After the emotional send-off of the deploying graduates, Cane returned briefly to his room. He dropped off a few things, took a moment to center himself, then crossed the hall and knocked once on Fergis's door.
From inside came the telltale sounds of cursing, coughing, and something collapsing.
"It's open!" Fergis wheezed.
Cane stepped into what looked like the aftermath of a small explosion. Smoke hazed the air. A scorched kite shield leaned against the wall, still faintly steaming. Fergis stood beside it, shirt half-singed, a crooked grin on his face, and a pair of charred tongs in hand.
"I was this close to getting the rebound charm right," Fergis said, waving a sooty hand at the shield like it had betrayed him.
Cane didn't comment. Instead, he set his satchel down carefully on the floor and knelt to unzip it. "Feel like working on something?"
Fergis turned. His brow furrowed in curiosity—then vanished behind an enormous grin as Cane gently lifted the object from his bag and placed it on the floor between them.
The metal sphere thudded softly, weighty and dark. A faint shimmer of engraved lines traced one hemisphere—at the center, a small flame emblem glowed faintly red.
Fergis inhaled, reverent. "Is that...?"
Cane nodded.
"Ordinance," Fergis whispered, saying the word like it belonged in a hymnal.
"Sixteen-pound steel cannonball," Cane said. "With a bound explosive rune."
Fergis's eyes widened, almost glowing in the haze. "Where'd you get this?"
Cane smirked. "I have my ways."
The fire mage circled the cannonball slowly, hands behind his back like an appraiser at a rare art exhibit.
"You know how they make these?" Cane asked.
Fergis's grin faltered slightly. "Yeah. They trap a grade one fire wisp. Seal it in molten steel before it can burn its way out. Creates a volatile mana matrix and one hell of a boom."
"Elegant," Cane said.
"Brutal," Fergis replied. "Useful. But the process doesn't exactly scream consent."
"That's why," Cane said quietly, "I want to release it."
Fergis blinked. "Release the fire wisp?"
Cane nodded.
"Not just take it apart?"
"No. Let it go."
Fergis's grin returned, sharper now—tinged with danger and delight. "You're serious?"
"All we need," Cane said, "is a half-decent fire mage."
"And someone with a dangerous level of metallurgy knowledge," Fergis finished, practically vibrating now.
Cane gestured between them. "Where would we find two heroes like that?"
Fergis wiggled his eyebrows. "You know, I hear two live dangerously close together. Right across the hall, in fact."
Cane leaned back on his heels, cracking his knuckles. "Let's make a plan."
"I have a temporary containment crystal I was given for our electric eel experiment in Water Element class tomorrow," Cane added, tapping the satchel again. "I'll use that to hold the wisp after it's freed—just long enough to release him outside the Academy grounds."
Fergis leaned forward, intrigued. "That could work… but then what are you going to use for the electric eel?"
Cane shrugged with all the casual confidence of a man who routinely solves problems involving volatile spirits. "I'll figure something else out. Professor Selene rewards creativity."
Cane retreated to his room just long enough to shed his robes in favor of the leather apron he used during metallurgy work. With the containment crystal tucked safely in one hand, he stepped back into Fergis's room.
Fergis was pacing, deep in thought. "I'm all in favor of doing it here, but shouldn't we head to the Metallurgy shop? You'll need your tools to open the cannonball."
Cane sat cross-legged on the floor, placing the sphere between them. "No, I won't. I'm going to ask it to open."
Fergis blinked. "Like I do with fire?" He paused. "Can you really do that with metal?"
Cane shrugged. "It's a recent acquirement. But yeah. It's possible."
"How recent?"
"Yesterday," Cane said with a grin.
Fergis gave him a blank stare. Cane chuckled. "Just worry about the flame wisp."
Fergis nodded and slid the crystal closer to the cannonball. He extended a hand, letting his senses sink into the enchanted flame sealed within. His brow furrowed. "Poor guy—oh, sorry, poor girl. She's scared. Weakened."
Cane placed a hand gently on the sphere's surface. He reached inward, past the cold steel shell, until his mind met the metal's inner structure. Slowly, the cannonball rose between them, weightless and silent.
"I've grasped the flames," Fergis said quietly. "Ready?"
"New to this, remember? Gimme a second."
Cane focused. His will sank deeper, slipping into the layers of alloyed steel—complex lattices designed to resist tampering, etched with notches meant to confuse magical senses. They all parted at his touch.
"I'm freeing her now."
The moment the words left his mouth, the sphere cracked with a hollow thunk—and exploded in light.
A concussive blast launched both boys across the room. Fergis slammed into his desk; Cane hit the opposite wall and crumpled face-first to the floor. The room filled with thick, greasy black smoke.
Cane gasped, struggling to breathe. Fergis coughed violently, waving the air with one arm as if it would help.
Then, with a soft pop, a tear in the air opened near the ceiling.
A silver-bearded figure stepped neatly through—robes fluttering, expression delighted.
"Ah. Smoke," said Nos. "Just what I need. Can I have it?"
Fergis hacked out a lung. "What?!"
"Trade," Cane rasped from the floor. "Make us a rune that converts electricity into heat."
Nos smiled. "Done."
The smoke vanished with a sound like air being slurped through a straw. It funneled out the open door in a perfect stream, leaving the room spotless. A piece of parchment floated gently down from the air, landing between the two boys.
Cane turned his head just in time to see the door slam shut behind Nos with a sharp click.
They lay in silence for a beat.
Fergis was the first to speak. "One day I'm going to figure out how to lock Nos out."
Cane tried not to laugh at the absolute disaster that was now Fergis's room, but it was difficult. "Where's the crystal?"
Fergis held it up. The small crystal glowed brightly in his hand, flickering with orange-gold light. His expression was equal parts satisfaction and nervous dread. "Good news is—I got it."
"And the bad?"
"It's temporary," Fergis replied.
"How temporary?"
Fergis winced. "Hmm… ten minutes."
Cane snatched the crystal. "Perfect."
Then he was gone—sprinting to his room, grabbing his satchel, and bolting down the stairs. "Just enough time."
"Enough time for what?" Fergis shouted after him, hurrying to follow at a trot.
"Can't say. Trust me on this—I know a guy."
Fergis stopped dead. "I know a guy? What does that even mean?!"
But Cane was already out the gates.
He followed the winding trail that led down to the ocean path, boots pounding the packed earth. As he neared the outcropping of rock overlooking the coast, he skidded to a stop, yanked off his robe, and swapped it for a sleeveless shirt. From his satchel, he pulled a smooth black mask and slid it into place—once more becoming Jonas Ironfist, the masked blacksmith.
His lungs burned with effort as he charged down the narrow trail to the forge. The structure sat quiet, half-rebuilt, the stone chimney still trailing a thin ribbon of smoke from the morning's work.
Inside, the forge had faded to glowing embers.
Cane didn't hesitate.
He threw open the coal bin, scattered a fresh bed of charcoal, and worked the bellows with practiced efficiency. The forge's breath came alive again—low and slow at first, then building into something deeper, something that rumbled.
He placed both hands over the forge's mouth and closed his eyes, sinking his will into the rising heat. The iron beneath his touch welcomed him—no resistance now. Only connection.
From the coals, thick iron bars rose like vines, curving to form a cage around the restless flame that pulsed at the heart of the forge.
It had form now.
A coiled, smoldering beast of smoke and fire, too weak to lash out but aware—watchful. Its ember eyes opened and locked on Cane.
"You're done roaming," Cane said softly.
He'd read once, in an ancient volume, of named forges—a forgotten practice. The idea had lodged itself in his thoughts ever since. A forge lit each morning and left to die at night was a new thing every day. Chaotic. Unrooted. But what if a flame had a name? A spirit? A home?
Wouldn't that forge become more than heat and metal?
Wouldn't its creations echo with permanence?
He raised the glowing crystal.
Then, slowly, he lowered it into the flames.
At once, the beast recoiled, heat flaring violently—but Cane was already shifting the iron cage into a door. A pathway. A welcome.
The wild flame twisted, shrieking—not in pain, but in surprise.
And then—
She stepped forward.
A figure no taller than his hand, wrapped in golden fire, wings of flickering light extending from her back. The forge hushed. Even the coals seemed to bow.
She reached out, placing a hand against the bars, and the metal parted around her like water.
Cane could feel his skin prickle, heat washing across him like a summer wind, not searing—warming. She turned to face him, fire flickering in her eyes.
Her voice entered his mind—gentle and melodic, not words but meaning.
"My name is Chimi."
The flames around her curled and shimmered, then danced upward into the rafters. "This forge will be my home."
Cane watched, transfixed.
"I shall call this abode of steel…
Resolute."
The word echoed in the air as if the forge itself had accepted it. From beneath the coals, a low tone rang out—metal and flame, in harmony. The walls of the forge glowed faintly, runes forming where none had existed before.
Cane exhaled, heart thudding, sweat lining his brow.
He knew, deep in his bones, that nothing forged here would ever be ordinary again.