The forge had become Eryndor's sanctuary. The rhythmic sound of hammer striking metal, the hiss of molten steel plunging into water, and the steady glow of the coals created a sense of order in a chaotic world. Though his body still ached after each session, the satisfaction of crafting something tangible kept him coming back, his determination outshining his physical frailty.
One afternoon, Calder called Eryndor to the workbench, where several pieces of raw, unworked materials lay scattered—dark-resistant steel, shards of Abyssal crystal, and strips of leather. Calder held up a small dagger, its hilt wrapped in worn leather.
"This," Calder began, "is the first tool I ever made that didn't break." He set it down with a faint smile. "Barely sharp enough to cut through bread, but it taught me something important: the material you use is just as important as how you shape it."
Eryndor picked up the dagger, running his fingers over its rough surface. "The material decides the strength?"
"Exactly," Calder said, motioning toward the pile of raw materials. "Each of these reacts differently to the heat, the hammer, and the energy in the shard. If you don't know how to work them, they'll fail you when it matters most."
Eryndor nodded, his mind already racing with questions. He picked up a shard of Abyssal crystal, turning it over in his hands. The way it refracted light fascinated him, its inner glow shifting subtly as he moved it.
"What about this?" he asked. "The shard pieces. How do they hold so much energy without breaking apart?"
Calder raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Good question. The shards are tough, but they're brittle if struck wrong. You have to treat them carefully, temper them with just the right balance of heat and pressure. Too much force, and they'll crack."
Eryndor set the shard down, his mind buzzing. He had always been curious about the materials Calder used, but now, for the first time, he saw their potential. Each one held secrets—secrets he could uncover with enough study and experimentation.
That evening, after Calder had gone to rest, Eryndor stayed behind in the forge. He arranged the materials on the bench, his notebook open beside him. Carefully, he sketched each piece, annotating his thoughts about their properties and how they might be combined.
Dark-resistant steel: durable, resistant to the shard's energy, but heavy.
Abyssal crystal: stores energy well, but fragile.
Leather: flexible, but needs reinforcement for durability.
As he worked, an idea began to take shape. What if he could create something new, something that combined the best properties of these materials? A tool or weapon that could withstand the shard's power while channeling it effectively?
He picked up the Abyssal crystal again, holding it up to the forge's light. Its glow seemed to pulse faintly, as if responding to his thoughts. The ember in his chest flared in kind, and Eryndor felt a surge of inspiration.
"This could work," he murmured, sketching furiously in his notebook.
The next morning, Eryndor showed Calder his designs. They were rough, little more than diagrams with scribbled notes, but his excitement was palpable.
Calder studied the pages, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his tone was thoughtful. "Ambitious. Combining steel and crystal isn't easy. You'll need to temper the steel carefully to avoid cracking the crystal. And the hilt design—it'll need to distribute the weight evenly, or it'll be unwieldy."
Eryndor leaned forward, his eyes shining. "So you think it's possible?"
Calder smiled faintly. "With enough patience and a lot of trial and error? Maybe. But don't expect it to work on your first try."
Eryndor nodded, already imagining the steps he'd need to take. He couldn't explain it, but he felt certain that this idea—this spark of inspiration—was important.
Over the next few days, he worked tirelessly, experimenting with different techniques to fuse the materials. His first attempts were disastrous—steel that warped, crystal that cracked, and leather that burned under the heat. But each failure taught him something new, and with each attempt, he came closer to success.
Finally, after countless hours in the forge, Eryndor held his creation in his hands: a small, crude dagger with a blade of tempered steel and an Abyssal crystal embedded in its hilt. It wasn't perfect—the blade was slightly uneven, and the crystal's glow flickered faintly—but it was his.
He showed it to Calder that evening, his heart pounding with nervous anticipation.
Calder took the dagger, turning it over in his hands. He tested the weight, ran his thumb along the edge of the blade, and tapped the crystal lightly. Finally, he looked at Eryndor, a rare smile spreading across his face.
"You've got something here, Eryn," he said. "It's rough, but it's yours. And it's a damn good start."
Eryndor felt a swell of pride as he took the dagger back. For the first time, he didn't feel like a burden or an observer. He felt like a creator, someone capable of shaping the world around him.
The ember in his chest burned brighter, and as he stood in the forge's glow, Eryndor knew he had taken his first real step forward.