The morning came with noise.
The steady rhythm of a hammer striking metal echoed through Red Hollow long before the streets were fully filled with people.
Aren followed Lyra though the narrow roads, the events of the previous night still fresh in his mind.
"They knew", he said quietly.
Lyra kept at the speed she was going.
"Of course they knew"
"But they didn't attack us though" Aren replied.
"Not yet" Lyra said back.
That didn't make Aren feel better.
If anything, it made him feel worse.
They turned down a side turn lined with workshops until they stopped infront of a large open forge.
Heat poured out from inside.
The sound of metal being struck rang louder and sharper than ever before.
Lyra stepped in without hesitation.
Aren followed in.
Inside, sparks flew with each swing of a massive hammer.
A man with broad shoulders stood at the anvil, bringing a hammer down again and again onto glowing piece of molten metal. His movements were precise despite his large stature.
He didn't look up.
"If you're here to buy wait" he said gruffy "If you're here to talk then leave".
Lyra crossed her arms.
"We need a weapon checked"
The hammer stopped midair.
Slowly, the man lowered his hammer.
The he turned.
His eyes landed on Aren first, sharp and assesive.
Then they dropped to the short sword at Aren's hip.
"Let me see it"
Aren hesitated.
Something about the man's gaze felt different.
Almost like he wasn't just looking at Aren.
He was measuring him, he was measuring whether he was even worthy to wield a blade.
Even so, Aren unsheathed the blade.
The faint red veins of the blade caught the forge light as he handed it over.
The blacksmith took it without a word.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then his grip tightened and his arm tensed.
"...Where did you get this?"
Aren looked at him, confused.
"It's mine".
The man's eyes flicked up instantly.
"No".
His voice was firm.
"This blade wasn't made in any village I've ever seen".
He turned the blade slightly, inspecting the edge, the spine and the subtle patterns in the metal.
"... This sword... it's mana forged".
Aren blinked.
"Mana forged?"
Lyra leaned closer, her interest clearly piqued.
The blacksmith nodded.
"What's the name of this beauty".
"It's called Emberfang", he said.
The blacksmith nodded.
"Metal like this doesn't just hold an edge, it also channels energy".
He tapped the blade lightly with a finger.
"See these lines?"
The faint crimson veins pulsed lightly in the heat.
"That's not a decoration, it's a structure".
Aren starred.
"I didn't know".
"Clearly", the blacksmith replied.
He walked over to a bucket and dipped the blade briefly before pulling it out.
Steam hissed into the air.
Then he handed it back.
"You've got something rare here kid".
Aren took the sword slowly.
"... How rare?"
The blacksmith snorted.
"Rare enough that if the wrong people see it, you will end up with more problems than you can handle".
Lyra smirked.
"Too late for that".
The man glanced at her.
"You seem like the cautious type".
"Well I try".
The blacksmith set his hammer aside and crossed his arms.
"The name's Garrick".
"Aren".
"Lyra".
Garrick nodded once.
"The blade's in good condition", he said. "But it's incomplete".
Aren gave him a confused look again.
"Incomplete?"
Garrick stepped closer again, pointing at the base of the blade near the hilt.
"It's missing a core connection".
Aren's hand instinctively moved to the pouch at his belt.
"The mana core..."
Garrick eyes sharpened.
"So you do have one"
Lyra raised an eyebrow.
"So you can tell".
Garrick have a dry chuckle.
"I've been doing this longer than you've been alive".
He looked back at Aren.
"If you ember a core into that sword properly it'll change".
Aren's grip tightened slightly.
"Will it be stronger".
"More than that"
Garrick's tone grew more serious.
"It'll start responding to you".
Aren paused.
"What does that mean".
Garrick didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he picked up a different blade from a nearby rack.
It immediately shown with energy.
"A good weapon is just steel" he said.
"A great weapon..."
He held it up slightly.
"...becomes an extension of its wielder".
Aren starred at Emberfang.
For a moment,the faint red veins seemed to pulse again.
Then–
The forge door burst open.
A boy rushed in breathless.
"M–Master Garrick!"
Garrick turned sharply.
"What is it?"
"The east road –another caravan–".
The boy struggled to catch his breath.
"It's gone".
That air in the forge shifted instantly.
Lyra straightened.
"How bad?" she asked.
The boy swallowed.
"Worse than the last one".
Aren's expression hardened.
"Black Thorn again?"
The boy hesitated.
"...I don't think so".
Silence.
Garrick's grip tightened around the edge of the anvil.
"Explain".
The boys voice shook slightly.
"They were...tracks".
"What kind of tracks?" Lyra asked.
"Big ones".
Aren felt a chin run down his spine.
"How big?"
The boy hesitated.
"They were bigger than a horse".
No one spoke for a moment .
Then Garrick cursed under his breath.
"...Damn it".
Lyra turned toward the door immediately.
"We're going".
Aren looked at her.
"Already?"
"If it's what I think it is, then waiting will only make it worse".
She glanced at him.
"You want to get stronger right?"
Aren tightened his grip around Emberfang.
"... Yes".
Lyra gave a small nod.
"Then this is your chance".
Garrick watched them for a moment and then spoke.
"Kid".
Aren looked back.
"If you're going out there..."
He nodded toward the sword.
"... don't treat it like an ordinary weapon".
Aren replied.
"I won't".
Garrick grunted.
"Good".
Lyra stepped out first.
Aren followed.
Behind them, the forge fell quiet again.
But the tension remained.
Because whatever destroyed that caravan–
Was still out there.
Waiting.