,¡± said Larkin flatly. ¡°Quiet,¡± hushed Mira; her eyes jerked to the old man slumped in a chair in the corner. ¡°Do not worry,¡± Larkin said, strolling over to the anvil by his own bed, ¡°he¡¯s a heavy sleeper. You couldn¡¯t wake him up even if you tried.¡± ¡°Even if there was a fire?¡± asked Mira quietly. ¡°It¡¯s like you can read my mind,¡± Larkin said with a grin. He took out the flint Mira had given him earlier and lit the forge. The fire burned low, casting small shadows across the stoney floor. ¡°You¡¯re not-¡± ¡°Yes,¡± interrupted Larkin gleefully, ¡°give me all the blueprints you have.¡± ¡°What do you think that I am? A blueprint dispenser?¡± ¡°They have those?¡± asked Larkin; his eyebrows shot up. ¡°You¡¯re a thief, aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Stop calling me that,¡± scowled Mira, crossing her arms. ¡°You¡¯re starting to make me feel bad about myself...¡± ¡°Oh, gods,¡± said Larkin, laughing. He laid down the Hammer and turned to his pot-bellied master. ¡°I don¡¯t like that look,¡± whispered Mira with a frown. ¡°What are you thinking?¡± ¡°He has a blueprint in his coat pocket,¡± said Larkin. ¡°Oh, Larkin, you wouldn¡¯t,¡± gasped the girl, ¡°not from your own master, surely.¡± ¡°Would you do it for me?¡± ¡°Steal? Who do you take me for?¡± Mira said. ¡°We don¡¯t have much time before the sun comes up,¡± said Larkin, ¡°I saw him put it in his pocket.¡± Mira glanced at the old man apprehensively, and then back at Larkin again. She sighed, ¡°I don¡¯t want to encourage you.¡± ¡°We need that blueprint. I can¡¯t level up without it,¡± he said, his voice filled with hope and desperation.¡± ¡°I steal from the rich and the evil, Larkin; I don¡¯t steal from poor old men,¡± answered Mira exasperatedly. ¡°We¡¯ll be rich,¡± returned Larkin quickly, appearing at her side in flash; ¡°besides, he won¡¯t mind...¡± his eyes were golden runes. ¡°You¡¯re my friend, right?¡± Mira was flustered. She eyed the sleeping Haldar, and said, her voice barely above a whisper, ¡°You sure about this?¡± Larkin nodded firmly. Mira gulped, inching closer to the white-bearded man in the chair. Because of her years of experience as a thief, her footsteps were soft and deliberate, narrowly avoiding the wine bottles scattered on the floor. Although she was well practiced as a thief, and in the art of pickpocketing, often winning most of the competitions in her guild against the older boys, sweat still accumulated on her forehead. However, stealing from an old, destituted man was different. ¡°You can do it,¡± encouraged Larkin, his eyes wide with hunger, his fingers curling in anxiety. ¡°Don¡¯t wake him, though,¡± he added. Mira cringed at the response, glaring at him from behind her shoulder with a scolding scowl. Suddenly, she heard Haldar shift slightly, a low groan escaping his throat. She froze; her breath caught in her chest. Her eyes then darted to the old man. The snores were growing louder, and so was the thunderous beating of her own, troubled heart. Mira¡¯s throat became tight with worry. It took all her strength not to lose her footing. Another second she was beside the master blacksmith, looking down on him with a stoney expression. The man¡¯s features reminded her of what she imagined her own father to look like: weathered and depressed, disappointed and afraid. Guilt wrenched her gut. If her father had the slightest inkling of the girl she had become, would he still take her back? She shook her head weakly; that was a thought for another time. Haldar¡¯s chest rose in time with hers, oddly enough. Her eyes, calm and incredibly perceptive, slowly scanned his body from head to foot, until they settled firmly on something which caught their attention. It was a corner piece of a paper, rising in time with his breaths. She gulped, her cheeks bright red; though from heat, shame or nervousness she knew not, nor did she consider the matter all that important. It was too late to turn back now, she thought. A droplet of sweat rolled down her cheek and crashed to the floor. At the same moment, Mira reached down and pulled gently the paper from Haldar¡¯s breast pocket. As the blueprint slipped out, so did the breath from her lungs. She managed to steal it just as Haldar shifted his bodyweight again, stashing the blueprint under her arm quickly. "Quick!¡± urged Larkin. The thief backed from the chair like a creeping cat, the old man appearing not to notice her; then, as though her own guilt had a ghostly keeper like the Hammer of the Eternal Forge, she saw the whites of his eyes flash suddenly. The arch of her foot pressed down on the neck of a bottle, disrupting the stillness of the workshop with a spine-tingling crack; and the two children shuddered in fear. ¡°Eek!¡± shrieked Larkin. Haldar stirred, groaned and muttered something incoherent; but he appeared still asleep. ¡°Sorry,¡± Mira breathed, her eyes wide and wavering. After a moment¡¯s hesitation, Mira retreated to the forge carefully; she handed the excited blacksmith the blueprint, frowning deeply as she watched him study it without so much as a glance in her direction. She was extremely pale, gazing into the fire behind Larkin with a blankness of eyes that would have made the older boys she had grown up around tremble. ¡°That was too close,¡± she muttered finally, interrupting the silence between them, ¡°I won¡¯t do that again.¡± The words came out as a choke, however. Larkin¡¯s eyes remained fixed on the blueprint. ¡°We did it. And we¡¯ve got what we need,¡± he said. Mira¡¯s eyes jerked to Larkin, lingering upon his rune-ridden skin. Even though the thought would never have dared crossed her mind earlier, the cracked, damp walls of the forge, much to her chagrin, seemed inappropriate for the blacksmith now. She too, questioned her own presence in Larkin¡¯s future. It was not long before Larkin was back at it. The Hammer crashed down on the anvil, sending sparks spitting in all directions around the anvil. However, the crude iron put up a good fight, resisting the golden head of the Eternal Forge like the last defender of an ancient city as it tried to stay upright like its bottom half. It gave way in inches, and this frustrated the boy. His skill was still subpar, and he knew it; Larkin grimaced, his back aching with regret. ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± Mira yawned, leaning against the jamb. Although her eyes struggled to remain open, she could not help but feel that someone was watching them. She glanced at the slumbering victim. He was no longer snoring. ¡°Why do I feel so weak?¡± muttered Larkin, battering the edge of the iron bar miserably. Mira observed her friend¡¯s distress and smiled slightly. ¡°Planning to fight the iron or forge it? If you keep hammering like that you¡¯ll end up with a pile of scrap.¡± Momentarily distracted by the thief¡¯s quip, Larkin let his thumb approach dangerously close to the Hammer¡¯s target; before he could retract them completely to safety, the head came down and caught the tip of his thumb. ¡°Ouch!¡± he cried, bringing his injured extremity to soak between his chapped lips. The taste of his own blood humbled him for a moment as he glared at the girl with a savage expression. Mira chuckled. ¡°You should start a new scrap-metal business,¡± she said. ¡°Not funny,¡± replied Larkin, his eyes like daggers cutting across the room. Seeing that his feelings was clearly hurt, Mira¡¯s expression softened. ¡°I told you to stick to small household items,¡± she said. ¡°Do I look like a common smith?¡± he snarled. ¡°You look tired, Larkin,¡± answered Mira. ¡°I want to craft epics." ¡°But you can¡¯t,¡± Mira said quickly; ¡°Just because you have the Hammer of the Eternal Forge doesn¡¯t make you any less of a Backwater urchin,¡± she continued. ¡°Look,¡± she added quickly, nodding to the iron bar, ¡°no wonder this place is called Backwater; even the metal¡¯s trying to run away.¡± Suddenly she saw hate flash in the boy¡¯s eyes; the brunette immediately regretted the poor choice of words, and the guilt of stealing from the old man returned doubly. She quickly looked away from Larkin, her cheeks crimson with anxiety. Larkin¡¯s gaze burned into the side of her neck. Her lips quivered slightly; more words wanted to tumble out in desperate explanation, but they stopped in her throat. Larkin curled his lips. ¡°You heard the Forge Keeper... It is my destiny to craft powerful weapons. Not bloody nails!¡± As he said this, his hand choked the handle. After a moment, he threw the hammer down once again on the iron bar. But this time he didn¡¯t care where it struck. ¡°You¡¯re clinging to ghosts, Larkin,¡± Mira said. As soon as she said this, however, she felt once again the ominous presence watching them. ¡°I refuse to give up,¡± he said, wiping the perspiration from his brow. ¡°But you need too!¡± snapped Mira. ¡°It¡¯s not my fault your family¡¯s given up on you!¡± Larkin snapped, hurling the Hammer down in a rage. ¡°Why won¡¯t this bar flatten?¡± he spluttered madly; his body quivered uncontrollably, and he was forced to let go of the Hammer. The instant it rested on the anvil, however, he let out a cry of despair; and he threw his face into his hands. ¡°Why, oh why, gods, have you cursed me? Why have you thrown me into this Backwater hell?¡± he cried, his jaw clenched. ¡°If you want to keep mocking me then you can go to hell!¡± The fires behind him grew larger, illuminating the soot-stained insignia on Larkin¡¯s left; this, coupled with the look of twisted anger in the girl¡¯s face, turned the blacksmith pale. He studied the insignia. It bared the emblem of the Forgotten Era ¨C a time when Backwater was known for producing weapons for the emperor. At that moment, he too felt he was not alone in this quiet appreciation of the town¡¯s legendary past; the back of his neck tickled with goosebumps, and he sweated greatly. He creased his forehead in thought, and said, ¡°The capital didn¡¯t build itself. It was blades from places like this that won them their thrones. My grandfather¡¯s sword was carried into the Emperor¡¯s Hall. He stood where kings knelt.¡± Mira stepped forward, gritting her teeth, and glared at him with a frown. ¡°Don¡¯t forget it was I who brought you to the Hammer,¡± she said passionately, jabbing her chest with her thumb. With a sigh, she shrugged and leant against the anvil, tapping it melodically while gazing at the insignia, which flickered with long shadows in the orange light. Her eyes shifted back to Larkin, and said, ¡°I just don¡¯t want you to stab yourself with your own failures." But when he did not reply, she said, ¡°Backwater couldn¡¯t keep up. I heard the capital¡¯s smiths churn out blades sharper than dragon teeth now. Ever since-¡± ¡°Thalindra Ironhart,¡± came a voice from behind. A cry of surprise escaped the lips of the children, whose eyes widened in horror at the ghost. Mira was the first, however, to latch onto the fact that it was none other than the master blacksmith; but it took Larkin a few more seconds to catch on that it was not the apparition. ¡°Please don¡¯t take it back!¡± cried Larkin, immediately reaching for the Hammer. The hairs stood tall on his arms. Mira glanced at the boy questioningly. As though the forge had a mind of its own, the flames nearest to the insignia withered. Haldar was subsequently cast in its stead. The surprised boy frowned. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. ¡°The girl¡¯s right,¡± murmured Haldar; ¡°I don¡¯t see any kings kneeling now.¡± Larkin seized the blueprint and brought it to eye level, and said, his lips curled, ¡°What¡¯s the meaning of this?¡± The paper crumbled between his fingers. ¡°You were never meant to see that,¡± replied Haldar. His face took on a reflective, stoic expression as he stroked his beard. ¡°Get the hint,¡± Mira interjected, ¡°you don¡¯t have what it takes to craft anything of value. And now you¡¯ve been caught. You¡¯ll have to give the Hammer back now.¡± ¡°If you¡¯re so skilled, why don¡¯t you craft this,¡± snapped Larkin, throwing the blueprint at her. Because it was simply paper, it floated to the floor between them gently like a feather. ¡°Because I know my limits,¡± Mira replied, bending down to pick up the blueprint, ¡°You clearly don¡¯t.¡± She examined it curiously. It detailed a greatsword design. ¡°Vanguard¡¯s Requiem...¡± she muttered. ¡°What a load a crap,¡± Larkin said bitterly. His eyes narrowed on his former master, and he snarled, ¡°How long have you been keeping this to yourself?" ¡°Larkin!¡± Mira said. The old man said, in a low voice from his rickety chair: ¡°In this realm, blueprints represent the knowledge, skill and power of the craftsmanship required for their consummation. Larkin is right: crafters are the backbone of the High Council, and blueprints are the currency that governs its commerce and trade. Therefore, I understand the boy¡¯s frustration.¡± ¡°Frustration isn¡¯t the start of it,¡± said Larkin, scowling. ¡°We¡¯ve been toiling away under the thumb of the High Council for years. It¡¯s their leadership who put us here!¡± ¡°That¡¯s still no excuse to talk to your master like that!¡± exclaimed the girl. She shook her head, sickened by the betrayal, and added, ¡°No, not for anything, Larkin; least not ghosts.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not forging ghosts,¡± said Larkin sharply. ¡°So what he kept the blueprint from you? He doesn¡¯t have to show you,¡± Mira said. ¡°Larkin thinks that because he has been my apprentice for a few years that my problems are his-¡± ¡°They are mine,¡± interrupted Larkin, pointing his finger at him, ¡°because we sleep, eat and work in the same forge. I thought we lived like this because we had no choice. But we always had a choice...¡± his voice rose several octaves in anger, ¡°no, you had the choice. You alone. You kept a legendary weapon to yourself. And I¡¯ve paid the price.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a blueprint,¡± replied Haldar, struggling to restrain his embittered voice, ¡°not a weapon.¡± Then he laughed, and added, ¡°What¡¯s with that look? You¡¯ve just tried to craft it, and you couldn¡¯t. Not even with the gods¡¯ help. It was forged during the war that shaped the foundations of the Realm. It¡¯s not for little boys like you, that¡¯s for sure. I warned you, Larkin Forgeheart, but you¡¯ve never taken ¡®no¡¯ for an answer. Never. Not since you sucked on your mother¡¯s tit.¡± At this remark Larkin blushed and quickly glanced at the girl beside him. ¡°Hey!¡± he said, ¡°do you have to be so crass?¡± ¡°Do you have to be such a pain in the ass?¡± replied Haldar, laughing even harder this time. ¡°That blueprint could have made us rich,¡± said Larkin, ignoring the old man¡¯s jab; ¡°it could have gotten us out of this garbage dump years ago. Heck, we could have been polishing the weapons for the emperor¡¯s personal guard if you had sold the blueprint for the right price.¡± ¡°I would never sell it,¡± Haldar said. ¡°And why not?¡± asked Larkin. ¡°Does he have to tell you?¡± Mira said; but deep down she was curious to hear more of the tale of the legendary weapon. Haldar sighed, ¡°I can see that both of you are tired.¡± ¡°Nice try,¡± said Larkin, swinging the Hammer over his shoulder; ¡°but I know you too well. I¡¯ll end up waking up in a ditch somewhere. Two gobby orphans find out that you¡¯ve got a legendary blueprint, and sooner or later you¡¯ve got the whole town after it like long lost treasure.¡± Haldar bit his lip. ¡°I¡¯ll pay,¡± he offered weakly. "Do you have no shame?¡± snapped Mira, her eyes trained on Larkin. She pulled out the Soulrend, looking upon him with indescribable anger, and held it to his throat. ¡°You don¡¯t deserve someone looking out for you,¡± she said. ¡°Shame?¡± Larkin snapped back, ¡°Shame?¡± He scowled at Haldar, his teeth exposed like a feral dog, and hissed, ¡°This man threw me out. And by the looks of it he doesn¡¯t feel an ounce of regret.¡± Haldar mumbled something imperceptibly, turning away. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you forge it yourself?¡± Larkin asked. ¡°It would draw too much attention,¡± answered Haldar. ¡°The High Council would stop at nothing to obtain it. I¡¯d be forced to give it up.¡± ¡°Because even if you tried to leave Backwater with it, they¡¯d catch you at the border,¡± said Mira. ¡°Yes,¡± said Haldar, impressed by the girl¡¯s intelligence. ¡°The Requiem means too much to me, anyway. It¡¯s a replica of the one I had originally.¡± ¡°What happened to it?¡± Larkin asked. After a pause, Haldar finally said, "It was stolen by my brother ¨C your father.¡± ¡°Eh, eh, eh!¡± stammered Larkin. He shuddered at this unexpected revelation. ¡°You¡¯re my uncle?¡± he asked. ¡°Only by marriage,¡± said Haldar, waving off the questions he knew were on the tip of the budding blacksmith¡¯s tongue. ¡°So¡­I am a blacksmith!¡± declared Larkin triumphantly, whose weakened countenance seemed to have been rejuvenated in an instant. He tore the blueprint from Mira¡¯s hand and turned to his anvil, wasting no time in propping up the iron bar against its edge. Larkin pounded the iron bar for the hundredth time that night. Mira glanced at Haldar expectantly. Haldar sighed, folding his arms, and said with a frown, ¡°He¡¯s always been like this.¡± ¡°He¡¯s going to seriously hurt himself,¡± she said, stepping towards Larkin. ¡°You¡¯ve been at it all night. At least try something easier.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll craft the most powerful weapons the Realm has ever seen,¡± he said, swinging the Hammer higher and higher for each strike. But as the Hammer hurtled towards the iron this time, it suddenly slipped out of his blistered red palms. It crashed to the floor, splattering molten metal dangerously close to his foot. ¡°Larkin are you okay?¡± cried Mira. She grabbed his arm and yanked him away from the anvil. ¡°Are you trying to kill yourself?¡± she screamed as she shook him vigorously, ¡°or are you just trying to show off?¡± ¡°Let go,¡± said Larkin, struggling against her tightening grip, ¡°I don¡¯t need your help.¡± ¡°No, but you clearly need a babysitter,¡± Mira snapped. ¡°Let me work,¡± said Larkin. ¡°Work? You¡¯re chasing people who don¡¯t care about you,¡± Mira said emphatically, her voice cracking, ¡°Your parents obviously don¡¯t care about you. They¡¯ve moved on. The Realm has moved on; but you are still stuck trying to live through your grandfather¡¯s shadow.¡± She looked helplessly at Haldar. The old man gazed at the Hammer lying on the floor, basking in the glow of the fire. Then he examined his apprentice straining against the girl¡¯s arms, striving desperately for the Hammer. It reminded him of the buzzing flies that accidentally burn themselves by flying into the forge. His eyes moved glacially over to the fiery sparks spitting out of the fire. After slowly stroking his white-pointy beard for several moments, he shrugged his shoulders and sighed. ¡°Strength is a skill earned in time, not through reckless ambition,¡± the master blacksmith said. ¡°Even your father knew his limits.¡± ¡°My father?¡± gasped Larkin, pausing his frantic struggle to listen to the old man. ¡°Tell me about him.¡± ¡°Oh, but you already know,¡± returned the old man, smiling: ¡°there¡¯s nothing much for me to add that will do you any good, except to say that he was even more of a pain in the ass than you. Also, he wasn¡¯t half as whiny, which, now that I think about it, I shouldn¡¯t have taken for granted.¡± ¡°I¡¯m whiny?¡± asked Larkin, frowning incredulously. Mira smiled despite herself. Haldar stood up, immediately wincing. ¡°You remind me of myself,¡± he said as he rubbed his back. ¡°Your father knew that a great blacksmith was not just made from talent but from someone who¡¯s been shaped by the craft.¡± The two orphans watched as the old man limped over to the anvil. He picked up the Hammer and studied it. His eyes filled with tears. ¡°You¡¯re going to hand it over to the High Council, aren¡¯t you?¡± he said. Larkin gulped, his hands balling into fists, and added, defiantly, ¡°Well over my immortal body.¡± His eyes flashed brilliantly. ¡°Yes,¡± said the old man, smiling mournfully, ¡°your immortal body indeed¡­¡± He gazed into the fire, and said, absently, ¡°You¡¯re stubborn-¡± ¡°Hey-¡± began Larkin. ¡°Listen to him,¡± interrupted Mira. ¡°You¡¯re reckless-¡± ¡°Not fair-¡± ¡°Larkin!¡± snapped Mira. ¡°And you¡¯re a whiny little-¡± ¡°Save it, Haldar; you¡¯ll never see me again. Don¡¯t you worry about that!¡± yelled Larkin. He yanked his arm free and stormed over to Haldar, gnashing his teeth, and reached for the Hammer. A slight movement of the Hammer by Haldar made Larkin grab the air instead. ¡°Impatient too,¡± chuckled the master blacksmith. He looked at Mira and said, ¡°Keep him on a short leash or I won¡¯t do it.¡± ¡°Do what?¡± asked Larkin, glancing at Mira. ¡°You¡¯re a dimwit,¡± Haldar said. ¡°I think he gets it,¡± Mira said, stifling a chuckle. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Larkin asked. ¡°Thank your lass over there,¡± said Haldar; ¡°If she hadn¡¯t told me about what happened to my workshop, you¡¯d be wishing you weren¡¯t born.¡± ¡°Wait, what? But I told you about what happened. And you didn¡¯t believe me!¡± ¡°Yes, well¡­ it doesn¡¯t matter now, does it?¡± Halder replied. ¡°Don¡¯t you owe me an apology?¡± Suddenly, the old man¡¯s upper lip twitched. ¡°Larkin you bastard,¡± cursed Mira breathlessly, rolling her eyes. ¡°Listen to your friend, Larky boy,¡± smiled Haldar; ¡°I¡¯m giving you a second chance. You¡¯ll learn the craft the right way¡­ under my watch. But if you screw up, there¡¯ll be no more second chances. Understood?¡± Larkin turned up his nose, crossing his arms against his chest, and said, ¡°Look, I know that you¡¯re a master blacksmith and all, but this is the Hammer of the Eternal Forge we¡¯re talking about.¡± He narrowed his eyes. The challenge was not lost on the old man. Returning the glare, Haldar replied, ¡°You may have the strength to wield it, but do you have the patience it takes to master it?¡± ¡°But I¡¯ve been your apprentice for years¡­ Why are you now taking me seriously? Because I have the Hammer?¡± ¡°There¡¯s something that I see in you, something that I¡¯ve never seen before in any of my apprentices¡­ not even in your father.¡± Instantly, Haldar raised his hand in protest, expecting a barrage of questions from the boy¡¯s mouth. But none came. Instead, he saw that Larkin simply gazed at him with an incredulous expression, almost child-like in its innocence. ¡°I¡­ I want to find my father,¡± Larkin said, furrowing his brows in determination. He raised his hand and clenched it, his nails biting into his blistered palm. Mira looked at the newly reinstated apprentice with an envious disposition. ¡®I¡¯m fine where I am,¡¯ she thought bitterly; ¡®but watching him fight for something better is so infuriating¡­¡¯ ¡°So, start small,¡± she said, snapping herself out of her trance. She stepped forward and placed her hand on Larkin¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Blacksmithing,¡± continued Haldar, ¡°is not just about forging, but about the spirit and the mastering of one¡¯s emotions.¡± ¡°But I still don¡¯t get it. Why did you tell Mira where the Hammer was? After all that grief you gave me¡­¡± Mira and Haldar exchanged a quiet look. ¡°Never you mind,¡± barked Haldar, rummaging through his pocket. He pulled out a blueprint and handed it to the boy. ¡°Since you have so much energy, why don¡¯t you craft me fifty horseshoes?¡± ¡°Fifty?¡± scoffed Larkin, ¡°I¡¯d rather not¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s the only way you¡¯ll level,¡± explained Haldar, pressing the Hammer into Larkin¡¯s chest. He turned and hobbled back to his chair. ¡°Keep your voices low¡­ I¡¯m going to try and get some shuteye. Big day tomorrow: I hear there¡¯s going to be a scrap iron flash sale,¡± he said with a huge grin. Larkin looked at the paper in disgust. Its edges were torn, and its design faded. Mira watched as it crumpled between the boy¡¯s fingers. She smiled imperceptibly, hidden in the shadows of the dwindling fire. ¡°We can always put it back,¡± she said. ¡°Good idea,¡± Haldar chortled. ¡°The Hammer can easily rob you of your health, sanity, and even your humanity. That¡¯s why it¡¯s been locked up in the temple for centuries.¡± ¡°You locked it up?¡± asked Larkin, raising his eyes. ¡°Of course. How else would I know where it was?¡± replied Haldar. He shifted in his chair with a yawn. ¡°Perhaps I should have hidden it better. But what good would that have done, eh? The Hammer would have found you anyway.¡± Larkin wondered at the Hammer in his hand, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. ¡°The Hammer doesn¡¯t care about you,¡± warned Haldar; ¡°all it cares about is testing you in ways that you can¡¯t even imagine. If you fail, however, it will break you. So, before I teach you to use it to craft epic weapons, you must first learn to let go. Only then¡­¡± Haldar let his head fall. ¡°¡®Only then¡¯, what?¡± Larkin demanded. ¡°Only then¡­will you become¡­¡± Haldar¡¯s voice grew quieter, his head struggling to remain upright. In a few seconds he was snoring. Larkin let out a groan, letting his eyes fall upon his own feet. The paper was at his side. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± Mira asked, her tone soft. ¡°This Hammer¡­¡± he said, lifting the Hammer to the girl, ¡°crafted the emperor¡¯s armor.¡± ¡°And now its crafting horseshoes,¡± Mira said, smiling gently. She waited a few moments, before placing a hand on his arm, ¡°Listen, Larkin¡­¡± ¡°Yes,¡± he said, turning to face the girl. He was astonished to see how beautiful she looked in the firelight. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Nothing,¡± Mira said, letting fall her arm. ¡®I admire your determination, Larkin, I really do; but it leaves me feeling smaller¡­ like I¡¯m trapped by something that no one else can see.¡¯ She yawned. Larkin nodded to his bed. ¡°Go to sleep,¡± he said. As Larkin set about forging a horseshoe, Mira laid down, warmed by the crackling fire. For two hours, she watched through a half-open eyelid Larkin craft horseshoe after horseshoe. Every so often she would catch herself drifting off into the dreamscape, but whenever she did so her body would jolt awake. Not by the strikes of the Hammer, but by the fact that a thief in Backwater was trained from birth to always be on the alert. After the tenth horseshoe, Mira had a good idea on how such a tool was made. First, Larkin had to choose the type of metal to forge with. This was always a shoddy piece of iron, for that was all that was available to a crafter from Backwater. She had been told that this was so the High Council could control the quality of crafts coming out of the outpost. After cutting the iron to the desired length, he would douse it in the flames until it was as hot as his own face. Invariably, Larkin would always tell her that the colour of his cheeks was due to the extreme temperatures of the forge and not because he was blushing at being watched by a girl. Mira suspected that he was lying. Either way, the metal was made easier to shape by this process. No part of the process tested Mira¡¯s resolve to stay awake more than when the metal had to be hammered into shape. Once the metal was heated, it was placed on the anvil and put to the Hammer. She watched, mesmerized, as the once rigid iron bar slowly bent into a U-shape under the thunderous strikes of the Hammer. The rhythmic bombardment, the retracting metal, lulled her into a trance ¨C only deepening further when Larkin began filing the edges to form the heels. The smile on Mira¡¯s face made her face glow all the more in the firelight. The blacksmith, with all the coolness he could muster, tried desperately to keep his eyes trained on the scrap iron. He pounded the metal harder, as though taking his frustration out upon it instead. However, now and then his eyes, burning with quiet defiance, flickered upon the sleeping girl. It felt sacrilegious. ¡°She¡¯s just a thief,¡± he muttered to himself, turning to heat the iron in the forge. Mira¡¯s smile instantly evaporated, and she forced her teary eyes to shut. ¡®Screw you, Larkin,¡¯ her mind screamed, remembering how hard she had tried to find her parents; the resentment boiled her blood. ¡®When will you understand how hard it is to leave this place? If you ever did, though, would you leave me behind? Me, a no-good thief?¡¯ Soon, the great desire to sleep was too much to quell, and her body became as light as the moon in the night sky. So too, did her mind focus completely upon it, that she had forgotten for a spectacular moment that she was a street urchin in Backwater. In this dream, she was a swashbuckler, fighting green demonic pirates on the Infernal Tide like in the stories her father used to read to her when she was little. She was startled by Larkin¡¯s exultation. ¡°Finally!¡± exclaimed Larkin, wiping the perspiration from his brow, ¡°I¡¯ve done it.¡± Mira saw the horseshoe in the boy¡¯s hands. ¡°Not bad. At least the horses won¡¯t complain about uneven edges. They don¡¯t come with lofty expectations,¡± she said. ¡°You can critique after you forge something better,¡± he replied. ¡°I would, but I¡¯d hate to outshine you in front of the horses,¡± she smirked. Larkin yawned, stretching his arms. His eyes grew heavy. ¡°Wake me up when its light,¡± he said. Mira started up, but Larkin shook his head. Instead, he fell upon the anvil and immediately went to sleep. ¡®Of course he succeeds,¡± she thought, turning away from the forge. The opportunities she squandered and the bridges she burned came flooding into her mind. ¡®I wonder if they would take me back if I had something to show them¡­¡¯ It gnawed on her. She wanted to believe that she could escape Backwater and return to her parents. ¡®Is that why I¡¯m doing this?¡¯ She heard Larkin mutter in his sleep: ¡°They might have forgotten Backwater¡­ but I haven¡¯t.¡± Chapter 4 - Training with the Hammer of the Eternal Forge Haldar¡¯s eyes opened, casting a scrutinising glance over everything in the workshop. The air inside the crackling forge thrummed faintly with power, something which only he seemed to notice. It was not the heat of the forge, for that was always terrible. Nor was it the size of the flames, for they usually loomed large when they had just been fed. No, it was the boy, that damn boy. ¡®It¡¯s happening again, isn¡¯t it?¡¯ he thought. With each fiery wisp his eyes narrowed with suspicion, something which Larkin would have seen had the front door been open like it was supposed to be in the morning. Since that was not the case, Haldar simply crossed his arms in silence and watched the faint silhouette of his stubborn apprentice as it hammered at the metal on the anvil with fervent pace. ¡®Foolishness,¡¯ he thought, gripping the ragged edges of his leather apron with his trembling hands, ¡®If only he knew the danger...¡¯ Across from Haldar¡¯s chair, Larkin had his back to the spitting, spluttering forge; restless and never weary, the sparks flew dangerously close to the boy¡¯s feet, and even to Haldar¡¯s. As one arched in the air, Haldar could observe through its brief illumination Larkin¡¯s creased, crimson forehead, filled to the brim with perspiration. There was no doubt that the boy was deeply focused on his craft. The strange hum of the forge only intensified the obsessive, rhythmic clang of metal-on-metal echoing through the room. Haldar had always known this crazed persistence, even going so far as to condemn it whenever he could. But this time it was different. It was difficult to put a finger upon, but it was different, nonetheless. It was the way the boy struck the iron, the way the sparks that flew seemed¡­different somehow. Again, he could not put a finger on it. And that drove him up the walls. He clenched his fists, fighting his desire to find out why the sparks seemed to linger in the air for a moment longer than they should have, like floating embers¡­ A loud clang jolted Haldar from his trance. Larkin¡¯s hammer hung in the air momentarily, his scowl frozen in place like a wax figure. His jaw was tightly clenched, and his teeth gritted. Beside him, Mira leaned forward from the bed of straw and smirked. ¡°Getting closer,¡± she taunted, her voice light. ¡°Only bent halfway this time.¡± Without so much as a response, Larkin reached down and picked up the next piece of metal. By now, he had gone through close to a hundred rods of scrap iron. The boy was too focused, too eager. It was as if he thought that the Forge could be bullied into submission. Haldar cringed as he watched the Hammer fall again with a colossal clank. ¡®He¡¯s just like I was ¨C impatient, blind to what the Forge demands,¡¯ thought the master blacksmith, fighting back the urge to grab Larkin¡¯s arm before it could strike again. ¡®He has to learn on his own. I¡¯m not his keeper,¡¯ he told himself, shaking his head. The boy¡¯s hunger reminded him too much of his past self. ¡®I can¡¯t let him fall. But I can¡¯t stop him either...¡¯ The guilt swimming in his gut was too much to bear. The old man cleared his throat loudly. Mira straightened. Larkin, however, adjusted the iron bar on the anvil and kept hammering. ¡°Rushing won¡¯t make the metal listen,¡± he muttered under his breath. Suddenly, the spectral chain on the boy¡¯s wrist pulsed. A warm current of energy surged up his arm, tingling through his veins. For a moment, the thrum of the forge grew louder, and the Hammer glowed electrifyingly blue. Larkin took a deep breath and, without thinking, brought the Hammer down upon the blade. As soon as it made contact with the iron bar, an eerie, blue light flashed across the blade, fading as quickly as it came. Larkin blinked, his eyes wide with confusion. For several seconds he stared in amazement. The bar had flattened perfectly. It was if the Hammer had communicated to the iron. Larkin paused, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him. Mira stared in shock. Haldar, however, merely narrowed his eyes. He had seen this once before. It was a rare occurrence for sure, but he had experienced enough strange phenomena in his lifetime to not be spooked by a mere flash of light. He leaned closer, stroking his beard, and peered at the iron. ¡®Not bad¡­¡¯ he thought in amusement, ¡®but luck rarely holds. It¡¯s too soon. He¡¯s not ready for this kind of power. But can I trust him with the truth? The last time I trusted...¡¯ Haldar grimaced, turning away from the orphans with clenched fists, ¡®I won¡¯t allow him to make the same mistake!¡¯ ¡°What¡¯s it doing?¡± asked Mira, also leaning forward from her position on the bed. ¡°I-I don¡¯t know,¡± stammered Larkin. ¡°The blade¡­ it¡¯s glowing!¡± Mira peered at the blade and frowned. ¡°I can¡¯t see anything,¡± she said. ¡°But your bracelet is glowing.¡± Larkin¡¯s face contorted unpleasantly as he held the Hammer ahigh, trembling with excitement. The blade was glowing blue. He turned to Haldar, and asked, ¡°What just happened?¡± ¡°That chain on your wrist,¡± the old man replied, ¡°is channelling mana into your Hammer. There¡¯s considerably more power in there now.¡± ¡°It¡¯s from all those horseshoes,¡± Larkin said. ¡°Every time I crafted a horseshoe it felt like my Hammer was getting stronger.¡± ¡°Careful,¡± Mira said, ¡°it looks unstable.¡± The boy¡¯s eyes widened with delight, ignoring Mira¡¯s warning. No sooner had he heard this explanation that he became more emboldened. His eyes narrowed on the edges of the glowing blade. The longer he stared, the more the iron seemed to ripple like liquid. Before long, certain sections became still, while others continued to flow aggressively. For the first time since wielding the Hammer, Larkin felt his senses heightened above normal. It was much like he felt when he had consumed all those mana potions. ¡°You¡¯re seeing this right?¡± Larkin said. ¡°Seeing what?¡± Mira asked. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ not normal,¡± he said. ¡®This is how it starts. The allure, the power. It¡¯s too much,¡¯ thought Haldar, his pulse quickening. He swung the Hammer down upon the rippling portions. The strike was more deliberate than the last. Soon, Larkin was lost in the rhythm of hammering. The Hammer rose and fell, each time causing the metal to shiver considerably as though it was alive. Whenever he knew from previous experience that the metal needed heating, something inside of him resisted from throwing it into the forge. Instead, he trusted his gut. At any other time, cold metal would have cracked instantly under the heavy weight of a hammer strike - especially from the brute force Larkin always threw behind his - but this time, for whatever reason, it did not. The imperfections in the blade smoothened. But it was unusual, for the edges warped in ways that Larkin had never seen before. The metal should have resisted; yet it yielded. Larkin glanced at his master with furrowed brows. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± he asked, pausing for a moment. Suddenly, everything in the forge slowed to a grinding halt. The hum of the forge pulsed in his veins. His senses had become superhuman. The longer he held the Hammer in the air, the hotter his hand became. It soon burned almost as hot as the forge hissing behind him. Still, the boy held on, for he refused to let go of the Hammer. Yet, he hesitated in striking even though his palms were blistered. For a split second his attention was focused on these fluid-filled sacs. Wielding the Hammer had already destroyed his skin. Only a day had passed, but it had already disfigured his skin. And it was not likely that his hand would return to normal, for Larkin had no plans to cease hammering anytime soon. The Hammer ripped the air as it came hurtling down. Before it had connected, however, the metal seemed to rise and ripple in the air like a giant molten tsunami. It shimmered, its surface a translucent sheen. As soon as the Hammer struck, the warping metal came crashing down with a huge splash, only for it to rise again when he lifted the tool. Every time he struck, it bent and stretched more and more out of shape. It was as though it was following some sort of strange, ancient rhythm which Larkin could not quite grasp. The blade twisted and solidified rapidly in his hand, into a form that was unrecognisable. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Mira raised her eyebrows. It was unmistakable now: there was a blue glow around the blade. It was an outline. She leaned in, her voice barely audible, and said, ¡°That¡¯s¡­not normal, right?¡± ¡°It¡¯s¡­not,¡± grunted Larkin, holding the Hammer as high he could over the anvil. It began to vibrate tremendously, as if it was channelling mana from the surrounding air. The spectral chain tightened around his wrist. Larkin gritted his teeth, the strength quickly draining out of him. ¡°Stop, Larkin!¡± Mira gasped. Her eyes gazed upon the boy in amazement; she was accustomed to disapproving of Larkin¡¯s obsessive, imprudent nature, yet was surprised to find that this time her protest was born not out of envy, but of a gut-wrenching superstitious feeling. ¡°I¡­will¡­craft¡­¡± Larkin said breathlessly. ¡°But the Hammer!¡± cried Mira. ¡°I can do it,¡± he said with a wince. Sweat mounted his brow, causing his vision to blur. The Hammer now felt as heavy as a brick. He struggled desperately to keep it from falling onto his head. ¡°Put it down, Larkin, please,¡± begged Mira. She turned to Haldar, tears swelling in her eyes, and said, ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to do something?¡± Haldar observed the forge carefully with a calculating expression, all the while continuing to stroke his lengthy beard. Then his eyes jerked to the boy. Although Larkin was a nuisance, he was his nuisance. The old man had a responsibility for the orphan, even if he did not like him all that much. And besides, the boy¡¯s persistence and implausible dreams forced a passage to his heart. The greatsword was not worth the loss of such an apprenticeship. ¡°Larkin, that¡¯s enough,¡± Haldar said finally. ¡°It¡¯s never enough,¡± Larkin replied, staring at the almost finished blade in his hand. ¡°No,¡± Haldar said, standing up from his chair, ¡°that¡¯s an order. You¡¯ll kill yourself if you carry on.¡± A massive grin appeared on Larkin¡¯s face. It was followed by a flash of madness which would make even the gods shudder in their graves. Mira was no longer sure whether Larkin was listening. He seemed too intent on completing what he had started, even if it cost him his life. ¡°You¡¯re impossible!¡± snapped Mira. She placed herself at the door of the workshop and opened it, letting the morning light pour through. The cold blast of air supplanted the staleness of the forge, filling the girl¡¯s lungs. She coughed and stepped outside, letting the door swing shut. ¡®I can¡¯t lose him. Not like this. What will people say of me, then? That I let my apprentice suffer the same fate?¡¯ The spectral chain continued to tighten painfully around Larkin¡¯s wrist. His grip weakened. Scarcely had one finger left the handle did he notice the small crack in the bottom of the blade. But when he did the whole metal started cracking like an avalanche of glass. Before he could form a thought, the fire burst into enormous flame, scolding the back of his neck with its whip-like motion. The anvil cracked. Larkin struggled to regain control of the Hammer, but it was too late: the Hammer had slipped out of his hand. Larkin screamed. ¡°Stupid!¡± Haldar growled, snatching the Hammer away. ¡°The forge gives, but it takes twice as much back if you aren¡¯t ready,¡± he said, but the words felt hallow. ¡®Am I really trying to protect him, or am I just afraid of what I might unleash again?¡¯ Haldar thought, his throat tightening. The door burst open. Mira stepped into the forge; her eyes immediately pulled to the boy. He was not the confident blacksmith she had known just a minute ago. Instead, he was barehanded. Haldar¡¯s dark scowl hovered over him. ¡°I nearly did it,¡± Larkin cried in frustration, ¡°I nearly did it.¡± He fell on the fractured anvil, resting his head in his hands. ¡°I knew this would be a mistake,¡± Haldar said, shaking his head. ¡°What? You could have just let the Hammer drop,¡± growled Larkin. ¡°You¡¯re no use to anyone brain damaged!¡± ¡°Are you alright?¡± Mira asked. Without waiting for Larkin to protest, Mira stepped forward and placed her hand on his arm. She inspected the fading blue veins which had pulsed so furiously while he was crafting. ¡°What are these?¡± she asked Haldar. ¡°Have a guess,¡± he replied. ¡°Mana?¡± she raised her eyebrows. Haldar slapped the back of the boy¡¯s head. ¡°Good thing she¡¯s got a brain,¡± he said, ¡°you¡¯re too busy crushing yours.¡± Larkin rubbed the back of his head, and said with a wince, ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened... I thought I was improving things ¨C not breaking them!¡± ¡°You could have lost a hand ¨C or worse,¡± Mira said exasperatedly. Haldar folded his arms, remaining silent and pensive, and stared at the boy fixedly. He hardly knew what to make of his stubborn apprentice, or what to do. The boy¡¯s eyes, however, intrigued him; for there was fire in them. ¡®Is that how I looked when I first tried to wield it? What if I¡¯m wrong? I don¡¯t want him to suffer like I did. But he has to make his own choices,¡± thought Haldar. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± muttered Larkin with a shrug. The old man knelt beside the anvil. He ran his calloused fingers along the break. With a sigh, his eyes flickered to Larkin. ¡°The Eternal Forge doesn¡¯t play favourites,¡± he said gruffly, laying the Hammer down. ¡°If it responds to you, it means something. But don¡¯t think that makes you special. The forge doesn¡¯t care about you ¨C it only cares about what you¡¯re willing to give it.¡± ¡°Larkin¡¯s too proud to listen,¡± Mira said. ¡°¡®Am not,¡± Larkin growled. ¡°Are too,¡± she chuckled. While they were arguing, Haldar walked over to his side of the shop and fetched something from underneath his bed. He brought it over and placed it on the cracked anvil. ¡®Will this boy make the same mistake I did?¡¯ he thought. ¡°Where¡¯s this come from?¡± Larkin asked. ¡°Bought it from the market earlier,¡± wheezed Haldar. The short trip had clearly decimated his lungs. ¡°Start again. Slowly this time.¡± Larkin looked at him blankly. ¡°Iron is brittle,¡± Haldar said, annoyed at the boy¡¯s dim-wittedness. ¡°Have you learned nothing these past four years?¡± ¡°Clearly,¡± sneered Mira. Larkin scowled at Mira, before being absorbed by the shiny metal. He passed his hand over it. It was not that he had never seen steel before; in fact, he had watched Haldar craft with it plenty of times in the past. His interest was piqued because steel had never crossed his anvil before. ¡°Won¡¯t the Hammer just break the steel as well?¡± Larkin asked, his voice laden with disbelief. ¡°Maybe,¡± Haldar said, ¡°but you have to learn someday if you¡¯re going to become a blacksmith.¡± ¡°I¡¯m already a blacksmith,¡± said Larkin with a frown. ¡°A proper one I mean,¡± replied Haldar, ¡°one worth his metal.¡± Larkin could not help but smile as he gazed longingly at the steel rod, imagining the quality of weapons he could craft with the stronger alloy. His eyes, dimmed as they were, then drifted to the Hammer, and his smile slowly faded as quickly as it had come. It was his legs that stopped him more than anything else, for they buckled under him, and he would have collapsed had not the anvil supported him. ¡°What¡¯s the advantages of using steel over iron?¡± Mira asked. Before Haldar even opened his mouth, Larkin blurted, ¡°Steel is stronger, obviously.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what Haldar has just said.¡± ¡°Yeah, well, that¡¯s all there is to it!¡± exclaimed Larkin, his cheeks burning hotly. He picked up the Hammer. ¡°Wait,¡± said Haldar; ¡°Sharp with intent, not impatience." With caution, Larkin struck the rod gently. The Hammer flickered blue when it hit the metal. This time, however, Larkin refused to give into his inclination to add more force to his strikes. Instead, he listened to the sound the steel made and responded accordingly. Two hours had elapsed, and in that time his face had sweated and wrinkled considerably. For some reason, it took more strength to restrain his striking than it did when he pounded the metal in fury. His blows remained slow and deliberate. ¡®He¡¯s got potential. But it¡¯s not just about the craft...¡¯ Haldar thought. ¡®Maybe he can in fact avoid the path I walked...¡¯ As the afternoon dragged on, the heat became unbearable for the girl not accustomed to the lifestyle of a blacksmith. She was in and out of the smithy constantly, unsure whether her pale skin fared better in the midday sun than to the lashing flames of the forge. Regardless of her own state, she was always preoccupied with Larkin¡¯s, for he looked as though he was about to faint every time she stepped into the workshop. Mira could only offer him a towel, however, because Larkin refused to take a break. ¡®Is this really the right choice?¡¯ Haldar turned away, pensively. The shadows over in his corner of the forge cried out. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sight of the boy¡¯s determination stopped him. Slowly but surely, Larkin was able to compress the steel evenly. The edges, likewise, were uniform in appearance. Haldar caught his arm mid-swing, inspecting the shaped steel. There were no cracks to speak of. ¡®I can¡¯t shield him from this forever,¡¯ he thought. Haldar grunted approvingly and walked back to the chair in the centre of the workshop. The sun was in its decline when Mira stepped into the forge for the final time. She saw that Larkin¡¯s posture was straighter than before. While the thirst for glory still glinted in Larkin''s eyes, she noticed that his swings were more measured now. The satisfaction on his face was palpable. Mira threw the sweat-drenched boy a towel. ¡°Don¡¯t let it go to your head,¡± she teased. ¡°Finally, we can put the forge out. I¡¯ve been roasting all day.¡± Larkin returned the grin as he wiped his face. ¡°The forge never goes out,¡± he said. ¡°So... how¡¯d it go?¡± Mira asked. ¡°I¡¯m well chuffed,¡± Larkin replied, his smile growing wider. ¡°He¡¯s got a long way to go,¡± laughed Haldar, addressing the girl, ¡°But... maybe he¡¯s not hopeless.¡± ¡®This isn¡¯t about me anymore. This is about him. He¡¯s got a long way to go. But maybe...just maybe he can make it. And when he does, I¡¯ll tell him. I¡¯ll tell him everything.¡¯ Larkin was sure that there was an imperceptible smile underneath the old man''s beard; after all, his eyes were glinting like never before. Chapter 6 - Stealing the Veyrsteel This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.