The bar buzzed with soft energy. Warm bread, clinking tea, the low hum of morning news. Brehn wiped glasses. Mira stacked dishes. Rae looked like she wanted to throw one.
"No smiths," she grumbled. "Even the low-tier dwarves are in that damn smithing competition."
"The best one's locked down too," her master added, arms crossed. "Flamebrow. Refuses to make anything until the contest ends."
"That stubborn fossil," Rin muttered. "He made my last saber."
At the end of the bar, Alaric poured himself something illegal.
"I'll forge your weapons."
The room fell silent.
"You?" Rae blinked.
"You can forge?" the master asked.
"I can do a lot of things," Alaric replied, smug. "And I need leverage."
He smirked. "Connections. Debts. Personal slaves, maybe. We'll see how good the weapons are."
Smack!
Brehn's towel caught him in the back of the head.
"Don't go enslaving my guests."
They followed him to the back, through the storage pantry and down into an old hidden basement — a forge untouched in years. Dust lay over iron. The anvil hadn't been used in at least a decade.
Alaric stepped in, then stopped.
"…Get out."
Rin frowned. "What?"
"You want proper blades?" he said, brushing dust from the forge stone. "Then leave. Forging isn't flashy. It's not some fantasy display. It's long, slow, brutal work. I don't work with people watching."
Even the master hesitated, then nodded. He understood.
The door closed behind them.
Silence.
Then breath.
Then fire.
Alaric raised his hand. The ring pulsed, and space twisted. From within its seal came rows of metal — so rare the air changed:
Thunderium Ore – lightning-aspected, dangerously reactive.
Heartsilver – spiritually resonant, soul-bonded when folded.
Mithril, Adamantite, and a veiled piece of Divine Steel, still wrapped in burial cloth.
He exhaled deeply.
Lit the forge.
The flames didn't roar — they responded. Not to power. Not to ego.
But to memory.
Then:
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Quest Unlocked: Forge the Twin Blades of the Disciples
Description: Use your soul-forging mastery to create weapons worthy of those who protect. Let your intent, pain, and memory shape the steel.
Reward: Enlightenment – A step toward forgiving the past
Penalty for Failure: Spiritual Fracture – Emotional regression. The weight you carry will grow heavier.
Note: You have not yet forgiven yourself. Until you do, the system will remain — guiding your hands, testing your resolve.
He stared at the message.
"…Still not done with me, huh?"
He pulled on the leather apron. Picked up his hammer.
And struck.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
He folded Thunderium into Heartsilver, pouring memory into every pass. Not shaping steel. Shaping intent.
Not performance.
Promise.
Flashback – Under Twin Moons
She was small, legs swinging, barefoot and curious. Her white hair tangled. Her eyes bright.
"Daddy?"
"Mm?"
"When I grow up… can you build me a sword?"
"Not a castle?" he teased.
"No! A sword! So I can protect you when you're tired!"
He smiled softly.
"You're already stronger than me, Princess."
She laughed, and leaned into his chest.
"Then it's a promise."
Tears struck the steel.
He kept forging.
For five days.
Without rest. Without words. Just strikes and silence.
He embedded the twins' spiritual signatures into the sabers. Bent the Thunderium into lightning arcs. Carved resonance lines into the heart of the blade — one to be fast, one to be fierce.
Each weapon, a whisper.
Each blade, a vow.
When they returned, Alaric had collapsed in a chair. The blades rested on the table, still glowing faintly from their final quench.
Twin sabers. Curved. Balanced. Not flashy — perfect. The kind of blades forged with reverence, not pride.
Rae unwrapped hers first.
Rin followed.
The moment their fingers touched the hilts, the sabers hummed — not from magic, but from alignment. Like they'd been waiting for this exact moment.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
You have forged not for glory — but to keep a promise.
Enlightenment Gained: Step 1 – Acceptance of Grief
She still lives in your memory. And that memory still holds warmth.
You do not yet forgive yourself. But you've taken the first step.
Alaric didn't look at the blades.
He was still staring at the flames.
Not as a warrior.
But as a father.