"Lo my subjects, my sons and daughters, my kin and allies.” Klamfik called to his people. “Bring me the greatest gifts of magic, that which the dragons left for us to multiply and prosper.”

With his decree, his people scoured Galladia for the greatest magicians to teach Klamfik.

The first sage was from the southern lands, brought by gold. He taught Klamfik and his people the wonders of enchanting. He bound spells in stone and steel, in wood and bone, so that even the unskilled could cast spells with mastery equal to that of the enchanter.

The second sage was from the swamps of the west, brought by her love. She taught Klamfik the mysteries of the fae, spreading knowledge of alchemy throughout Klamfik’s country. She wove magic from the mundane into strange brews and potions so that the fae’s magic could affect even the most careful.

The third sage was a wretched orphan born within the heart of Klamfik’s empire. He taught the power of unity, spells that bind people together so that their strength could become more than their own. But he received no gold, no love, no honor.

He cursed Klamfik and all that he made, condemning his legacy to fall apart and die. Klamfik lost his gold, his love, and his life.

His empire would never grow beyond what Klamfik made it, losing pieces itself to time, war, and greed. Beware, ye of great ambition, for it takes only the wretched and lost to destroy an empire. Beware, ye conquerors and kings, those bearing the third sage’s curse.

---Extract from Tales of Old Galladia

Norn Thurid hefted the ax with one hand, eyeing the edge with intense scrutiny. She flipped it in the air, catching it with one hand. She hummed, tossing it to her tome. The weapon was midnight black with a lacquered willow handle. The sharp edge gleamed in the noon light, intricate carvings along the head depicting an ancient drakkar crashing on a wave.

“Finely balanced.” She hummed approvingly. “Beautiful as always, Sil.”

The tome-warrior readied the ax. It held the weapon above its head. The audience held their breath.

CLANG!

The ax swung down onto the log, lodging itself deep in the wood. Norn Thurid did not flinch as the ax dug into the log. She held up the log for the audience to see, ax head firmly stuck into it. Thurid’s tome-warrior stood there, handle clasped in its hands. Thurid shook her head and tutted.

“It broke! It broke!” The crowd roared.

“Beautiful…but quite flawed.” Norn Thurid sighed and picked up the greatsword.

When she swung it around, the sword whistled as it cut through the air. Letters glowed briefly on the blade with every movement, too quick to be read. Enchantments. Otherwise, the greatsword was far more modest than the ax, with a simple hilt wrapped in leather and a brass guard that curved up like fangs. Thurid’s confident smile stretched across her face. She tossed the sword to her tome and picked up another log. She looked at the sword for a moment, concentrating on the glowing symbols. She put the log on the table and stepped back. Her tome readied the blade. It raised the weapon high…and swung.

The crowd was quiet. Both halves of the table collapsed, the perfectly cut log pieces clattering to the ground. The audience roared in approval.

“IT CUTS!”

The greatsword sliced cleanly through the log, the table, and even left a smooth furrow in the stone below. Rael gaped, focusing intently on the sword. They knew enchanted weapons could be effective, but to this extent? Unless an opponent’s armor was enchanted, the sword would cleave through them just as easily.

The tome flicked the greatsword and held it steady before the audience. Despite the distance, Rael got a good look at the glowing words. [Greater Cut], [Durability], [Puncture], [Reflex Increase] …Rael had no doubt these were enchantments worthy of a king’s weapon.

“Impressive. I approve, Cernos.” Thurid seemed the type of woman who rarely gave out compliments. The lead blacksmith who worked on the greatsword bowed proudly. The Norn took the greatsword and stabbed it into the earth. Cernos winced. “One more.”

Her eyes scanned the crowd until she found Rael and Gault. The latter met her gaze without looking away. Thurid nodded approvingly and picked up the sword they’d made. She ran her thumb down the edge, a trickle of blood swelling from it. Her grin betrayed her interest.

“Fascinating work. Unlike any I’ve seen before.” She handed the sword to her tome and picked up a log. “Let’s see if its more than just pretty steel.”

The audience chuckled at that, a few already making bets on how specatuclarly it would break. Rael noted that none of the craftsmen were taking bets, their gazes split between the sword and Gault. There were even a few women twirling their hair as they leered at the clean-shaven smith’s back.

Norn Thurid did not treat the sword with the same caution as with Cernos’ work. She held a log up herself, not bothering with a table. The tome held the sword with one hand. And swung.

Thurid blinked a few times in surprise, holding the separate pieces of the log in each hand. She looked over the two halves as the crowd cheered.

“It cuts! It cuts!”

The Faulk crowd pulsated in excitement, people passing winnings and pushing each other enthusiastically. Quite a few hands patted Gault’s back, the smith smiling nervously under all the attention.

The pieces of wood were shredded through the end of the log, not as nearly cut as the enchanted greatsword. The fact remained that it was one of only two weapons to cut through a piece of wood thicker than a leg. Norn examined the edge of the blade again, running her fingers across it. The blade dug into her fingers, drawing blood again.

“Incredible.” Thurid was unable to find any flaws.

Rael stood straighter and beamed. Gault fist-pumped and shivered with pride. ‘How could she? I used my spell with enough intensity to make sure the hardest parts were outside, and we spent the rest of the time sharpening it.’ Rael’s ego deflated with Thurid’s next statement.

“Still lacking compared to an enchanted weapon. But the material is solid and keeps its edge better than any I’ve seen before.” Norn Thurid brought the sword to Gault and gave it to him, hilt first. “What do you call it?”

Gault’s barely reined excitement died. He was probably prepared to answer any question about the process, how he would have made it differently, and its advantages over other metals. But he never gave it a name.

“Dr—” A hand clenched his shoulder tightly.

“If you name it dragonsteel, I’ll be so pissed.” Rael whispered in his ear.

“I could not do this without you or Azmond.” Gault whispered back. “It’s only natural I name it after my benefactors.”

“No, the hells you are not.” Rael’s hand gripped tighter. “Not only is the name dumb and overdone, but it could paint a target on our backs. You can call it ‘wootz’ for all I care, just don’t reference Az or I.”

“Fine, fine.” Gault shook off Rael’s hand and cleared his throat. “I call it wavebound steel, for the waves that dance on its surface.”

“A good name.” Norn Thurid nodded approvingly. “A material that can be much improved with a team of enchanters. What would you need to supply the Jarls with such weapons?”

Gault’s jaw dropped. Thurid’s grin grew as more people came to offer the dazed smith congratulations. A few hearty claps on his back later, Gault shook himself from his reverie and swallowed.

“Are you…?” Gault pointed at Thurid, at himself, then the smithy behind Thurid.

“Yes, you lout!” Although the Norn’s exclamation was without malice, the smith straightened his back at attention. “I want you and the Dragonward to help me arm our greatest warriors for the war.”

“What about me, Norn?” Cernos raised his hand nervously.

“That’s a given, Cernos.” The old woman rolled her eyes. “You won the contest by a landslide, again. You’ve both brought pride to the Faulk and your respective Jarls, yadda, yadda…” Norn Thurid’s eyes flared as she looked over the crowd. “That means the rest of you trogs can clear out! Git!” The crowd shuffled away slowly, bleeding into the environs at a sedate pace.

Until Thurid picked up the enchanted greatsword and began waving it around threateningly. People cleared the area a lot faster, leaving only the smiths, Rael, and Norn Astrid. Thurid’s eyes narrowed when she saw Astrid, putting down the greatsword and approaching her. Despite her thicker frame, Thurid had to look up to meet Astrid’s soft smile.

“Norn Astrid.” Thurid grunted. The blacksmiths shriveled at the tone and backed away quickly.

“Norn Thurid.” Astrid bowed her head. “I am only here to observe Dragonward Rael. They have just come from the shaman’s path.”

“If I remember correctly, so did Gault, once.” Thurid’s mirthless smile reminded Rael of a wolf protecting its meal.

“Rael is interested in returning.” Astrid’s half-lidded gaze bore into Thurid.

‘I can go back?’ Rael didn’t realize that was an option. They’d gotten the impression it was a one chance only thing. ‘And why does it seem like these old ladies are fighting over me?’

“Why not ask instead of assuming?” Thurid walked around Astrid, ignoring the willowy woman’s slight frown. “Dragonward Rael. Your efforts have not gone unnoticed. I have no doubt that Smith Gault can reproduce wavebound steel, but your help can expedite the process. You can gain a lot of merit and many favors by making such great weapons.”

“Dragonward Rael’s destiny eclipses that of creating mere weapons.” Astrid stressed Rael’s title. She did not turn around, else she might have noticed the youth’s interest.

“Mere weapons?” The smith Norn stomped closer to Astrid. “It is not magic that separates us from the animals, but the tools we use. You are spitting on traditions that predate the dragons.”

“Weapons break and degrade.” Norn Astrid kept her back to Thurid and shrugged, the words slipping off her like water from a duck’s back.

“Magic exacts a heavy toll.” Thurid growled in response. The tension rose between the two women, Thruid’s death-glare bore deeper into the back of Astrid’s head. The craftspeople gave them even more space but were too curious to stop eavesdropping and leave entirely.

“Hold on.” Rael held up a hand, breaking the standoff. “Why are you speaking for me, Norn Astrid? I like smithing. If I can be useful by doing something I like, why shouldn’t I?”

Astrid whirled around with speed that belied her age. She cringed and held her back in pain but kept her eyes on Rael. Norn Thurid crossed her arms smugly.

“Dragonward Rael, I am not sure you realize how gifted you are in the matters of fae.” Astrid winced as she stretched, setting her back cracking and popping. “Shaman apprentices never return from their first steps on the path with sound mind and body. Injured, sobbing, or catatonic, maybe. Never with their heads held high, never without having spilled blood.”

“I dunno.” Norn Thurid smirked and picked at her dirty nails. “That spell they used was nifty. And Dragonward Rael already has experience in a smithy. Easier than starting from scratch.”

“Rael returned from a wild fae’s clutches. With gifts.” Astrid’s measured enunciations surprised Thurid. The shorter Norn quickly hid her expression and shrugged. But her gaze lingered on Rael’s lapel, where their emblem glimmered. “Mere brushes with wild fae have resulted in strange or disastrous consequences. Remember Knobheaded Loine?” Thurid cringed.

“Hey!” Rael snapped, both Norns turning their attention to the youth. “Why are you two deciding what I want to do? If I want to make weapons, I’ll make weapons. If I want to talk to fae, I’ll talk to fae.”

The two Norns stared at Rael. The youth shrank from their gazes but steeled their expression and stepped forwards. Astrid and Thurid looked at one another, some unspoken communication between them sparking Rael’s attention.

“Fine.” Thurid grumbled. She swung her arm to point at Rael. “Once all the materials are gathered, I expect you here every morning. Eat well because we’re going to be using that weird spell every chance we get!”

The stocky woman stomped off, waving to the craftspeople to follow her. Rael watched her leave, confused about what happened.

“You have a lot of gall.” Norn Astrid sighed and shook her head dramatically, her thin smile betraying her mood. “But it is good for you to stand up for yourself. Too many entrap themselves to a life of misery for a chance at success.”

“Now my temper is okay?” Rael rose an eyebrow.

“Moderation is key.” Astrid waved her staff in the air a few times, the tip only a few centimeters from Rael’s face. “My advice still stands. Pray that what you need and what you want do not conflict in the future. Just as people entrap themselves into miserable lives for success, so too are wanton desires poisonous. Short-term happiness can be the sweet resin that attracts a victim into its grasp. Enclosing them in amber, suffocating them until nothing but a bad memory remains.”

Not for the first time, Rael thinks about how Astrid and Wollow could have been great friends. They could imagine them sitting in comfortable chairs in Astrid’s hut and throwing metaphors at one another as they sip their tea.

“The forge-monkeys must gather materials, and I must consult some texts. Your recent trip has brought forth some interesting information.” The old woman began to walk away but paused.

“Ah, one more thing.” Astrid turned around and beckoned Rael close. “I expect you to visit me while you sleep, so long as you aren’t having one of those interesting dreams of yours.”

“Visit while I slee—?”

Norn Astrid shoved her tome-staff into Rael’s bruised gut, a torrential pour of energy spreading throughout their body. Collapsing to their knees, Astrid watched Rael carefully. Their tome unwillingly sprung into existence in their chest, a swell of information entering their head. ‘Not again.’ Rael inspected their tome, reading the new spell etching itself on the dagger’s blade.

[Dreamwalk].

Funnily enough, this was their first Second Circle spell, despite the Third and Fifth circle spells they already had. They were really not building a spell pool the normal way. ‘It’s the second time my tome is full. Does that make me the first Meta to have learned more than ten spells? Though technically, that happened after using [Synthesis] to make [Hydro-kinesis] …’ Potential ramifications aside, Rael wasn’t exactly pleased with Astrid. They wanted to say something, but the old woman’s expectant gaze quelled Rael’s outburst. The youth took a few deep breaths and grimaced, biting back a litany of remarks.

“Good.” Astrid could see Rael cutting their complaints short. “Smartass responses get you nothing but trouble. For now, I suggest you go rest. You’ve had an…intense day.” The crone swiveled around and waved as she hobbled toward the Norn’s Hall, her guards coming from the alleys to walk with her. “Go with the flow, Dragonward.”

Rael shook their head and rubbed their bruise. ‘She’s exactly like Wollow, from the know-it-all attitude to the obtuse advice shrouded in parable and metaphor.’ They blinked the blurriness from their eyes.

They walked to the shaman’s district, trying to remember where Bak offhandedly mentioned his hut was. The Dragonward focused on their tome, the etched text shifting into different words as Rael cycled through their spells.

‘[Ember], tier 8. Haven’t used it in a while.’ It made sense, as the small flame would be too dangerous to use near the calidaerum and was far outclassed in terms of utility by others’ spells. ‘[Minor Light], tier 10. Maxed out, but almost useless.’ Rael couldn’t deny they used it a lot. Whether it was rigging sails during the night shift or traveling into the dark cave to find the demon, it helped Rael see. Then again, it was easily replaced by a torch, the bottled fireflies they sometimes used in Feldon, or any number of allies’ spells. Azmond liked playing with the moving ball of light, but it was otherwise useless. The only advantage these two spells had was they were incredibly cost effective. They could be maintained for hours without Rael feeling any drain.

Rael hummed as they walked around the three Faulk drunkenly wrestling on the street, barely noticing the small gathering of people tossing silver and gold in a pot. ‘[Minor Mend] and [Minor Heal], both tier 5. Mend helps with fixing broken objects while heal closes cuts. Reliable in my past life but now…’ [Minor Mend] seen more use than [Minor Heal], fixing torn sails and fraying ropes. Not very helpful compared to the capabilities of other riggers, but still better than [Minor Heal].

Some screams echoed from behind Rael. The youth turned around to see what the ruckus was and was nearly bowled over by one of the wrestling Faulk. Her shirt was drenched in blood, her eyes shrunken pinpricks that saw past Rael for her escape.

“She stabbed him!” Someone yelled.

The wrestler pushed Rael and instinct took over. Rael swept her legs from underneath her. She slammed face first in the dirt. The wrestler tried to scrabble back to her feet, but found a knee firmly planted on her back and something sharp scraping the back of her neck.

“I suggest you sit still, or my dagger will dig much deeper.” Rael’s tome punctured the woman’s skin slightly, blood welling from the small injury. It was a familiar sight, a cold itch pulling at the scar beneath their navel.