The Ironworks hummed with subdued intensity as its occupants adjusted to the unusual lull in mining activity. Most of the forge hands, miners, and smiths occupied themselves with sparring, crafting, or other preparations for the Season of Fire. But Kalem's focus was drawn elsewhere.
At the far end of the forge, amidst racks of raw materials and unused tools, he had claimed a workbench as his own. Spread across its surface were parchments filled with sketches, metal plates bearing rudimentary etchings, and fragments of crystals glowing faintly in the ambient light of the forge. In the center of this controlled chaos rested the halberd Tavian had entrusted to him.
Kalem studied the weapon with a mix of curiosity and determination. The intricate ruins carved into its shaft and blade seemed alive, shimmering faintly whenever his fingers brushed its surface. The craft was unlike anything he had encountered before—a seamless fusion of metalworking and magic.
Kalem's first step was to understand the fundamentals. Ruin-crafting, he had learned from the Ironworks' experts, was not just an art but a precise science. Each ruin was composed of three integral components:
The Medium: The physical material upon which ruins were etched. It needed to be durable enough to channel and sustain magical energy without degrading.
The Pattern: The ruin's design, dictating how magic flowed through the object. Every line and curve had a purpose, working in harmony to achieve a specific effect.
The Catalyst: The source of magic that activated the ruin. This could be anything from a specialized crystal to the wielder's own aura.
As Kalem inspected the halberd, he began to see these principles in action. The alloy used for the weapon was not ordinary steel—it was a blend of metals tempered for both strength and conductivity. The patterns etched into its surface spiraled outward from a central crystal embedded at the base, dispersing energy evenly across the blade and shaft.
"This is incredible," he muttered to himself, tracing the lines with a finger. "It's not just decoration—it's a blueprint for magic."
Determined to learn by doing, Kalem decided to replicate a simple version of the halberd's ruins. He retrieved a steel plate from the nearby rack, its surface polished and smooth, and began etching a basic spiral pattern using a fine engraving tool.
The work demanded precision. Each stroke had to be clean and deliberate, every curve smooth and uninterrupted. A single mistake, Kalem knew, could render the entire ruin ineffective—or worse, unstable.
As he worked, he found himself reflecting on the ruin-crafters he had watched earlier. Their hands moved with practiced ease, their tools extensions of their will. Kalem lacked their finesse, but he was not discouraged.
When he finished, the steel plate bore a crude but complete spiral ruin. He placed a small, uncharged crystal at its center, its dull surface reflecting the flickering light of the forge.
"Step one," he said, leaning back to admire his work. "Now let's see if I can figure out step two."
Kalem spent hours at the workbench, alternating between studying the halberd and experimenting with his own designs. He learned that ruin-crafting wasn't just about carving patterns—it was about understanding the balance between the physical and the mystical.
Every line had to serve a purpose. Every curve dictated the flow of energy. Too sharp, and the energy would stagnate. Too shallow, and it would dissipate. It was like forging a blade, but on an entirely different level.
By midday, Kalem's workbench was cluttered with discarded plates, broken tools, and fragments of crystal. Despite the setbacks, he felt a growing sense of clarity.
The spiral pattern on the halberd, he realized, wasn't just about energy dispersion—it was about stability. The spiral allowed the energy to flow evenly, reducing the strain on the weapon's structure and preventing it from overloading.
"This isn't just crafting," Kalem murmured. "It's engineering."
As Kalem worked, Tavian approached, his imposing frame casting a long shadow over the workbench. He watched silently for a moment before speaking.
"You've got a good eye, Kalem," Tavian said, gesturing to the etched plates. "But ruin-crafting isn't something you can brute force. It's about understanding the language of magic."
Kalem looked up, wiping sweat from his brow. "And what's the first word in that language?"
Tavian chuckled. "Patience. You're not going to master this overnight. But if you can understand why the ruins on that halberd work the way they do, you'll be on the right path."
Kalem nodded, his resolve renewed.
As the day wore on, Kalem continued his experiments, each attempt bringing him closer to understanding the mysteries of ruin-crafting. The forge's heat pressed down on him, but he hardly noticed, his focus unshakable.
By the time night fell, he hadn't created anything functional, but that didn't matter. He had taken his first steps into a world where craftsmanship and magic intertwined—a world he was eager to explore.
And as the tremors beneath the Ironworks grew stronger, Kalem knew that every ounce of knowledge he gained would be vital when the Season of Fire finally began.