The forge chamber thrummed with quiet expectation. The molten aether at the furnace's core pulsed in rhythm with Nibelo's glowing pom-pom, as though the forge itself was waiting for him to act.
Nibelo wrung his paws nervously, wings twitching. "K-Kupo… I'm not ready for this. I fix regulators and trinkets, not—" He looked up at the relics glimmering on their racks. "—not weapons forged by legends."
Sirius said nothing. He only extended a hand, and a relic blade shimmered into being upon the nearest anvil. Its edge was cracked, veins of black crystal running jagged through the steel. It pulsed faintly, as though on the verge of breaking apart entirely.
"A knight once wielded this," Sirius said softly. "But even relics fall to ruin. Show me what your hands can do."
Nibelo gulped. His paws trembled as he stepped up to the anvil. "Kupo… no pressure, right?"
The blade's fractures caught the light of the forge, and something within Nibelo stirred. His ears twitched. His pom-pom brightened. Slowly, his fear gave way to fascination. He reached out, tracing a crack with one paw.
And he heard it.
A faint hum, like a song hidden in the steel. Broken, but still yearning to be whole.
"I… I see it," Nibelo whispered. "The aether's lines. Like rivers… they want to flow, but they're blocked."
Aether's voice answered, gentle and warm.
"Then guide them, child of stars. Do not force the flow. Listen, and weave."
Nibelo blinked up at the glowing crystal furnace. "Guide… don't force. Right."
He grabbed a set of tools—too large for his small hands, but his grip was sure. With delicate taps and careful threads of wire, he mended one crack, then another. His pom-pom glowed brighter as sparks of aether danced from his paws into the blade.
The relic began to hum, soft at first, then stronger. Each note resonated with the next until the fractured melody became whole again.
Nibelo stepped back, breathing hard, fur damp with sweat. The relic's cracks were gone. Its edge gleamed with renewed light, shimmering with both history and rebirth.
"Kupo…" he whispered. "I… I actually fixed it."
Sirius stepped forward, lifting the blade. He turned it slowly in his hand, the glow reflecting off his cloak. "You did more than fix it. You restored its voice."
Aether's voice followed, proud and resonant.
"Long ago, smiths poured lifetimes into a single relic. Today, you have given one back its breath. That is no small feat, Nibelo."
The little moogle swayed, overcome with both fatigue and exhilaration. Then his grin split wide.
"Kupo! Did you see that?! Me! Nibelo! Fixing relic blades like it was nothing! Heehee—oh boy, oh boy… this is just the start!"
Sirius allowed himself the faintest smile. "Yes. The first step of many."
Nibelo hugged his tools close, eyes sparkling as he stared at the endless racks of relics awaiting their turn. "Kupo… I don't care if it takes sixty years. I'll fix them all. And when I'm done, I'll make new ones. My name will shine brighter than any forge-fire!"
The chamber thrummed in approval, as though the forge itself acknowledged his vow.
And Sirius thought, quietly to himself: The Starborn Moogle has found his flame.
The blade rested on the anvil, its steel gleaming like it had been born anew. The light shimmered faintly across the forge chamber, reflecting in Nibelo's wide, glowing eyes.
His little paws hovered above it, trembling. "K-Kupo… I fixed it. But… it doesn't feel right to just leave it as is. Not after what it went through."
Sirius tilted his head slightly, curious. "What would you do instead?"
Nibelo blinked at him, then at the blade. His pom-pom glowed brighter, pulsing like a heartbeat. "Every relic deserves more than just being 'fixed.' If it's going to keep fighting, it needs a name. A promise. Something to carry forward."
Aether's voice hummed, low and approving.
"In ages past, every smith who stood at this forge named their greatest works. The names carried not only pride, but will. To name a relic is to root it in memory, binding its story to the one who reforged it."
Nibelo's ears perked, and he let out a quiet gasp. "So… I get to be part of its story now, kupo?"
"You are," Sirius said, steady and calm. "What name will you give it?"
The moogle stared hard at the relic, thinking. He could almost hear it whisper, faint but alive, like an echo from its old battles. Then, a smile tugged at his muzzle.
"I'll call it Starfire," he declared. His voice trembled, but the forge chamber seemed to carry it far. "Because it's fire reborn in the dark. Just like me, kupo."
The moment the name left his lips, the blade pulsed once with renewed light, as though acknowledging the christening.
Nibelo stumbled back, eyes wide. "Did… did it just answer me?!"
Aether's voice was gentle, filled with a strange joy.
"Yes, little one. The forge remembers. Your name, your vow, is now part of its song. Starfire is yours—and its story is yours to carry forward."
Nibelo's chest swelled with pride, his wings fluttering wildly. "Kupo! My first named relic! Wait 'til the others hear—heehee, they'll never believe it!"
Sirius's expression softened, almost imperceptibly. "They will believe, Nibelo. In time, the worlds themselves will believe."
The moogle hugged his tools tight, eyes sparkling as bright as his pom-pom. "Starfire's only the start. I'll make more… bigger… brighter… kupo, I'll fill this forge with so many names that even the gods can't forget them!"
The chamber thrummed again, the molten aether in the furnace flaring like applause.
And Sirius thought quietly, as he turned toward the door: Yes. You will.
The forge chamber still thrummed with light and warmth as Nibelo fussed over the newly named relic, his pom-pom bobbing as he repeated its name with giddy pride.
"Starfire, kupo! My first! My very first! Heehee—oh, it's perfect!"
Sirius lingered in the doorway, the shadows of his cloak long across the crystalline floor. He watched the little craftsman cradle his tools, already dreaming of the next creation, already overflowing with a hunger that was more than curiosity—it was purpose.
For a heartbeat, Sirius allowed himself the faintest of smiles. Then he turned, stepping out into the silent corridor. The door sealed behind him with a whisper, the glow of the forge dimming out of sight.
Alone, Sirius walked the empty passage, his thoughts heavy.
"Starflame," he murmured, the name echoing in the air. "So simple. So pure."
He raised his hand, tracing a thread of fate that shimmered faintly at the edge of vision—Nibelo's thread, bright and fragile, but growing stronger.
"Power born of creation," Sirius whispered. "The same hands that mend can also arm. The same forge that saves can unmake."
He paused, standing at a window that opened to the star-flecked void beyond. The Aetherveil's sails drifted silently in the darkness, veiled from all who would look upon it.
"If his heart strays… if his fire is twisted…" Sirius's voice grew quieter still, almost a vow to himself. "Then his masterpieces will not save the Fallen. They will destroy them."
The silence pressed heavy. For a long moment, Sirius's hand curled into a fist, his gaze fixed on the endless stars.
But then he released it.
"…Yet, for now, he is pure." His tone softened, almost hopeful. "And in that purity, perhaps even the forge can be reborn."
From deep within the ship, Aether's voice stirred, quiet and reverent.
"You doubt him, Master?"
Sirius closed his eyes. "I doubt every hand that touches power. Even my own."
Aether's hum lingered for a moment before fading again into silence.
Sirius turned away from the stars and continued down the hall, his cloak sweeping the crystalline floor. Behind him, in the forge, a small moogle laughed in wonder, shouting the name of his first relic into the vaults of history.
"Starfire! Kupo, Starfire!"
And Sirius, walking deeper into the heart of the Aetherveil, whispered to the threads of fate:
"May your flame stay true, little one."