The golden dawn of the Shard-Fall began to touch the highest spires of the floating city when Crispin stepped back into the heat and roar of The Smith's Blessing. His focus, cold and sharp, felt as natural as the silver-threaded leather on his back. Regulus followed at his side. He was a coil of translucent, star-flecked glass that moved through the air with a haunting, serpentine grace.
The old smith looked up from a pile of cooling iron. His gnarled hands froze on his apron. He eyed the Aethereal Strand Long. His Adam's apple bobbed. "Ye back, boy," the smith rumbled. His voice was low and wary. "And ye brought… that."
Crispin didn't stop at the entrance. He walked to the mahogany counter. His boots clicked with a rhythm that made the shop's apprentices pause in their labor. He set his drake-skin satchel on the wood with a heavy, purposeful thud.
"I want a pricing on a commission," Crispin stated. His blue eyes were hard. The hesitation that had defined him days ago was absent.
The smith's eyebrows shot upward toward his receding hairline. He wiped his hands on a rag. He leaned over the counter with renewed interest. "I'm listenin', boy. What's da catch?"
Crispin reached into his satchel. He produced the skull of the Aethereal Strand Long he had slain in the basin. It was a jagged masterpiece of void-black bone that seemed to absorb the flickering orange light of the forge.
"A helmet," Crispin said.
The smith let out a long, low whistle. He scooped up the skull. His fingers traced the needle-teeth and the elegant, curved ridges of the cranium. "Now tis require some real craftin'. Aetheral Strand Long, am I right, boy?"
Crispin nodded.
"Ye came to da right place," the smith continued. His eyes gleamed with the fever of a master craftsman. "Dragon bone is temperamental. Precision, skill, blood, and sweat are required to shape da likes of this."
"I'm in the trade," Crispin countered. His voice was level. "I realize what I ask. I've worked my father's forge since I could carry a hammer."
"Ya realize de price, too," the smith said. His gaze shifted from the bone to Crispin's face.
"How much?"
The smith pursed his lips in thought. He turned the skull over. He examined the density of the bone. "Black dragon bone… it always bears an active or passive skill buried in the marrow. It's a rare find in the reaches." He paused. He weighed the labor against the material. "350 Gold."
Crispin's eyes widened. The sheer number hit him like a physical blow. "That's too rich," he said. He reached forward and took the skull back. He shoved it into his satchel. The leather strap snapped shut. "I'll have to wait until I go back home and see if my other contact could do better. I might give my Guild the full skeleton as cost for the upgrades."
"Hey, hey, hey… slow down," the smith barked. His hand slapped the counter. "Ye have da full skeleton? The whole damned thing?"
"I do," Crispin said. He gestured toward Regulus. The serpent was watching the forge-fire with golden, intelligent eyes. "My bonded and I killed it in the basin. Regulus took the form, but the bone is intact."
The smith's demeanor shifted. A sharp, predatory hunger for the material replaced the nervousness. "Come to da back. Show me?"
Crispin didn't move. "Unless you're willing to cut a deal, why would I waste my time? I know the value of dragon bone, Smith. I'm not some noble brat with a purse full of unearned coin."
"Listen here, ye little shet," the smith growled. He struck his fist against the desk with a hammer strike. "Ye don't come in dis shop with dragon bone and think ye just get to run off. I'll make ye de helm. Quality guaranteed with a skill. I'll reinforce ye chest piece, make ye a dragon-bone belt, and give ye gold to boot. I get da skeleton. Every rib. Every vertebra."
Crispin studied the man. His eyes squinted as he judged the offer with the shrewdness Thorne had taught him. The trade was massive. Carrying the skeleton was a liability. His current Shae'Vaelryn path necessitated his upgrades.
"How much gold I'm owed is determined by the bone's quality," Crispin said.
A rough, appreciative growl escaped the smith. "Alright. Deal. Now, to da back."
They spent almost fifteen hours together in the heat of the forge. Crispin did not wait in the shop's front. He stayed in the back and worked next to the old smith. While the smith tempered the dragon bone in a mixture of sunstone oil and gravity-rich water, Crispin held the tongs. They worked in a shared silence. The language of the forge bridged the gap between tamer and artisan.
Crispin stood before the polished silver mirror in the back room. He wore a black half-helm crafted from the cranium of the Long. The void-black bone covered the upper half of his face. It left his jaw free. Iridescent dragon whiskers adorned the temples and snout. The whiskers streamed down the back of his head. They mimicked the flowing geometry of Regulus's new form. Thankfully, the whiskers had come from the Smith's personal stash.
The black dragon bone now formed part of his chest piece. It covered the twilight bronze plates with a layer of impenetrable, star-flecked armor. The gorget was now reinforced with dragon whiskers at the collar. It provided a flexible defense for his throat. On his right shoulder, a new pauldron of matching bone sat like a predatory crown.
[System Notification]
Void Helm of Perseus—Cloak in the abyss once per hour, max 30 seconds. While cloaked, you cannot fight, use skills, or make excessive sound.
Void Chest of Perseus—Ki cost reduced for Aethereal Strike 5→3.
Bonded Companion: Abyssal Strike 10→8. Tail Lash 8→6.
"Happy?" The Smith walked around him, studying his labor.
"I am. This is outstanding work."
"Ye honor deal?"
"Yes."
"Ye ain't too bad in da forge. Ye need work, come back."
Crispin chuckled. "My father would enjoy that a little too much."
Twelve minted gold coins jingled in his pouch. The back-harness for his spear was gone. He secured the Void Lash to his dragon-bone belt. The whip of Aethereal bone, coiled, and waited to strike from the unspoken shadows.
Crispin stepped out into the night air of the floating city. The Shard-Fall was alive with the sound of wind-chimes and distant waterfalls.
Back to the High Rest, he went. His movements were silent and efficient. Inside his room, the walnut furniture seemed too fragile for the man he had become. He stripped down. The cool air of the reaches hit his fresh scars. The raw pink lines on his shoulder and thigh marked his survival against the Feral.
Regulus settled on the bed. His glass-like body reflected the twilight. A sharp tap sounded against the balcony's window.
Regulus hissed and shimmered into the abyss, ready to strike. Crispin's hand was on the Void Lash before his mind had even registered the sound. He stood and walked toward the glass. His Night Vision engaged with a soft hum of Ki.
A Feral was crouched on the railing. The creature differed from the mindless scavengers in the cavern. It was taller. Pulled over a frame that possessed a haunting, aristocratic elegance; its ash-colored skin was visible. It folded its leather wings against its back. A depth of intelligence flickered behind its eyes that made Crispin's skin crawl.
He shook the whip free. The bone segments clicked as the energy cord glowed. He stepped toward the window. He was ready to dash.
"No harm," the Feral rasped. Its voice was a dry, papery whisper. "Bring invitation—Queen."
It did not lunge. Its long, clawed hand slid a piece of pure white vellum through a small crack beneath the window frame. The paper was heavy. It felt cold to the touch.
"Come to castle—alone, with bonded," the Feral continued. Its golden eyes watched Crispin. "Safe passage. Queen promise."
Crispin looked down at the invitation. The vellum was unmarked save for a single, embossed seal depicting a skeletal crown. He looked up before he could reply or even open the window to demand answers.
The balcony was empty. The Feral was gone. It had vanished into the shadows of the floating city as if it had never been there. Only the white vellum and the steady, rhythmic beat of the Heart of Perseus remained. A queen summoned the Steward of Unspoken Shadows to the heart of the abyss? He would be ready.