The caravan's arrival at Greystone Crossing coincided with the town's annual blacksmith showcase. The town was a modest but bustling trade hub, its cobbled streets alive with merchants, craftspeople, and a few travelers passing through. The square, lined with timber-framed shops and small stone houses, was decorated with banners and flowers for the occasion.
Kalem unloaded his cart with the help of Teren, who pointed to a shaded spot near the edge of the square. "Set yourself up there, lad. People will be curious about your wares after the contest. And trust me, you'll want to enter."
Kalem tilted his head, a little overwhelmed by the enthusiasm in Teren's voice. "I told you, I'm just passing through. Competing wasn't part of my plan."
Teren grinned. "Plans change. Besides, this contest isn't some grand affair. It's local. The best smiths in the area show up to prove their mettle—literally—and you, my boy, would be the talk of the town. Think of it as practice."
Before Kalem could argue further, Teren had already secured his entry with the contest organizer, an older woman with sandy hair streaked with silver. She introduced herself as Eryn, a former smith and the judge of the competition.
"The rules are simple," Eryn explained. "You'll have two hours to craft a tool or weapon of your choice using the materials provided. No enchantments or magical enhancements—just pure skill."
Kalem hesitated but eventually agreed, knowing he'd regret not taking the chance to see how his work compared to others.
The contest began under the watchful eyes of a small crowd. Kalem set up at his forge, surrounded by other competitors—a mix of grizzled veterans and eager newcomers. As he glanced around, he noticed the diversity in the participants. One of the smiths was a broad-shouldered man with greenish-gray skin, tusks jutting slightly from his lower jaw. He worked with quick precision, his movements confident and practiced.
Kalem had heard of half-orcs before but had never seen one up close. This one caught his gaze and gave a short nod of acknowledgment before turning back to his work.
Another competitor, a woman with strikingly pale skin and sharp features, hummed a tune as she worked. Her hair shimmered faintly, as though it caught more light than it should. Teren had mentioned moonfolk—descendants of humans who had once lived in the far northern regions, said to be sensitive to the lunar cycle.
Kalem, however, kept his focus on his forge. He decided to craft a hunting knife, something practical and challenging within the constraints of the time limit. His hands worked instinctively, shaping the blade with a hammer and sharpening it with care. The hours passed quickly, and by the time Eryn called for the competitors to stop, Kalem felt satisfied with his work.
The judging process was thorough. Eryn tested each blade and tool for durability, sharpness, and overall craftsmanship. Kalem watched as she appraised his hunting knife, her expression neutral but focused.
When the results were announced, Kalem placed fourth, just behind the half-orc, the moonfolk woman, and a local human smith who had clearly spent decades honing his craft.
"Not bad for someone so young," Eryn said as she handed Kalem his prize—a small pouch of coins and a voucher for additional materials. "Keep at it, and you'll be standing on the top tier in no time."
The crowd murmured with approval, many of them surprised to learn Kalem's age. Whispers about the "young smith from the road" spread quickly, and by the end of the day, Kalem had sold nearly all the tools and weapons he'd brought with him.
Later that evening, the town square turned lively with music and laughter as people celebrated the showcase. Kalem sat near a campfire, his coin pouch heavier and his confidence bolstered. Teren joined him, a mug of ale in hand.
"You did well, lad," Teren said, his voice warm. "Not everyone can hold their own against smiths like those. That half-orc, Orgar, runs a forge in the hills. And the moonfolk woman? She's a traveling artisan who's won contests in bigger towns than this one. You've earned their respect, whether you realize it or not."
Kalem nodded, though his thoughts wandered. He had expected to learn from the competition, but meeting the half-orc and moonfolk had reminded him of how little he knew about the wider world.
As the night deepened, Kalem felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found Orgar standing behind him, holding a small pouch.
"Good work today," the half-orc said, his voice gravelly but kind.
Kalem accepted the gift with a nod of gratitude. "Thank you."
Orgar grunted in acknowledgment and walked off without another word.
Not long after, the moonfolk woman approached, her pale eyes gleaming in the firelight. "Your knife was impressive," she said. "For someone your age, it's clear you've had excellent training. I'm Seris, by the way."
"Kalem," he replied, shaking her hand.
"Arcathis, huh?" she said, as though reading his thoughts. "Good luck. You'll need it."
Before Kalem could respond, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
As the celebration wound down, Kalem retired to his cart, his mind buzzing with the events of the day. The town of Greystone Crossing had been more than a stop on his journey—it had been a glimpse into the world beyond the valley.
The road ahead felt a little less daunting now, but Kalem knew he'd barely scratched the surface of what lay beyond.