A Forgekin blacksmith desperately pounded on a glowing sword in the village's central forge, meticulously restructuring its form to no avail.

  Korrin had heard of the blacksmith; his name had spread quickly throughout the village due to his insistence on repairing an old heirloom sword.

  It was forged long ago from starveil argentite, a rare sky-fallen alloy from the floating citadels of Aetheria. The sword was slender and slightly curved, its surface smooth as glass yet marred by faint, silvery specks that sparkled like starlight. The flickering stars perfectly complemented the pitch-black blade, which radiated a slight violet glow.

  Each strike from the blacksmith was clean and precise, but the blade refused to obey. It bent back into its old curvature the moment the hammer lifted, as if its essence itself was stronger than steel. It seemed some metals could be reshaped, but others could only remain what they were.

  As Korrin passed the central forge, he couldn’t help but wonder why the blacksmith had spent months trying to reforge the sword. Would it ever be fixed? Or was it already too far from what it was meant to be?

  “Say, son. Don’t you think you’ve spent too much time inside lately? You wouldn’t mind coming to the mines with me today, would you?”

  His father asked this a week after the Rite of Steel. At the time, Korrin was seated at the dining table diligently inscribing another volume of The Copper Era: A History on a parchment scroll.

  This project was given to him by his merchant contact within Stonegate, who had informed him of an open administrative scribe position within the city.

  Since the Rite of Steel, his father had been quieter, watching Korrin with intensity. It was as if he was waiting for something in Korrin to settle back into place.

  “...sure, father. Let me put away my tools. I’ll be over by the door in a second.”

  “Great! I’ll grab our gear!”

  Excitedly, Korrin’s father rushed into the house’s storage room, grabbing a second pair of mining tools and a smaller work outfit.

  Soon, Korrin was walking down a path that cut through the southern regions of the village with his father cheerfully humming beside him.

  Korrin wore a rough-spun charcoal tunic reinforced at the elbows, with ash-gray wool trousers tucked into sturdy leather boots. On his neck, a silverbloom necklace swung, its polished surface glimmering in the sun.

  Beside him, his father wore a heavier kit. A soot-darkened leather vest over layered wool was fastened on his hulking body, broad gloves swaying from a strap around his waist. A faint anvil sigil was stitched in bronze thread across his chest, reflecting the light as he walked.

  As they approached the mine, Korrin spoke to his father, attempting to understand the reason for dragging him along.

  “Father, what did you need me for today? You know I’m not exactly… built for this sort of thing, right?”

  Pausing his hum, Korrin’s father could only glance at him awkwardly and coughed.

  “Well, as your father, I was just thinking that it’s about time I teach you how to work… like a man! Plus, it’s been a long time since we were together like this. Almost four years…”

  Sensing a growing sadness rising in Korrin’s eye, he attempted to move the conversation somewhere else.

  “But! You know, if you ever want to come to work with me, I would be happy to take you along! After all, there’s nothing more honorable than mining for the dominion.”

  With those words, he attempted to wink at Korrin, but Korrin was already gazing into the distance, seeming to ignore his father’s words. Korrin’s father could only cough awkwardly once again and continue his melodic hum.

  It was not long before they reached the entrance to the mine. The entrance opened up beneath a reinforced arch, workers moving in practiced rhythm around stacked crates and iron tracks.

  As they reached the facility’s perimeter, Korrin’s father could not help but crack a smile.

  “Isn’t it great, Korrin? This is what keeps Ironhelm’s banners standing. What keeps us safe.”

  “Sure…”

  “Come on, don’t look so down! Once you’re inside, I’m sure you’ll be amazed.”

  Giving a slight nod to a supervising Ironclad, they entered the entrance of the mine, revealing a complex system of twisting caves. As Korrin stared down the winding tunnels, his father took the lead, guiding them to his assigned location.

  After walking for what felt like ages, they finally arrived at the mining site. As they did, the narrow cave instantly opened up into a large cavern, exposing countless glimmering minerals and bustling workers.

  The cavern stretched wide, with protruding iron veins and iridescent crystals creating colorful reflective arrays.

  Basking in the sight, Korrin was soon approached by his father, who seemed relieved at his son’s astonishment.

  “Isn’t it beautiful?”

  Korrin had to give it to his father; such a sight was rare on the surface. Maybe for today, he wouldn’t grumble at his father’s efforts to convert him. Unfortunately, their moment of serenity was rudely interrupted by a rough growl that came from behind his father’s back.

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  “Look who decided to show! You’re late, Bramm.”

  The voice was husky and guttural, with a tone of extreme annoyance. Stepping to the side, a short, Forgekin figure was revealed.

  He had a forward-leaning posture and dense, corded muscles packed tightly beneath soot-stained clothes. Flecks of dull silver shimmered through his cropped ash-brown hair, and his molten-bronze eyes gazed at Bramm with an unimpressed stare

  “Vorric, I’m sorry I was late! Just wanted to bring my son in today…”

  “Still hiding behind excuses, Bramm? You’ve always been too soft.”

  With no further orders, Vorric spat on Bramm’s shoe, muttering a curse under his breath. Vorric gave Bramm one last dirty look before sauntering away, leaving Korrin’s father to smile awkwardly, his pitiful eyes looking at the ground.

  Korrin clenched his fists, but soon relaxed them. He knew neither he nor his father was in any position to fight back.

  “Sorry you had to see that, son. Vorric can be a little… Anyways, come along! I have a lot to teach you today.”

  In high spirits once again, Korrin’s father guided him to his assigned mining area, waving to other laborers as they passed by. Only a few waved back.

  Rounding the corner of a tall stalagmite spire, the duo was greeted by a large vein of glowing molten orange ore. This ore was much different than the typical ores Korrin had seen, however. These rocks seemed to pulse and shimmer, contracting and expanding like a beating heart.

  “Warforge crystals.”

  “Correct. This is our assignment for today! Of course, I know you’re not the best with a pickaxe, so I got you this instead.”

  Turning to Korrin, he reached into a sack resting on his back, pulling out a small wooden bucket from within.

  “Here you are! All you need to do is go around and help collect the mined ore, what do you think?”

  “...thanks, father.”

  “I’ll wave over to you when I have minerals for you to collect, and I’ll teach you some mining techniques while you're picking them up. I’m off now, don’t wander too far!”

  For the next few hours, Korrin walked through the crowd of busy workers, collecting their piles of gems and transporting them to a collection depot. Because of his weak body, he couldn’t carry many gems at one time, in sharp contrast to the other collectors who easily transported carts full of gems and ores. Korrin was largely ignored by the other workers, except for when they gave him cold remarks or stares of disgust.

  Thankfully, moments of reprise came when Korrin collected his father’s ores. During those moments, his father excitedly taught him techniques on circulating mana through pickaxes to mine more efficiently—even though Korrin couldn’t use mana.

  By the time lunch came around, Korrin was physically drained, his muscles aching with soreness. He quickly finished delivering a batch of warforge gems and rushed toward his father’s mining area. Surprisingly, he found his father sitting alone. The other miners had formed a tight circle, backs turned outward. His father sat just beyond it, close enough to hear, too far to belong.

  Before long, it was time to get back to work. A bell rang in the distance, and his father apprehensively stood up and walked to his post, waving to his son as he disappeared behind a crevice.

  Just as Korrin was about to stand up as well, a familiar voice rang from behind. An annoyed expression suddenly enveloped his face.

  “What do we have here? Never thought I’d see a coward in a man’s field. No, wait. Your father has already been working in these mines for some time!”

  As Korrin turned around, he spotted the familiar, imposing frame of Draeven, a sizeable pickaxe resting on his shoulder. A sinister smile was etched on his face.

  “What are you doing here, Draeven?” Korrin grumbled sharply.

  “Contributing to the dominion, of course. Knowing you, though, these things must be unfamiliar.”

  “Whatever. I don’t have time for this.”

  Korrin attempted to march past the Ironclad, only for Draeven to push him back.

  “Look, Korrin, I’m not going to waste much of my time. I just want to get you to understand what the real world’s like!”

  Waving his hand, he gestured to the workers around them.

  “These are honorable folk, honorably contributing their part to society,” he said in a soft tone, a hint of appreciation appearing on his face. Suddenly, his tone became sharp, and he abruptly jabbed his finger into Korrin’s chest.

  “And then we have fools like you! A man who can’t fight. A man who can’t mine. A man who can’t even feel mana. What are you supposed to become?”

  Suddenly, his hand clenched into a fist and rapidly struck Korrin’s stomach with incredible force. Korrin could only fall to his knees and dry-heave, some blood dripping from his mouth. Wiping his hand with a rag, Draeven gleefully continued.

  “That’s for last time. The bottom line? Rats who can only rely on protection shouldn’t be caught scurrying around! I don’t want to see you here again.”

  With one last kick, Korrin’s head was sent reeling back. His vision instantly swam, and his thoughts became blurry. Desperately, he tried to reorganize his senses, but he could only hear a slight chuckle escape from Draeven’s mouth.

  Then, the world turned black.

  “I heard you were attacked, Korrin.”

  The evening after the mine incident, Vaelin had come knocking on Korrin’s workspace, two wooden swords in his left hand. Sheathed on his back was a third sword, which was wrapped in white cloth, its deformed shape evident even though covered.

  Korrin internally sighed. It seemed like the news had already reached everyone. Just this morning, a worried Rikka had come knocking as well, asking if he was alright. He tried to hide his injury from her, but the large bruising on his chin defeated his efforts.

  “Come with me.”

  With a sigh, Korrin stood from his seat and followed Vaelin to an exposed grassy area behind their home. The entire time, Korrin tried to read Vaelin’s expression, but failed. His icy exterior failed to expose any emotion.

  “Take it.”

  Handing the shorter of the two wooden swords to Korrin, Vaelin moved his slender and flexible body into a beautifully curved battle stance, the sword in his right hand aimed directly at Korrin.

  Korrin, too, got into a battle stance, one he had learned during the training school, but it was much less graceful than his brother's.

  The fight itself did not even last ten seconds. In an instant, Vaelin had closed in on Korrin, easily swatting his sword to the side. Without the strength to counterattack, Korrin stumbled backward, his body falling to the ground. But before he could stand up, a wooden sword was already touching his neck.

  “Pathetic. Stand up. If you’re going to live, at least stand up and prove you can endure.”

  Vaelin's voice stung, but Korrin knew there was nothing he could do to improve. He had already given up on the sword path many years ago. So he didn’t stand up. A silence enveloped the two brothers as Vaelin took the wooden sword from Korrin’s throat.

  As Korrin looked up at Vaelin’s face, he was surprised at the emotion lingering on it. Disgust, anger, bitterness. And then they were all gone. Vaelin was back to indifference.

  Grabbing the wrapped sword from his back, Vaelin suddenly threw it at Korrin’s feet.

  “Here, the old owner said he had no use for it anymore.”

  With those words, Vaelin turned around and walked away without another glance. Looking at the wrapped sword, a familiar sparkle could be seen glowing through the gaps in the cloth.

  The blacksmith had failed.

  And after tonight, so did they.