Cane returned to Tower Seven, his mood light after the day's outing with Sofie. As he slid his key into the door, something caught the edge of his vision.
"What the…" he murmured.
Across the hall, Fergis gave a small, resigned wave. "Hey Cane. How's things?"
Cane blinked. Fergis was suspended a few feet above the floor, pinned against the hallway wall by a dense lattice of spiderwebs, his arms partially bound but not his mouth—fortunately.
"Locking this image in my mind for future use," Cane said, stepping forward slowly. His eyes scanned the floor and walls for signs of magical tampering. "He placed the rune on the door?"
"Yep," Fergis groaned. "Spider rune. Classic Nos move. I could've burned myself free, but…"
Cane tilted his head, smirking. "But?"
"I'm holding my assignment binder under the webbing. And I've already used the 'I burned my homework' excuse three times this cycle."
"'Burned my homework.'" Cane nodded thoughtfully. "Mind if I borrow that one?"
"Be my guest. Though coming from someone who can barely light a match, it might not land."
Cane unshouldered his satchel and withdrew Blue, the newly named hammer infused with glacial essence. Fergis's eyes widened instantly.
"Brother," he said quickly. "You wouldn't turn me into an ice cube… right?"
Cane grinned. "I think you've suffered enough for one day."
He knelt beside the edge of the webbing and began tapping carefully. Each strike of Blue released a flash of cold that froze the strands solid. The spider silk, weak to both heat and ice, turned brittle under the intense cold and shattered cleanly on contact.
Within minutes, the hallway was littered with cubes of frozen webbing, and Fergis stood free, rubbing circulation back into his arms.
"Thanks," he said, stretching with a groan. "I owe you one."
"Perfect," Cane said, returning Blue to his satchel. "The town's Summer Festival is next week. Sofie's invited a friend to come with us. I figured it'd be better as a group of four."
Fergis raised a hand before Cane could finish. "Say no more. I'm in."
They stepped into Cane's room just as the door clicked shut and the psi rune on the wall pulsed with soft light and chimed.
Cane reached out, tracing the activation lines with a finger. A familiar, gravel-edged voice filled the air.
"Cane! Feel like a day trip to the capital tomorrow?" Brammel's dwarven brogue crackled through the rune.
Fergis perked up immediately, grinning and pointing to himself. Me too, he mouthed with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Cane smirked. "Sure. Can I bring my assistant?"
Fergis's face dropped into a scowl as he froze mid-mime.
"Ya mean Fergis? Sure. Meet at Telamon's office tomorrow, 8 a.m. Don't be late."
The rune dimmed with a quiet chime as the connection ended.
Cane tossed his satchel onto the bed and turned just in time to see Fergis glowering, arms folded across his chest like an offended cat.
"Assistant?" he said, voice dripping with betrayal.
Cane shrugged, unbothered. "Would you prefer sidekick?"
Fergis jabbed a finger toward him. "You're the sidekick!"
"Pretty sure the sidekick wields a 'one and done' spell called Balefire."
"Yeah? Well, I'm sure the assistant walks around with a hammer named Blue. That's not even a scary name."
"It's poetic," Cane said defensively.
"It's adorable," Fergis corrected, deadpan.
They stared at each other for a beat—then cracked into laughter.
"Been a while since I was home," Fergis said, leaning against the wall as Cane organized his satchel.
Cane glanced up. "You're from the capital?"
"Dorthen's Circle. An elite part of the upper city." Fergis's tone shifted—snide, clipped, and just a bit grating. It was clear he didn't share the pride usually tied to that address.
Cane chuckled. "Singed a few eyebrows on the way out?"
"Quite a few," Fergis agreed with a smirk.
"Any idea what the day trip's for?"
"Brammel mentioned something about an auction a few days ago," Cane said, tightening the strap on his satchel. "He and Telamon were planning to attend. As far as I knew, I wasn't on the guest list."
Fergis rubbed his hands together. "An auction. We're moving up, Assistant."
Cane shook his head. "One of us is… sidekick."
"I have a research project to do if we're going on a day trip tomorrow," Fergis said with a sigh. He walked to the door, dragging his feet with exaggerated dread. "Guess I'll get it done tonight."
Cane nodded. "I'm going to clean up and head to the metallurgy shop. Might as well prep a few pieces to put up for auction if I get the chance."
Contrary to what he'd told Fergis, Cane didn't head for the Academy's metallurgy shop. Instead, he made his way toward the coastal trail, intent on using the Resolute forge and Blue. He didn't have the time—or the patience—to switch back and forth between his masked blacksmith and Academy artificer identities.
He stepped off the ocean trail at the usual rock cropping, stashing his robe behind the stones. With practiced ease, he pulled on a sleeveless shirt, tied back his hair, and pressed the mask into place. A moment later, Jonas Ironfist emerged from the rocks, humming with a deep, gravel-edged voice that sounded nothing like Cane's.
"Feed me…" came Chimi's voice, eager and bright. The forge pulsed with delight at his approach.
"We're using the good stuff tonight, Chim," Cane replied, grabbing the shovel.
He filled it from the second bin—coke, a high-grade fuel he'd ordered recently. The flame hissed in pleasure as he fed it into the heart of the forge.
Without wasting time, Cane laid out four silver bars onto the bench. Not Brammel's purified dwarf silver—this was plain, unrefined stock. Good enough to test a theory.
"I've never used metallurgy to try and refine metals," he muttered, holding up a bar and inspecting it. "But it should work."
He closed his eyes, extended his senses, and submerged into the metal.
An image flashed—a mountain stream, a man panning in knee-deep water. Then the scene dissolved, replaced by a slow swirl of silver, cool and flowing all around him.
The metal remembers.
Cane pushed deeper, cataloging every impurity like flecks of sand in a pan. As his focus tightened, the silver began to pull inward, responding to his command, while the waste matter slid outward, separating itself like oil from water.
After several minutes, he exhaled and opened his eyes.
"Gross."
His hands were coated in a black, oily sludge—gunk, for lack of a better word. The kind of stuff you'd expect to find clogging drains, not hiding in silver. Wiping his hands on a rag, he slid the now-purified bar into the forge.
With the method clear, the next three bars went twice as fast.
As they heated in the heart of Resolute, Cane turned toward his next task.
Grunting with effort, he wrestled a sheet of cobalt steel onto the workbench, its dark blue surface catching the forge light. He braced his hands on either side, cracked his neck, and muttered:
"Let's make something worthy of auction."
Cutting four-meter-long strips of cobalt, Cane set the rest aside and grabbed the first piece. Most smiths didn't bother purifying tougher metals like cobalt—too much effort, too little gain. But Cane had other ideas.
Discovered as a byproduct of copper and nickel mining, cobalt's strength and durability surpassed steel. It was a critical component in Cane's plans to develop a new alloy—something unbreakable, light, and magically receptive.
He pressed his fingers to the metal and sank into it.
A swirl of blurred images flashed through his mind—chaotic, murky, and dense. Compared to silver, the cobalt could only be called… filthy.
Using the same process as before, Cane cataloged the impurities and began forcing them out. It was more difficult, the resistance greater, but his focus held. Slowly, the metal began to yield.
When he opened his eyes a few minutes later, he blinked at the strange substance coating his hands.
Instead of the black sludge from before, his fingers were slick with a white, pungent grease—thick and viscous, like spoiled lard.
Give… Give…
Chimi's voice echoed in his head, pleading.
"Really?" Cane said aloud, raising an eyebrow. "You want this?"
Give…
He shrugged, scraping most of the gunk into a metal scrap tray before tossing it into the heart of the forge. Resolute pulsed instantly, flames brightening as Chimi let out a delighted hum.
"You can't be serious, Chimi. That tastes good?"
The forge flared in response.
"I should try something else, then…"
He grabbed another cobalt strip and slid it into the forge, maintaining his grip on one end. The heat surged, but Cane ignored it as he submerged his senses again.
"I better hurry," he muttered. "Or I'll end up cooking my hands."
Under Resolute's heat, the purification process moved faster—impurities fleeing like mist before a gale. Chimi began humming again. Then singing.
Encouraged, Cane tried something new.
"Metal bends to my will," he whispered. "I was able to change the properties of water... I should be able to do the same with metal."
He focused on the metal's growing temperature, tracing the source—magnetic resonance, humming at the edges of heat. With precision, he reversed the inductance of the portion beneath his fingers, isolating the shift while letting the rest of the bar remain untouched.
The heat cooled. The metal obeyed.
A few minutes later, Cane pulled the cobalt from the forge. Its surface gleamed in the firelight—pure beyond measure, every trace of corruption burned away.
Resolute Cobalt.
He grinned behind the mask.
"Now we're getting somewhere."
Now came Cane's favorite part—the smithing.
The heating. The hammering. The folding.
Switching to his adamantium hammer, he set to work.
The forge pulsed as the steady rhythm of metal on metal echoed across the coastline. Sparks flared in all directions with each strike, as Cane flattened and folded the Resolute Salt over and over. The process was painstaking, deliberate—each pass strengthening the alloy, layering it into something worthy of myth.
Once the core was complete, Cane began shaping the sword.
No frills. No fanfare. Just clean, efficient lines and lethal intent.
It was well past midnight when he finally moved to the grinding wheel, sharpening the edge with methodical precision. For the hilt, he used bone, bleached and sanded smooth. The handguards were carved from leftover slivers of purified cobalt, their deep blue gleam offsetting the pale grip.
The finished blade felt alive in his hands—not flashy or decorative, but something primal. A predator in steel form. Not made for display… made for the kill.
He laid the first sword down on the bench, then the next, until all four Saltfangs rested side by side.
Reaching into his satchel, Cane pulled out Blue.
He hadn't used the Glacial Frost Rune on a blade since upgrading Blue with the replicator rune. A grin tugged at his mouth.
"Gotta admit, I'm curious."
He tapped the rune against the flat of the first blade.
A sudden wave of frigid cold rippled outward, frosting the walls of the forge. The shrill screech of a hunting gryphon echoed through the night air, as if summoned from another world.
Cane stepped back, eyes wide. "Damn…"
He held the blade up to the light. It shimmered like glacial blue ice, the edge catching the forge's glow in cold fire.
Chimi began scolding him from the forge, her voice shrill and full of indignant steam.
"Oh, hush," Cane said. "It worked."
On one side of the blade, a stylized engraving of the Resolute Forge was etched into the metal. On the other, an ice gryphon, wings spread, beak open mid-screech.
By the time he finished enchanting the rest, Chimi was beside herself—poking her glowing head from the forge's mouth and wagging a spectral finger at him.
"Don't be such a baby," Cane muttered, tossing a generous scoop of coke into the heart of the forge.
Chimi disappeared with a satisfied huff.
Wrapping the blades carefully in cloth, Cane hoisted the bundle over his shoulder and stepped into the night.