The forge was hotter than a dragon's breath and ten times louder. Aeren stood awkwardly, holding a glowing hammer Elira had tossed him.
"No, no! You can't just whack it like you're squashing a bug," Elira scolded. "You have to coax the metal. Seduce it. Whisper sweet nothings if you must."
Aeren blinked. "I'm sorry, did you say seduce?"
"You heard me, Fire Boy," she said, smirking as she twisted a molten blade with tongs like it was a strip of ribbon. "Metal has moods. Treat it wrong and it'll curse you. Trust me."
"I didn't think swords could hold grudges."
"Mine do. Ask Bryn."
From the corner, Bryn lifted her shirt to reveal a small scar. "One hissed at me."
Kaelen sipped tea with zero sympathy. "Sounds like a perfect match for Aeren. Temperamental, moody, and flammable."
Aeren sighed and tried again, tapping the blade with more finesse. The mark on his hand glowed faintly, and the fire in the forge pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Elira's eyes flicked to the flame. "You're syncing with the forge. Not bad, hotshot. Maybe you're not entirely hopeless."
"Thanks?"
They worked through the afternoon, and as the sun dipped below the hills, the sword Elira had been forging finally took shape. Sleek, with a spine of glowing ember-metal and veins of enchanted steel running down its sides.
She handed it to Aeren. "For you."
He gaped. "What? No way. You made this."
"Exactly. And I say it wants to be with you." She grinned. "Try not to set yourself on fire."
He gripped it, and the blade responded immediately. His fire flowed through it like water through a channel, and it sang—an actual, low hum that vibrated in his bones.
Bryn clapped. "Okay, that's cool."
Kaelen nodded. "You've been chosen by a blade. Congrats. You're officially less useless."
Later that night, the group gathered on a hill overlooking the village, stars overhead and a warm fire between them.
Elira nudged Aeren with her shoulder. "So… hero-boy. You're really trying to save the world, huh?"
He shrugged. "Trying not to die horribly first. Saving the world's kind of the backup plan."
"Good answer. I hate overly confident types."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the embers rise into the sky.
Then Elira asked, quieter this time, "Do you think we'll make it?"
Aeren looked at her, then at the others. Bryn was dozing with her feet near the fire, Kaelen was still awake but pretending to be asleep, a knife half-hidden in her sleeve just in case.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I think we'll burn every obstacle in our way trying."
Elira smiled. "Spoken like someone worth following."
He turned to say something clever. Something charming.
Instead, a goat from the village wandered into the firelight, stared them down, and let out a majestic belch.
Elira burst into laughter. "Was that your spirit animal?"
Aeren groaned. "I'll never live that down, will I?"
"Absolutely not."
As the fire crackled and laughter echoed across the hill, none of them saw the shadow watching from the far edge of the woods. The Herald's spy, cloaked in raven feathers, turned silently and vanished into the trees.
The Herald would not wait much longer.
But for tonight, they laughed. And Aeren, for the first time, felt like a hero not just in theory… but in heart.