The workshop was abuzz with activity as students worked on their assigned projects. Kalem and Nara occupied a corner of the room, their workbench littered with scraps of ruined materials—bent pieces of iron, cracked Veridium shards, and a few singed pieces of parchment that had been too close to one of Nara's fiery displays.
"I told you to heat it gradually," Kalem said, his tone sharp as he examined a melted chunk of iron that had once been part of their prototype.
"And I told you," Nara retorted, leaning against the bench with her arms crossed, "that your 'gradual' approach takes too long. We don't have all day."
Kalem sighed, running a hand through his hair. "If you keep overheating the materials, they'll lose their integrity. We're not forging weapons here; we're trying to create something precise."
Nara rolled her eyes. "Precision is overrated. Magic is all about power and instinct. You can't just calculate your way through everything."
"Maybe not," Kalem shot back, "but you can't just brute-force your way through everything, either. Magic doesn't care about instinct if the structure can't handle the energy."
Their argument drew a few amused glances from nearby students, but most had grown accustomed to their bickering over the past week.
The task was to create a prototype of an enchanted metal plate that could withstand elemental forces while retaining its structural properties. The project was meant to teach students how to balance the volatile nature of elemental magic with the stability of physical materials—a balance Kalem and Nara seemed incapable of finding.
Their first attempt had ended in disaster when Nara's fire magic warped the plate beyond recognition. Their second attempt had cracked in half when Kalem's overly cautious method left it brittle. The third attempt...well, it had exploded.
"We're running out of materials," Kalem muttered, staring at the dwindling pile of iron and Veridium shards on their bench.
"Then let's stop wasting time on your overcomplicated process," Nara said, grabbing a fresh piece of iron. She placed it on the anvil and summoned a controlled flame to heat it, her hands glowing with elemental energy.
Kalem watched her work, his irritation mounting. Her technique was undeniably effective, but it lacked the precision he believed was essential for this project.
"Let me handle the inscription this time," Kalem said, stepping forward.
Nara hesitated, clearly reluctant to relinquish control, but eventually stepped aside. "Fine. But if you mess it up, it's on you."
Kalem took a deep breath and began inscribing the plate with runes designed to channel and stabilize elemental energy. His movements were slow and deliberate, each stroke of the etching tool guided by his steady hand.
"Why do you always make it look like you're performing surgery?" Nara asked, watching him with a bemused expression.
"Because precision matters," Kalem replied without looking up. "One mistake, and the whole thing could fail."
Nara smirked. "You'd hate being in the middle of a battle. No time for 'precision' there."
Kalem didn't respond, though his grip on the etching tool tightened slightly.
As they worked, their conversation drifted to more personal topics, prompted by Kalem's curiosity about Nara's background.
"You're pretty good with elemental magic," Kalem said, his tone neutral. "I take it you've been practicing for a long time."
Nara nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Yeah. Back home, in the Iron Peaks, most of us orcs are taught to respect the elements from a young age. It's part of our culture. Fire, earth, wind, water—they're not just tools; they're living forces."
"The Iron Peaks," Kalem mused. "I've heard the orcs there are known for their craftsmanship and magic. Sounds like a tough place to grow up."
"It is," Nara admitted. "The environment's harsh, and survival's not easy. But it makes you strong. And it teaches you to trust your instincts."
Kalem glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. "I can see how that shaped your approach to magic. But sometimes, instincts can only take you so far. That's where precision comes in."
Nara rolled her eyes. "Here we go again."
Their conversation shifted again when Nara turned the tables. "What about you? Where'd you learn to work with materials like this?"
Kalem hesitated for a moment before answering. "I used to be a miner. Back in Warsaw. Spent a lot of time working with different kinds of ores and metals. You learn a lot when you're trying to survive underground."
Nara raised an eyebrow. "Underground, huh? That explains the 'surgical precision.'"
Kalem chuckled despite himself. "I guess it does."
By the end of the day, they had just enough materials left for one final attempt.
"Alright," Kalem said, taking a deep breath. "Let's try this again. But this time, we'll do it together. No shortcuts, no overthinking. Agreed?"
Nara smirked. "Agreed. But if this doesn't work, I'm blaming you."
They set to work, combining their skills in a way they hadn't before. Nara handled the heating process with more care than usual, while Kalem adjusted his approach to work more efficiently. Their movements began to sync, the clash of their methods softening into something closer to harmony.
When they finished, the metal plate gleamed on the bench, etched with runes and infused with elemental energy. It wasn't perfect—Kalem could see a few flaws in the inscriptions, and Nara thought the energy flow could have been stronger—but it was functional.
They presented their project to the professor the next day, who examined it with a critical eye.
"It's a passable effort," the professor said finally, her tone neutral. "But it's clear you two still have a long way to go when it comes to working together. Collaboration isn't just about dividing tasks; it's about understanding and respecting each other's methods."
Kalem and Nara exchanged a glance but said nothing.
Later that evening, as they packed up their tools, Nara broke the silence.
"You know," she said, her tone almost grudging, "you're not as bad as I thought. Annoying, sure, but not bad."
Kalem smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment. And for what it's worth, you're not entirely unbearable, either."
Nara laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "Careful, Kalem. People might think we're starting to like each other."
Kalem shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Let's not go that far."
Despite their differences, they both felt a small sense of accomplishment. It wasn't much, but it was a start.