Page 91 of Ecliptic

Bailon’s bloodshot eyes studied Rowen’s sketches. “These are excellent designs. We can make them quickly enough, faster perhaps if we streamline this section right here,” he said, pointing to the notebook.

I could see Rowen’s strategic mind turning. “Yes,” he said as their heads bowed over Rowen’s drawings, working together tomake the most efficient designs. “That will work with the lightweight tips I designed for speed and distance.”

As they flipped through the pages, Rowen made corrections with his charcoal pencil. After a few more suggestions, my soul flame closed the book and clasped a firm hand on Bailon’s shoulder. “Go and get some rest. I will take over for a few hours.”

“That will be much appreciated,” he said, his voice heavy with fatigue. He gave a grateful nod before he removed his apron and gloves, hanging them on a nearby hook. Though the dark threat looming over us made it hard to rest, Bailon trusted Rowen to keep the hearth fires burning.

As the master bladesmith left the forge, Rowen took his place at one of the stations, his hands gripping the tools with familiarity. “You ready to learn how to forge a blade?”

“Are you sure I won’t get in the way?” I asked, eyeing the blazing hearths, dancing flames, and splashing oil.

“You heard Bailon,” he said with a widening smirk. “We need everyone able to wield a hammer. Plus, it will keep you from biting your fingers. And who knows, maybe you will find a hidden talent.”

I looked at the pre-cut bricks of Ever-burn waiting to be shaped into our salvation. I took a deep breath and stepped beside Rowen, picking up the nearest hammer. “Let’s see if I’m a natural.”

After I put on the protective gear, Rowen walked me through the process step by step. “Grab the metal with the tongs and place it in the forge. Yes, like that,” he encouraged as I followed his instructions. “You want to leave it there until the steel glows yellow.”

I held the tongs with a firm grasp. “I like when you talk me through it,” I said with a side smirk, remembering other activities he hadtalkedme through.

“Eyes on the steel, Copeland. Now, remove the metal and place it on the anvil.”

I jumped back to attention. “Yes, sir,” I replied, carefully following his directions.

“Start with a corner and hammer it into a point. Focus on tapering both sides,” he instructed as I worked the blade, starting at the tip and hammering my way down, shaping it into a knife. “Good girl. Now, flip it over and work the other side.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

Rowen breathed in through his nose, trying to stay focused. “Plunge it into the water to quench it,” he continued, and I stifled a laugh. “Once the steel has cooled and returned to its normal color, place it back in the forge, and repeat the process three times.”

I did as he said, and what started as clumsy apprehension turned into something more. Something cathartic. I fell into a rhythm, hammering out all the hurt, trauma, and wounds of my past. The heat of my ire matched the temperature of the blade, and with each pound of the mallet, I sharpened my resolve.

The tighter I held onto the hammer, the more I was letting go. The grip I’d held onto my anxieties and depression would now be the grip with which I handled this tool. I was strengthening my mental weapon as I forged a physical one.

My arms ached from the movements, and at this point, I wasn’t sure what was sweat and what was tears. It all hurt as I healed some part of me.

On and on, the hammers fell as the forge filled with the sounds of creation. The flames rose higher, the metal sizzled, and water spilled and splashed.

It was a cathartic release that I hadn’t known I needed.

Rowen guided me as I worked, his watchful eyes flicking from my face to the blade. The molten silver gleamed in his eyes with pride.

As I continued to shape the steel, I forged something deep within my bones. Something that was stronger than any weapon and more balanced than any blade. I strengthened myself.

A week passed in a busy blur. The constant cycle of war planning, discussing, and re-planning was exhausting—not to mention the Hymma journeys and grueling training with Dyani.

Each day, the tremors grew stronger, more violent. It was clear Erovos was biding his time, waiting until every last demon was fully formed to emerge from the crevice.

There was no scenario where Erovos wasn’t planning on conquering this world and all others to come. He had a clear-cut plan, one that he had been preparing for who knew how long. All while we scrambled to keep up.

I looked at the shining blades piling higher on the racks and tables. The Wyn had worked tirelessly to create these weapons. I had to find the desert elves soon. Putting a warrior with every blade was paramount to our war plans. We needed more soldiers.

Despite all the action and constant distractions, there was something I couldn’t shake. Something I was missing. Despite all the progress I seemed to have made, I was no closer to discovering the whereabouts of the desert elves.

Every day I failed to find them felt like another boulder piling on my chest.

My heart lurched as I realized there was one final thing to try. One last path I had refused to walk down. It was so glaringly obvious, yet I avoided it like the plague, hoping I would never have to confront it. But I had exhausted all other avenues. Only one thing remained.

The time had come to talk to Takoda, to try his mind-mending therapy.

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