As I stepped in, I was surprised by a cool breeze that swept over me, nothing like the heat I expected from a forge. In one corner, a hearth burned with amber and red flames, and metal glowed white-hot inside. I soon realized why it was so cool: pale blue crystals, each about the size of my fist, were set into the stone walls around the furnace. They pulsed with mana, sending waves of cold air through the room and trapping the heat near the forge.

  Next, I noticed how incredibly organized everything was. Swords lined the western wall in perfect order, from a short sword barely longer than my forearm to a huge claymore that needed two hands to lift. Each one hung from an iron bracket shaped like a dragon’s claw. On a polished oak table, daggers were arranged in neat rows, sorted by blade shape and color. The steel blues, copper reds, and silver whites gleamed under the crystal light above.

  Every tool was exactly where it belonged, and not even a single nail was out of place. The stone floor was spotless, without a trace of coal dust. It looked like someone had cleaned every corner with a toothbrush. The whole place felt more like an alchemist’s lab than the messy workshop I expected from a smithy.

  I proceeded deeper into the shop, my fingers trailing over the weapon handles, feeling the weight and balance of some very impressive pieces. Each weapon’s craftsmanship stood out through its solidity and elegance. When I paused by a battle axe, I ran my thumb along the inlaid golden filigree depicting a roaring bull, its ruby eye fixed on me. I then leaned closer to a longsword and noticed its sapphire-studded hilt pulsed with faint blue light, seemingly from a mana gem.

  But what really caught my eye was a glass cabinet filled with clever hidden weapons. There was an ebony cane with a silver wolf’s head that hid a rapier, a monk’s staff made of polished ashwood with a removable spear tip, and a lady’s fancy hairpin that was sharp enough to be a weapon. One belt buckle, marked with the royal crest of Chogueux, opened up to reveal five slim throwing daggers, just like the one Luciana’s maid had used on an assassin at the Cathedral. I made a mental note to ask them about it later.

  A clank of metal on stone snapped me out of my thoughts. “Hello.” The voice sounded flat and mechanical, almost like a machine. I spun around to find myself face-to-face with what could only be described as… a dwelf?

  Standing perhaps a head taller than me, he possessed the barrel chest and anvil-broad shoulders of dwarven stock, yet lacked their characteristic stoutness. His ears were pointed, like Aunt Estrah’s, sticking out through his black hair. Most striking were his spectacles, thick-lensed, amber-tinted contraptions secured by leather straps, behind which his eyes remained steadfastly fixed on the floor, as if counting each stone there.

  “Hello," I said. "Incredible work. Are you the master here?”

  “Yes. Rules first.” He jabbed his finger toward a board overhead, eyes never meeting mine. It read:

  Rule no.1: I only make high-quality items. Commissions start at eight gold pieces for smaller items.

  Rule no.2: I only sell concealed weapons to people who can present a character reference from the Mercenary Guild or a reputable Noble house.

  Rule no.3: No refunds.

  I glanced back and caught him peeking at me through his amber-tinted spectacles. As soon as our eyes met, he dropped his gaze to the stone floor, rabbit-quick. His calloused, metal-stained hands began fidgeting in front of his leather apron, with his fingers twisting together in a nervous, washing-like motion.

  “No problem on all counts,” I replied. “Your concealed weapons do look mighty interesting. Do you have a preference for a Noble house? I might get you a letter from someone in Chogueux and Veridia.” I offered with a small grin that pulled at the corner of my mouth, the half-jest warming my voice. However, the craftsman seemed to take my question rather seriously. His shoulders tensed beneath his leather apron, the straps creaking as he answered without skipping a beat.

  “I prefer Chogueux,” he said, voice as flat as an anvil’s face. “People in Veridia…” His pointed ears twitched slightly as he paused, “…are mean.”

  I leaned on the polished oak table, making sure not to mess up the neatly arranged daggers. “You mean they’re mean to non-humans? I get it, but my noble friend from there is actually one of the good ones, trust me.”

  His fingers stopped their washing motion, hovering mid-air. “Name?”

  “Lady Luciana de Chastel.”

  He nodded once, a precise movement. “I will remember. Good people are rare.” His gaze drifted to a half-finished hilt on a nearby workbench. “Still prefer Chogueux.” With a sweep of his arm toward the wall of weapons, he asked, “What is your weapon of choice?”

  I pointed to a stack of pole arms hanging right below the ceiling. “I fight with a spear and a pair of short swords. I’m particularly interested in the concealed variety, something I can bring with me to a cathedral or a temple without drawing attention or causing a scene.”

  His amber lenses caught the light as he tilted his head. “Curious example, the Cathedral. There was an attack months ago in town. Many died. Were you involved?”

  I nodded, my jaw tightening as I remembered that day. “My employer was attacked there. We had to defend ourselves.” I ran my finger along a wooden table, feeling its smoothness. “The real reason I brought it up is that I want to study at the Academy and become a priest. Carrying weapons is a necessity to defend myself against an occasional goblin while I travel, or to thwart assassins. However,” I added with a wry smile, “a priest openly carrying steel doesn’t exactly project the serene image of a man of the cloth, if you catch my meaning. I hoped for something that appears to be nothing more than a humble walking staff.”

  The dwelf studied me, eyes careful not to cross with mine. I respectfully turned away my gaze from his. “Type of spear? Wolfkin hunt with javelins, correct?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  He circled me once, his look locked on my shoulders, then my arms, measuring without touching. “Your wrists will thicken. Shoulders broaden. Three more growth spurts, at least.” His fingers twitched in the air, sketching invisible dimensions. “Detachable tip. Replaceable shaft to account for growth. Balance point for throwing…” He tapped his temple. “Twin blades, so perhaps…” He stopped abruptly, eyes widening behind those thick spectacles. “A short sword. Hidden. Both ends. Must be light.”

  He grabbed a sheet of parchment, his movements quick and jerky, never once meeting my gaze. “Future priest, what deity?”

  “Most likely the God of Order, though I’m not…”

  “Doesn’t matter.” His hand was already sketching, charcoal moving with uncanny precision. “You want it. You will get it. They take the strong.” His eyes flicked to my arms, then away. “You look strong… for your age.”

  He hunched over his work, mumbling numbers and measurements. The sketch taking shape beneath his fingers was already more intricate than anything I’d seen in this world thus far. Well, besides Luciana’s orichalcum blade, perhaps. I cautiously bent closer, watching genius unfold in real time.

  After a few moments, he revealed a sketch. It showed a beautiful staff of polished blackwood, inlaid with spiraling silver runes that caught the light even in mere charcoal. At its crown sat a wicked blade, not a short javelin spear tip, but rather a polearm long blade, proportionally similar to a Japanese naginata I’d seen in a museum, yet deadly straight with a single-edged taper. Beside it, he’d drawn a detachable shorter spear tip and an ornate ferrule cast in the shape of the God of Order’s shield. The ferrule was designed to slide over the blade when discretion was needed. Most ingenious of all, a hidden compartment at the base concealed a second, longer blade that could be drawn from within the staff’s hollow core, transforming a priest’s walking staff into an arsenal.

  “This is brilliant. Not something I would call humble, but it is a staff.” I tapped both hidden blades. “How fast could I draw them in a fight?” I asked.

  “Bottom quick. The top takes time. Reinforced to withstand thrust and impact. Complex locking mechanism,” he explained.

  I chewed my lip, picturing the mechanism. “What if the tip and shaft connected like a screw-threaded pipe and a fitting? You know, with spiral grooves that lock together when twisted?” I suggested.

  He blinked rapidly behind his spectacles, head tilting like a curious bird. “A threaded pipe?” he echoed.

  I reached over the workbench, grabbed a piece of parchment, and quickly drew a spiral pattern. "See these raised ridges? The crests are like mountain peaks, while the roots sink into valleys between them. If you carve this ‘external’ thread on the blade’s pommel and the matching ‘internal’ thread inside the staff’s tip…” I traced the lines with my finger as I spoke. “The metal threads would interlock, clamping together with such precision they’d become virtually one piece.” I demonstrated by miming a twisting motion with both hands around an imaginary staff and blade.

  “This way,” I continued, excitement warming my voice, “I could detach the blade with just a few quick turns of my wrist. I could even switch to a spear tip just as quickly to arm an ally in a pinch.” I tapped the parchment. “I could probably whittle you a wooden prototype by tomorrow if you’d like to see it in action.”

  The dwelf leaned closer to my sketch, his calloused fingertip hovering over specific points. “Hmm. Very precise etching required. One mistake here - it will not rotate. Not enough here - it will be flimsy,” he warned.

  “What if you use sand casting to make one piece, then use it to make a matching opposite piece? You could use different metals that don’t stick together when melted. I’m not sure how to explain…” I looked around until I spotted something that might help. It was a war hammer that looked duller and lighter than normal steel, with a silver-grey aluminum tint. “This one, what do you call this metal?”

  “Visible layer is Dwarven steel alloy,” he replied, his voice fading to a reverent whisper.

  “As I thought, it is much lighter than steel… I suspect it is made by smelting regular steel with a certain type of metal, one extracted from bauxite… ah, you know, that reddish clay ore with the texture of wet sand that crumbles between your fingers?”

  His amber lenses flashed as he jerked his head up. “It is one of the components. How do you know this? It is a dwarven secret.”

  “I’ve…" I stalled, silently thanking the gods he wasn’t a dragon. “Read about it somewhere. In a book. Sorry, I devour texts like a starving man at a feast. The knowledge just blends together after a while.”

  The dwelf’s fingers twitched nervously at his collar. “Hmm, many dwarves have left the Mountains. Talented people cannot prosper there anymore.” His voice carried a hint of bitterness. “It was only a matter of time before our secrets were no longer secret.”

  “I guess? Well, it doesn’t matter. If I recognized this correctly, when you melt it and try to combine it with, say, tin, they repel each other like oil and water, right? No matter how hot the crucible?”

  “Yes.” His eyes gleamed with sudden interest behind those thick lenses.

  “So you could sand cast the blade’s threaded pommel from one metal, then pour another metal around it to make a perfect matching shape. The metals would fit together like puzzle pieces but wouldn’t stick. Once they cooled, they’d separate cleanly, a perfect match with no adhesion.”

  “Your explanation is…” His fingers drummed rapidly against his thigh, then suddenly froze. “Wrong. But it gives me an idea. I am curious to try it.” He immediately jumped off, seemingly to work on the project right away.

  “Wait!” I called after him, the heat from the forge washing over my face. “How much will this cost me?”

  He turned, a rare smile cracking his smooth face. “Do not worry. If this technique works, I will give you a big discount for teaching me. It is new and fun.” His eyes sparkled with the fervor of creation. “I want to try it first.”

  Before I knew it, I was helping him, carrying metal ingots and working with him to smelt different alloys until he found the right mix. The dwelf worked with intense focus, his amber glasses reflecting the orange glow of molten metal as we poured it into sand molds. My arms ached from pumping the bellows, and my lungs stung from the metallic smoke.

  When we finally slid the finished rod into place and felt the perfect fit of the threads, the dwelf broke into a rare grin that completely changed his face. Considering we didn’t have any of the power tools I was used to back on Earth, it was an amazing achievement.

  He wiped his soot-covered hands with a towel that seemed to appear out of nowhere, then wrote a number on a scrap of parchment next to the sketch of my future weapon. The price made my stomach clench, nearly half the reward I got from Luciana, and that was with the discount! The coins would make a considerable pile if stacked. Actually, I don’t think it was possible to stack that many coins. They’d probably fall over. Still, I agreed. I was essentially getting three amazing weapons for that price.

  “You carry a magic ring,” he said, squinting at my hand where the band glinted. “Are you mana sensitive?”

  “Yes, why do you ask?”

  His fingers twitched excitedly. “Good. I will embed mana crystals here.” He tapped the sketch where God’s shield ferrule curved. “Lightning power. Not enough to kill. To stun. Good option for a future priest to have. For killing…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I will embed something else in both blades.”

  “You know you’re amazing, right?” I said in genuine awe.

  The dwelf’s shoulders hunched slightly, his gaze dropping to the workbench where metal shavings caught the light like fallen stars. “Dragons are amazing. They can work with orichalcum. I do what I can,” he murmured, voice mild beneath the forge’s dying crackle.

  I wiped a streak of soot from my brow, “You know, we worked together all day, but I still don’t know your name. I am Zar.” I bowed my head slightly, keeping my hands at my sides, knowing full well the dwelf’s aversion to physical contact.

  “Wyn,” he responded with the same measured nod, his slender fingers already arranging his tools in perfect alignment along the workbench. “Come back in two weeks. Your weapon will be ready. Do not forget the letter from Chogueux.”

  While I could almost feel the phantom weight of my new weapon in my palm, Wyn’s meticulous craftsmanship demanded patience. Besides, another thing was keeping me preoccupied for now. The Morne Grand Academy examination day was barreling toward me with the unstoppable momentum of a crossbow bolt, leaving my nights sleepless and my days filled with frantic last-minute practice and studying.

  Next chapter, we are going to the Academy. Woohoo!