The morning began like many others in Brindlemark, with the steady clang of metal echoing through the village square. Eryndor was at the forge early, wiping down the workbench and organizing tools as Calder stoked the fire. A warm glow bathed the room as the coals came alive, their heat already filling the air with the familiar tang of iron and ash.
Today was different, though. Calder had set aside a small pile of Abyssal crystal shards and a dark steel ingot on the bench, their edges catching the light. Eryndor's eyes lingered on them, his curiosity mounting.
"What are we making?" he asked, his voice laced with excitement.
Calder turned, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "A proper blade," he said. "One strong enough to channel energy without shattering."
Eryndor's breath caught. He had seen Calder craft many tools and weapons, but a blade infused with Abyssal crystal was something rare—and dangerous.
The day's work began with the steel. Calder heated the ingot until it glowed red-hot, then placed it on the anvil. "Strike here," he said, pointing to the center. "Controlled, steady blows. We're shaping the spine first."
Eryndor nodded, gripping the hammer with both hands. He raised it high, then brought it down with as much precision as he could muster. Sparks flew, and the steel flattened slightly under the force.
"Good," Calder said, nodding approvingly. "Now keep going."
Eryndor struck again and again, his arms trembling as the hammer grew heavier with each swing. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his grip began to falter.
"Steady," Calder reminded him. "The forge doesn't care how tired you are. If you lose focus, the metal will let you know."
Eryndor gritted his teeth, his strikes growing uneven. On his next swing, the hammer glanced off the edge of the steel, sending a sharp vibration up his arm. He dropped the hammer with a yelp, clutching his hand.
"Stop," Calder said, stepping in quickly. He examined Eryndor's hand, which was already red and swelling. "You're gripping too tightly. Relax your hands, or you'll hurt yourself."
"I'm fine," Eryndor muttered, though his voice wavered.
"You're not," Calder said firmly, guiding him to sit on a nearby stool. "You're not supposed to be fine, Eryn. This isn't easy work. If it were, everyone would do it."
Eryndor looked away, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "I just want to help. I don't want to slow you down."
"You're not slowing me down," Calder said, his tone softening. "You're learning. And learning means making mistakes."
As the day wore on, Eryndor's confidence slowly returned. Calder showed him how to temper the steel, heating and cooling it in cycles to strengthen the blade. Each step required precision and patience, and though Eryndor's hands still ached, he found himself growing more comfortable with the process.
When the steel was ready, Calder brought out the Abyssal crystals. He placed them on the bench, their faint glow casting intricate patterns on the surface.
"These are the tricky part," Calder said, holding up one of the shards. "They can store energy, but they're fragile. You have to fuse them into the blade carefully, or they'll crack."
Eryndor watched closely as Calder demonstrated. He used a fine chisel to carve shallow grooves into the steel, then carefully set the crystal into place. The shards seemed to hum faintly as they settled into the grooves, their glow pulsing in time with the forge's heat.
"Your turn," Calder said, stepping aside.
Eryndor picked up a smaller shard, his hands trembling slightly. He positioned it over one of the grooves and began tapping it gently into place with a mallet. The shard resisted at first, its edges catching on the steel, but with Calder's guidance, it eventually slid into position.
"Good," Calder said, a note of pride in his voice. "Now seal it with the resin."
By the time they finished, the blade was a work of art. Its surface gleamed with a faint blue hue, the Abyssal crystals embedded along its length glowing softly. Eryndor stared at it, a sense of awe and accomplishment washing over him.
"It's beautiful," he said quietly.
Calder smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's strong, too. And so are you, Eryn. Don't forget that."
Eryndor looked up at his father, his chest swelling with pride. For all the pain and exhaustion, this moment made it worth it. The forge had tested him, but it had also shown him what he was capable of.
That night, as Eryndor lay in bed, the blade resting on the table beside him, he couldn't stop thinking about the day's lessons. The weight of the forge wasn't just in the tools or the materials—it was in the patience, the discipline, and the resolve it demanded.
The ember in his chest burned brighter, a constant reminder of the path he was beginning to forge for himself.
This was only the beginning, and Eryndor was ready for whatever came next.