Cane exhaled slowly, relief settling over him. Crafting Dhalia's healing focal had been a meticulous, exhausting task—but one that taught him more than any class ever could. He'd gained valuable insight into essence-channeling and artifact construction. When Dhalia eventually found a material better suited than black silver, he knew he could craft something even greater.
A heavy smack jolted him from his thoughts.
Brammel's thick hand landed on the workbench like a thunderclap. "Check it out."
Cane reached for the hammer resting on the table. He lifted it carefully, testing its balance, then ran his fingers along the polished head. It was pure dwarf silver—melted down, purified, and reforged through countless refining passes. The handle was bone, but not just any bone—it was warm in his hands, thrumming with faint magic.
"The handle's Ice Gryphon bone," Brammel said proudly. "Not as rare as Starmetal, but rare nonetheless. You adding any special runes?"
Cane shook his head. "Just a replicator rune. No catalysts or conduits—I'll draw power directly from my own essence."
Brammel snorted. "Try not to turn yourself into an ice cube this time."
Cane smirked. "Noted."
He closed his eyes and focused, letting his mind slip into the silver. The brightness of the metal surrounded him, brilliant and clean—but something was... off.
"What the—"
A sudden weight slammed into his back.
He staggered, mentally tumbling through layers of the metal's structure. The silver was resisting him—sluggish, chaotic. He twisted, his inner vision swirling, and shouted: "Divide!"
The silver fragmented—once, then again, then into a thousand floating pieces. Like snow. Like glitter in still air.
But still something moved.
A sharp screech cut through the stillness. Cane dodged instinctively, then grabbed hold of the blur as it passed.
An ice gryphon.
It coalesced in front of him—feathers white as snow, wings wide and shimmering, its beak a dagger of gleaming silver. It stared at him with piercing blue eyes.
"How long have you been hiding in this hammer?" Cane asked, voice steady.
The beast lunged. Its beak punctured his shoulder—hot pain blossomed, and he felt blood trickle down his side.
"CANE!"
Brammel's voice echoed from somewhere distant.
"I'm fine," Cane shouted. "Leave this to me!"
The gryphon circled again, wings crackling with frost. Cane took a breath and stood tall.
"I've read about spirits like you. You're a splinter—a lingering echo of the original creature's soul. That blast of ice you hit me with? That was your full strength. Even that beak strike—already drained you."
He took a step forward. "You know how this ends. I could break you. Right now. Or I could toss this hammer into the forge and let fire destroy what's left of you."
The gryphon hissed—but didn't move.
"You've felt it, haven't you?" Cane continued. "My glacial essence. That's what you want. That's why you're awake."
He held out a steady hand.
"I'm not here to erase you. I'm here to complete you. Let me give you a new purpose. Join with me. Share your strength. Together, we'll make things—wonderous things."
The gryphon tilted its head. Its feathers shimmered faintly. Slowly, it stepped forward.
Cane reached out, and his fingers brushed the creature's downy chest.
They stared at each other—two beings made of frost and memory. And then... recognition passed between them.
"Accept my gift of ice," Cane whispered, "and add it to your own."
The gryphon bowed its head. Yesss...
Cane smiled and closed his eyes.
He willed his glacial essence forward, into the core of the hammer—into the waiting residual soul of the gryphon. It accepted the offering eagerly, settling within the cold chamber like a creature finding home.
Moments later, Cane opened his eyes.
Blood trickled from his shoulder, but he barely noticed.
The hammer glowed with a pale blue light. Its surface shimmered with frost, and at its center—etched in subtle relief—was the proud figure of an ice gryphon, wings flared wide, beak parted in a silent cry.
It pulsed in his grip. Alive.
Brammel studied the hammer, scratching his cheek and letting out a short chuckle. "Where'd that come from?"
"Gonna tell Telamon," Cane teased, grinning as the dwarf's expression tensed.
Brammel looked suddenly alert. "Wait—seriously?"
Cane laughed. "It's fine. Just a splinter of the gryphon's soul. It tried to skewer me before we had a little... chat. I was too busy dodging to add the replicator rune."
"You gonna do it now?"
Cane shook his head. "I'll let him settle in first."
Brammel folded his arms. "You planning to put that hammer to use, then?"
"I am. There's a blacksmith in town—quiet type. We have... mutual friends. I'm sure we can come to an arrangement. I hear he's very skilled."
"The masked blacksmith?" Brammel raised an eyebrow, waving Dhalia over. "I've seen some of his work. Top quality."
Cane smiled faintly but didn't comment.
Dhalia approached, eyebrows lifting as she saw the hammer—then she noticed Cane rolling his shoulder and removing his shirt.
"Looks like I'm your first patient," he said, revealing a clean, shallow cut running six inches down his shoulder.
Dhalia's eyes widened. "How did you get injured in here?"
"Residual Ice Gryphon spirit," Cane replied casually.
She looked like she wanted to clap her hands. "This is so exciting."
Cane arched an eyebrow. "Exciting?"
A warm glow bloomed across Dhalia's hand. "This might pinch a little," she warned, though she was clearly enjoying herself.
Cane laughed, closing his eyes as a pleasant warmth wrapped around the wound. The sensation was almost soothing—like sunlight melting away pain. "Thanks for sticking around."
"My first heal," Dhalia beamed. "I'm so proud."
Cane opened one eye. "Shouldn't you be sad that I was injured?"
"Yes," she said instantly. "I'm very sad."
Cane rolled his eyes. "Grinning when you say that makes me think otherwise."
**
Cane made his way back to Seven Hall, barely escaping Dhalia's grateful orbit. She seemed entirely content to thank him half a dozen times for the focal—each more animated than the last.
After grabbing a clean shirt to replace the one torn open by a gryphon's beak, he headed toward the Academy's front gate—then veered off, taking the familiar ocean path that curved toward the edge of town.
His thoughts were already drifting ahead. Dhalia was set. That left the fourth member of their would-be expedition team: Clara.
He pulled out the blueprint she'd copied for him and studied it as he walked. Her design was unlike Dhalia's. No metallic casing or catalyst housing. This one required wood essence—specifically, a seed called Guayanar.
"There's an auction house in the Capital," Cane muttered. "I'll check prices first. No use wasting time if it costs... what was it? A thousand plat?" He winced. "Yeah. That."
As he reached the rocky outcrop above the forge, he paused, shed his robes, and slipped into a sleeveless shirt. He pressed the mask into place—sliding effortlessly into his alter ego.
Jonas Ironfist, the masked blacksmith, was back.
A carriage sat near the forge when he arrived. Polished wood, gilded trim. Trouble.
"What can I do for you?" Cane asked, his Highland brogue rolling the words out like gravel over velvet.
A man leaned out the carriage window, wincing as if the air offended him. "Nothing. I detest this place. It's ugly. Filthy. Ugh—oh heavens—you're masked."
The voice was high-pitched and shrill enough to flinch birds out of nearby trees.
Cane tilted his head, assessing. Expensive clothes. Soft frame. Pursed lips. Sour expression.
Yep. Pampered.
"Yes," Cane said slowly. "I have a mask. You should be grateful I wear it—my scars would give you nightmares. Want to see?"
"NONONO." The man's reply came so fast it sounded like one panicked word.
Cane almost laughed. He paused, recalling Jonas's old wisdom: Give every man respect, until he earns otherwise.
"You came here for a reason," Cane said instead. "I'm good at solving problems. Try me."
Grumbling, the man stepped out of the carriage and followed him toward the forge.
"I need a bow," he announced.
Cane blinked. "...Call me Jonas."
"Eli."
"I'm a blacksmith, Eli. I don't make bows."
Eli's face twisted as if he might cry. "I'm being forced to go hunting. With my stepfather and idiot brother."
"So don't go."
"I have to," Eli huffed. "It's our annual 'laugh-at-Eli' bonding ritual. They drag me into the woods and spend the whole time making fun of me."
"Easy fix," Cane said. "Practice your archery."
"I don't need practice, dimwit. I'm a fantastic shot."
Cane was glad his mask hid the grin spreading across his face. "Then what's the problem?"
"My arrows bounce off. The game just runs away."
"Bounce off?" Cane frowned. "Let me see your bow."
Rather than retrieve it himself, Eli turned toward the carriage and shrieked, "Driver! Bring it!"
Cane sighed. "Seriously? It's like... six meters away."
The driver handed over a velvet-lined case. Eli took it with a sniff and passed it to Cane.
Inside was a fine-looking recurve bow with an elegant curve and... very little pull weight. The arrows were target tips—pointed, yes, but not enough to pierce anything with a thick hide. Or fur. Or attitude.
"Can you help me?" Eli asked.
"Is that the strongest draw you can manage?"
Eli nodded. "You gonna tease me for being weak?"
"No," Cane said, his tone softening. "I'm going to help you—for having the guts to ask."
Eli blinked. "Oh. Well... thank you."
Cane examined the arrows again. "Did a fletcher do these?"
"My father's fletcher. Stepfather, technically. My real father died in the war."
"I'm sorry."
Cane removed the arrows from the case and set them aside. "I'll reforge proper heads. Come back tomorrow, pick them up at the Academy."
"You won't finish tonight?"
"I'll do the base work. There's a metallurgist at the Academy who can finish them off. Someone I trust."
"That's perfect! We're meeting at the Academy. My stepfather's nephew is a professor there—Arven, I think?"
Cough. Cough.
"You okay?"
Cane waved it off. "Fine. Pick them up at Tower Seven. Room 312."
Eli nodded. "Do I pay him or you?"
"Pay him."
"And his name?"
" Name's Cane. He's young. Handsome. Bit of a prodigy, I guess."
"Is he going to tease me? Young guys always tease me."
Cane's voice was soft behind the mask. "No way. He's not like that."
He watched Eli return to his carriage and ride off, leaving the case behind.
Cane turned to the forge, chuckling as he began melting down steel for proper arrowheads.
"Someone set that kid up," he muttered. "Target tips? On a hunting trip? That's not clumsy—that's cruel."
He paused, considering his next step.
"Ice runes would make these deadly—but Cane's the one known for ice magic. That's too on the nose. No one's gonna believe there's two of us."
But then he smiled.
He could do the smithing. Recommend the customer visit "the metallurgist" for elemental enhancements.
"After today," Cane said, setting his tools into motion, "they'll start paying both of us."
He smirked to himself.
"Or... both of me."
**
"Thirty shouldn't take long," Cane muttered, placing a row of reheaded arrows on the workbench. He reached for his newest hammer—the ice-infused one.
"Think I'm gonna call you something simple..." He turned the tool in his hands, watching the faint blue gleam pulse along its surface. "How about Blue? Hm? You like it?"
A faint thrum of energy hummed through the grip.
"Great. Blue it is."
He smiled and bent over his work, tapping the first arrowhead with surgical precision. A single rune. A single tap. Frost energy rippled through the steel.
"That was easy. Next one."
Cane made short work of the ice runes, finishing the batch in record time before heading back up to Seven Hall.
"Hey."
Sofie stood in the hall cradling the squirming shadow pup. It growled playfully before she set it down—where it immediately began attacking Cane's boots.
Cane chuckled, hugged her, then scooped the pup into his arms as he unlocked his door. "Thanks for taking care of her. I'll figure out something better soon."
With his schedule, the pup would be kenneled too long every day. Sofie had been keeping her at her family's house in the meantime.
"No need," Sofie said, waving it off. "My Da loves this thing. Built her a proper pen and everything. Takes her everywhere. I swear he thinks she's a dog."
Cane laughed. "Thank him for me."
They sat cross-legged on the floor, playing with the pup until she tired out and curled up on Cane's legs like a contented ball of shadows.
"Gonna have to name her," Cane murmured, gently shifting her to the side.
Sofie blushed. "My Da named her... Tazi."
He grinned. "Tazi it is."
"I should take her back. I've got the day off tomorrow, so I'm staying at my parents' place."
Cane stood with her, accepting a one-armed hug as he walked her to the door.
"I'll come visit if you don't have plans."
Sofie paused, staring briefly at the floor. "Would you... come for dinner?"
"I'd love to."
Her whole face lit up. "Okay. See you tomorrow." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and hurried down the stairs, her steps light.
Cane groaned when the knock came—an hour before dawn.
Still shirtless and half-asleep, he slipped into trousers and opened the door.
"Heavens, put some clothes on," Eli blurted, shielding his eyes with one hand.
Cane couldn't help a tired chuckle. "You must be Eli."
He stepped aside, grabbed the arrow case, and handed it over. "Thirty arrowheads, reforged and rune-marked with frost. That'll be 230 gold."
Eli hesitated, then began counting coins with the kind of slow, careful focus that said he didn't do this often.
"These'll work well?"
"They'll do more than that," Cane said, accepting the payment. "Good hunting, Mr. Eli."
Eli nodded, clutching the case like it was priceless. "Oh. Thank you, Cane. Take care."
The hallway emptied as quickly as it had filled, leaving Cane in the quiet again.
He shut the door and sighed. Maybe—maybe—he could sneak another hour of sleep before classes.