The moment Aiden's words sank in, my brain kicked into overdrive.
Five days.
That wasn't enough time. Not even close.
I leaned forward, gripping the sword tighter as the weight of it settled into my bones. The blade was still dull in my hands, refusing to resonate the way it was supposed to. The Echo inside me stirred, restless, but incomplete.
Resonance required a catalyst. A weapon attuned to the Echo's frequency. Howl had been crafted specifically for this power—its edge carried the beast's essence, multiplying each strike, turning simple swings into echoes of destruction.
I didn't have Howl.
And five days wasn't enough time to find something that came close.
Aiden watched as I processed the information, his arms still lazily crossed, but I caught the way his gaze sharpened. The amusement in his voice hadn't been for nothing. He'd been testing me, seeing how I'd react.
I exhaled slowly. Getting worked up wouldn't fix anything. I had to move.
I pushed myself to my feet, adjusting my grip on the sword.
"I need a real weapon."
Aiden smirked. "No kidding."
I ignored him, rolling my shoulders, trying to shake the stiffness out of my body. The fight with the Echo had drained me, and I was still feeling the aftershocks of it. The resonance was like an untuned instrument, screeching in my skull when I tried to force it.
If I was going to survive Blackthorn's entrance exam, I had to get this under control.
And that meant finding someone who could help.
I ran through possibilities.
The Demon Realm wasn't exactly full of helpful types, but there were a few places where power could be bought—if you knew where to look. A weaponsmith capable of forging something attuned to an Echo wouldn't be cheap. And I was running on nothing but a stolen crest and whatever Aiden had in his pockets.
Which meant my options were limited.
Aiden let out a low whistle.
"Alright, strategist. You got a plan, or are we just winging it?"
I gave him a look. "We're going to the Scrap Markets."
His brows lifted slightly, but he didn't argue.
The Scrap Markets weren't just a black market, they were the black market. If something was stolen, forbidden, or downright dangerous, it could be found there. Weapons, artifacts, illegal Echo experiments—the works.
I had written about them in passing, a place where criminals and desperate survivors bartered with whatever they had left. It wasn't a place you walked into without knowing the rules.
Lucky for me, I did.
Aiden pushed off the wall.
"Well, shit. This might actually be fun."
I gave him a flat look.
"Try not to get us killed before we get there."
He grinned.
"No promises."
The Scrap Markets thrived in the underbelly of the city, where metal walkways twisted into impossible mazes and rusted pipes hissed steam into the smog-filled air. The deeper we went, the louder the hum of voices became, a murmur of deals being struck and threats being made.
This was where the desperate came to gamble what little they had left.
And right now, I was one of them.
I kept my steps measured, my expression blank. The less you reacted to the chaos around you, the less interesting you became. Aiden, on the other hand, looked perfectly at home, gaze flicking across the different vendors like he was window shopping.
"You're taking this well," I muttered.
He shrugged.
"I like markets."
"Pretty sure half the people here would rob you blind if given the chance."
"Yeah. That's what makes it fun."
I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to the real problem.
Finding a smith willing to work with an unstable Echo wasn't going to be easy. Most of them specialized in reforging existing weapons, not creating something from scratch. And even if I did find one, I had no way to pay.
I scanned the stalls, searching for signs of anything useful. Weapons lined the walls of makeshift booths—blades humming with stolen magic, guns modified with unstable Echo cores. None of them were what I needed.
Then I saw it.
A small forge tucked into the corner of the market, half-hidden behind a wall of scrap metal. The sign above the entrance was barely legible, the name long since worn away. But the weapons displayed at the front caught my attention.
They weren't flashy. No glowing runes, no excessive ornamentation. Just solid craftsmanship. Real weapons, meant to be used, not shown off.
I stepped closer.
Aiden followed, tilting his head.
"This your guy?"
"Maybe."
The forge's owner was an older demon, his skin weathered like tarnished iron, his eyes sharp beneath a heavy brow. He was in the middle of hammering out a blade when he noticed us, his gaze flicking over me first, then to Aiden.
He set his hammer down, leaning against the anvil.
"You looking to buy or waste my time?"
I met his gaze.
"I need a weapon attuned to an Echo."
He snorted.
"Do I look like a miracle worker?"
"No," I said, "but you look like someone who knows how to work with resonance."
His gaze narrowed slightly.
That had caught his attention.
Aiden whistled under his breath.
"Damn. Didn't think you'd go straight for the throat."
I ignored him.
The smith studied me for a long moment, then gestured for me to follow.
"Come inside."
I did, stepping into the warmth of the forge. The air smelled of molten metal and oil, thick with heat.
The smith gestured to the battered sword at my hip.
"Let me see it."
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then unsheathed the blade and set it on the table.
He ran his fingers along the edge, then frowned.
"This thing's dead."
"I know."
He looked up at me, his expression unreadable.
"And you think I can bring it back?"
"I think you can make something better."
A pause. Then, a slow chuckle.
"You've got guts, kid."
I didn't respond. I just watched as he picked up the blade, weighing it in his hands. Then, without warning, he lifted it and brought it down hard against the anvil.
The sword snapped in half.
I didn't flinch.
Aiden, to his credit, only raised an eyebrow.
"Huh. Dramatic."
The smith tossed the broken pieces aside and dusted off his hands. "You want something real? Something that actually works with that Echo of yours?"
I nodded.
He grinned, showing sharp, uneven teeth.
"Then you'd better be ready to work for it."
I exhaled.
Five days.
I had five days to make sure I wasn't walking into Blackthorn unarmed.
No choice but to make it count.
The forge burned hot, the scent of molten metal thick in the air.I watched as the smith tossed the broken remains of my sword into the pile of scrap behind him, like it was just another piece of junk.
To him, maybe it was. To me, it had been a weak attempt at control, one that had failed.
Now, I needed something better.
The old demon crossed his arms, studying me. His eyes had the weight of someone who had seen too many people come asking for miracles and leave disappointed.
"You don't just forge a weapon for an Echo like yours," he said, voice rough as iron. "You make a bond with it. That takes time."
I clenched my jaw. "I don't have time."
He scoffed.
"Then you have a problem."
Aiden let out a low whistle, leaning back against the workbench.
"Tough break."
I ignored him. The smith picked up a pair of tongs, pulling a half-finished blade from the forge. The metal glowed red-hot, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"You know why your Echo's fighting you?"
I didn't answer right away.
Because I had theories.
It wasn't just incomplete. It was waiting for something. A catalyst. A weapon designed to harness its true power.
But even beyond that…I could still hear it.
Faint, buried beneath my own thoughts, but there. A distant resonance, like an unfinished song.
The beast had fought. It had resisted.
Had it been trying to tell me something?
Or had I just stolen something that was never meant to be taken?
The smith watched me, waiting.
"Resonance is a two-way street," he continued when I didn't speak. "A weapon like Howl wasn't just forged—it was grown into its power, just like its wielder."
He tapped the cooling blade with the hilt of his hammer.
"You trying to force it is like shoving a square peg into a round hole."
Aiden snorted.
"That does sound like him."
I shot him a look.
The smith ignored us both.
"You want something that works, I can make it. But you're not gonna like the price."
Of course not.
Nothing in the Demon Realm came cheap.
I exhaled, already bracing myself.
"What do you want?"
The smith's grin was all teeth.
"Labor."
I stared at him.
"...Labor?"
"You want a weapon that'll actually let you use that Echo? You're gonna help me make it."
Aiden chuckled under his breath.
"Oh, this I gotta see."
I ignored him again, eyes locked on the smith.
"How long?"
"Three days."
Not ideal. But it was doable.
"And in return, I get a weapon attuned to my Echo?"
"If you survive the process."
Aiden nudged me with his elbow.
"Sounds like a blast."
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply.
I didn't have time for hesitation.
"Fine," I said.
The smith's grin widened.
"Good. Then grab those tongs."
The next three days were hell.
The forge wasn't just about shaping metal—it was about breaking it down, reforging it into something stronger. And apparently, that applied to me, too.
I learned quickly that the smith wasn't going to do all the work.
I hauled scrap. Sorted through ruined blades for usable materials. Held raw metal to the grindstone until my arms felt like they were going to fall off
.And then there was the resonance testing.
That was the worst part.
Because the smith wasn't just making a sword.
He was forging something to channel my Echo.
Which meant forcing it to respond.
Which meant pain.
Every time I touched the half-formed blade, the Echo flared—wild, unstable, resisting the process as much as it had resisted me. The resonance sent shocks through my nerves, burning from the inside out.But I pushed through it.
Because I had no choice.
By the second day, Aiden had started placing bets with the smith on whether I'd pass out before the night was over.
By the third day, I almost did.
When it was finally done, I barely had the strength to hold it.
The blade rested in my hands, still warm from the forge. It wasn't Howl.
But it was mine.
The resonance was different now. It no longer fought me, it thrummed under my skin, like it was finally listening.
Aiden whistled.
"Damn. You actually survived."
The smith chuckled.
"Barely."
I ignored them, rolling my shoulders. The exhaustion sat heavy in my bones, but I didn't have time to rest.
The entrance exam was in two days.
And I was finally ready.
Maybe.
Probably.
I tightened my grip on the hilt, feeling the power settle into place.
One way or another, I'd find out.