Kalem sat hunched over his workbench, ink-stained fingers moving rapidly as he sketched out new designs on massive sheets of parchment. The forge's dim glow cast long shadows across the room, the flickering flames barely reaching the stacks of notes and half-finished projects littering the space. The air smelled of heated metal and parchment, a familiar scent that made the confined workshop feel like home.
After three long days of forced rest—during which Lyra had effectively held him hostage in the medical ward—he was finally back where he belonged. He still had bandages wrapped around his torso, the dull ache in his ribs a reminder of the brutal final exchange with Isolde, but none of that mattered.
What mattered was what he had learned.
His resonance sword had exceeded expectations, but it was flawed. The way the vibrations transferred through the air had been an unexpected boon, but controlling them precisely? That was something he still needed to refine. His mind whirled with possibilities—could he adjust the frequency? Limit the range? Make it more efficient?
He scribbled down several formulas, adjusting weight distributions and recalculating the strain on the blade when—
Knock. Knock.
Kalem froze, his quill hovering over the parchment. He wasn't expecting visitors. Most people didn't even know he had access to this forge, a small, rented space tucked away from the main streets of Gron.
"Who's there?" he called, his voice wary.
A moment of silence. Then—
"It's me."
Kalem recognized the voice immediately. Lyra.
He sighed, setting his quill down. "It's unlocked."
The door creaked open, and Lyra stepped inside, arms crossed. She looked around, her gaze settling on the chaos of scattered notes, blueprints, and half-melted metal prototypes.
"You were supposed to rest," she said flatly.
"I did. For three days," Kalem muttered, rubbing his temples. "Any longer, and I think my brain would have started eating itself."
Lyra exhaled sharply. "And now you're back at it like nothing happened." She picked up one of the parchments, glancing over his sketches. "You're redesigning the sword already?"
Kalem leaned back in his chair, stretching his sore muscles. "It worked, but not perfectly. If I'd miscalculated even a little, the energy backlash could've cut through me as easily as it did my opponents."
Lyra frowned but said nothing, setting the paper down. Instead, she turned to the forge itself, where Kalem had begun smelting new metal—darker, heavier, infused with traces of mana-reactive compounds.
"Still, you shouldn't push yourself," she said, softer this time. "Your body isn't fully healed."
Kalem shrugged. "Neither is Isolde's."
Lyra rolled her eyes. "Yes, and unlike you, she's not locked in a forge refusing to sleep."
A chuckle came from the doorway. "He's always been like this," Jhaeros' voice chimed in as he stepped inside, Nara following close behind.
Kalem raised an eyebrow. "You two as well? What is this, an intervention?"
Jhaeros smirked, arms crossed. "More like curiosity. We figured you'd be up to something the moment you were free."
Nara tilted her head, eyes scanning the workshop with interest. "You do realize normal people don't jump straight into work after nearly getting themselves killed, right?"
Kalem sighed. "I'm aware. I just don't care."
Jhaeros leaned against the doorframe. "Still, Lyra's got a point. You never stop. Even at the academy, you were either studying, experimenting, or picking fights with logic instead of fists. It's exhausting just watching you."
Kalem snorted. "That's why I win."
Jhaeros shook his head with a grin. "That's why you're insane."
Kalem turned back to his work, ignoring their amused expressions. His mind was already moving ahead, sketching out a new modification to the resonance etchings. He needed to control the frequency better—perhaps a secondary mechanism to stabilize the output?
As he reached for his quill again, Lyra's hand shot out, snatching it away.
"No."
Kalem blinked. "Excuse me?"
"No more work for today." She tucked the quill behind her ear, daring him to argue. "You're coming with us."
Kalem narrowed his eyes. "Coming where?"
Jhaeros grinned. "To eat. You know, that thing humans and Ilvaar do to survive?"
Kalem scowled, glancing at his scattered work. "I have things to—"
"No," Lyra repeated, unyielding.
Kalem sighed. "Fine. But I'm bringing my notebook."
Nara sighed. "You are hopeless."
Kalem only smirked.