The forge was alive with heat and motion as Eryndor worked diligently, his focus narrowing to the blade he was shaping. Calder stood nearby, observing quietly, his arms crossed. Today was different. Calder had given Eryndor a task unlike any before: crafting something entirely his own, from start to finish.
"Every craftsman remembers their first true creation," Calder had told him earlier. "Not just repairs or assisting someone else, but something you build with your own hands and ideas. It won't be perfect, but it will be yours."
Eryndor had felt a mix of excitement and dread. This was his chance to prove that he was more than a helper or an apprentice. He could already feel the weight of the task pressing on his shoulders.
He began with a small piece of dark-resistant steel, one of the lighter scraps Calder had set aside for him. It wasn't much, but Eryndor had learned that even the humblest materials could be turned into something worthwhile with the right technique.
He worked methodically, heating the steel until it glowed a deep red before placing it on the anvil. The hammer felt heavier in his hands today, but he didn't let that stop him. His strikes were deliberate, each one guided by the mental image he had of the finished blade.
"What's it going to be?" Calder asked after a while, breaking the silence.
"A carving knife," Eryndor said, his voice tight with concentration. "Something practical. We always need more of those."
Calder nodded approvingly. "Good choice. Start with what's useful. You'll never go wrong that way."
As the hours passed, the blade began to take shape. It was smaller than the weapons Calder usually forged, but its simplicity was deceptive. Eryndor focused on balancing the weight and ensuring the edge would be sharp enough to carve through wood or leather.
When it came time to temper the blade, Eryndor hesitated. This was the most delicate part of the process, and any mistake could ruin the steel. He glanced at Calder, who gave him a small nod but didn't step in to help.
Taking a deep breath, Eryndor lowered the blade into the oil, watching as the steel hissed and smoked. He counted the seconds in his head, his pulse quickening. When he finally pulled the blade out, it gleamed with a faint blue sheen—a sign that the tempering had been successful.
By the time Eryndor finished, the forge was quieter, the fire reduced to embers. He held the knife in his hands, turning it over to inspect his work. It wasn't perfect—the handle was a bit uneven, and there were small nicks in the blade—but it was functional.
"It's done," he said, his voice a mix of pride and exhaustion.
Calder walked over, taking the knife from him. He turned it in his hands, testing its weight and running his thumb along the edge. After a moment, he handed it back with a small smile.
"It's rough," he said honestly, "but it's solid. You've got a good foundation here, Eryn. Well done."
Eryndor's chest swelled with pride. He knew it wasn't flawless, but hearing those words from Calder meant everything.
That evening, as they sat by the fire, Calder handed Eryndor a small block of wood. "Go on," he said. "Test it out."
Eryndor took the block and the knife, carefully carving into the wood. The blade cut cleanly, the sound of shavings falling to the floor filling the room. It felt good—like he had created something real, something useful.
"You know," Calder said, his voice thoughtful, "this is how it starts. One blade. One tool. You build on it, piece by piece, until you've made something remarkable."
Eryndor nodded, his grip tightening on the knife. For the first time, he felt like he was truly part of the forge, not just an observer or an apprentice.
As the fire crackled and the knife's edge glinted in the light, Eryndor made a silent promise to himself. This was just the beginning. There would be more blades, more tools, more creations—and one day, he would forge something truly extraordinary.
The ember in his chest burned brighter, steady and sure, as if echoing that promise.