Northern sat down on the small stool, pellets of sweat streaming down his face. His eyes were half-closed, as if he was dozing, his face stilled like waters from the rivers of a frozen time.
After a while, he slowly lifted himself, not much could be noted about his change in expression. Everything about him stayed the same as he moved towards the anvil.
Northern carefully flipped the partially formed hammer head and struck again, focusing on balancing its weight.
A soft blue light in his eyes pulsed faintly, revealing subtle imperfections in the structure. With precise adjustments, he corrected these flaws, shaping the hammer into a weapon that exuded dominance.
Once the basic shape was complete, Northern retrieved a chisel from the workbench.
