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"Seven hells, Gaemon! I feel like you're using me as a bloody slave!"
Inside the cramped forge, two silver-haired, violet-eyed men stood shirtless, hammers in hand. One gripped a longer-handled maul. The furnace beside them roared with fierce flames, the air shimmering with heat.
The one complaining was the bigger man swinging the heavy maul, eyes fixed on the glowing steel while he bitched at his brother across the anvil.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Each strike rang sharp and clear. The cherry-red steel slowly changed shape under their relentless hammering.
These were Gaemon and Baelon, now fully committed to forging the sword. Hearing Baelon's grumbling, Gaemon didn't let it slide.
"If you're tired, go rest. It's not my sword we're making."
Baelon gave an awkward laugh and shut his mouth. No way was he risking Gaemon deciding the blade was his now. He'd suffered through days of this heat for his own weapon—he wasn't about to lose it over a few complaints.
Seeing Baelon back down, Gaemon gave a satisfied snort and let the matter drop.
Why the resentment? Because Baelon had won the right to go first.
A few days earlier, they'd argued fiercely over who would get the first blade. To settle it fairly, they drew lots—no magic, pure chance. Baelon won.
From then on they worked together. At Baelon's request, Gaemon designed a hand-and-a-half sword: total length four feet two inches, blade three feet four inches, hilt and pommel ten inches. The blade was midnight black, covered in intricate ripples that looked like butterfly wings arranged in perfect symmetry. A thumb-wide fuller ran from the guard almost to the tip, giving the sword a lethal, hungry look.
The pommel was a diamond-shaped counterweight etched with four-leaf clovers—the symbol of spring.
The grip was black on the upper half and white on the lower, using contrasting materials for a striking finish.
The hardest part was creating those beautiful patterns. Gaemon stacked the high-carbon steel and wrought iron in thin layers—ten of them—then clamped the bundle together with tongs.
He had Baelon hold the bundle toward the furnace while he summoned a thin thread of flame from the fire with a flick of his fingers. The magical flame danced along the edges, perfectly fusing the layers.
Once both sides were sealed, Gaemon directed Baelon to slide the whole bundle into the heart of the forge. He poured his fire magic in, raising the temperature until the steel glowed bright orange. Then they pulled it out and began hammering.
They worked like that for an entire day—folding, welding, hammering—until finally, with a sharp hiss, the process ended.
Gaemon slowly drew the cooled blade from the quenching trough of oil, water, and salt. Baelon stood beside him, staring transfixed at the sword, unable to tear his eyes from the mesmerizing ripples.
Gaemon noticed and called out, half-irritated, "Stop gawking. Did you prepare the other materials I asked for?"
Baelon snapped out of his trance, reluctantly shifting his gaze. "Of course! I've had them ready for days. Ivory imported from Volantis and the finest jade from Yi Ti. Took me forever to find pieces this good. Be careful when you work them—I don't have extras for mistakes."
Seeing Baelon's pained expression, Gaemon knew the materials had cost him dearly. Still, he kept up the teasing. "These are what you brought? Doesn't look all that special. If it ruins the look when I mount the blade, don't blame me."
Baelon's face twisted in silent frustration, but he forced a smile. "It won't! I picked them myself. If anything looks wrong, it's my fault. I'd never blame you!"
His voice cracked with barely contained annoyance on the last words.
Gaemon finally let out the resentment he'd been carrying for days. After all, this was the first sword he'd ever forged in this life, and now it was going to his brother. Who wouldn't feel a little sore?
Baelon knew exactly why Gaemon was prickly but refused to yield the blade. So for the past few days he'd been treading carefully, sucking up whenever necessary.
Compared to the blade, the hilt was simpler work—but still precise.
In the following hours Gaemon crafted the guard, grip, and weighted pommel. For extra beauty he polished every piece until they gleamed.
When everything was ready, he assembled the sword. Once it was complete, he held it upright, inspecting it with a satisfied nod.
He gave the blade a couple of light swings to feel the balance, then lowered it.
Baelon, who had been staring like a starving man, could wait no longer. "Let me try it! Let me try it! This is my sword—the first cut should be mine!"
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