Celeste arrived at precisely noon, as punctual as she'd been for every interaction. But this time, she wasn't alone.
Kieran's heart sank as he recognized the figure beside her—Demar Webb, the C-rank Swordsman she'd sparred with weeks ago. His presence was a complication Kieran hadn't planned for, another witness to what should have been a private transaction.
"Master Ashford," Celeste called, dismounting with her usual grace. She wore formal attire today—a fitted doublet in her house colors of deep blue and silver, tailored perfectly to her frame in a way that made Kieran suddenly very aware of his own soot-stained work clothes. "I hope you don't mind that I brought Demar. I wanted a second opinion on the balance."
"No problem at all," Kieran lied, his anxiety spiking. He glanced at Mira, who gave him an encouraging nod.
After Demar agreed to the same system binding promise as Lady Celeste did, they entered the forge.
Kieran's eyes went immediately to the workbench where Dawnbreaker rested in its scabbard, wrapped in simple black cloth. Six weeks of obsessive work, hidden under fabric like a guilty secret.
"I've been counting down the days," Celeste admitted, and there was something vulnerable in her voice. "The tournament is in three days. I've been training with my old sword, but knowing this was waiting..." She trailed off, her eyes finding the covered weapon. "Is that it?"
Kieran nodded, not trusting his voice. His hands were shaking slightly as he moved to the workbench. This was the moment—the reveal, the judgment, the point where his work would either meet expectations or destroy them.
It's good, he told himself. You know it's good. The System rated it A-rank. Stop panicking.
But knowing something intellectually and believing it emotionally were very different things.
"Before I show you," Kieran said quietly, "I need to explain something. This isn't just a sword. It's an artifact. A-rank designation. The System has already registered it."
Celeste's eyes widened. Demar actually gasped.
"A-rank?" Demar breathed. "Kieran, A-rank artifacts go for thousands of gold at auction. Tens of thousands if they're combat-optimized. How did you—"
"I have a rare class," Kieran interrupted, the half-truth coming easier than it should have. "Specialized in weapon crafting. But that's not important right now." He looked at Celeste. "What's important is that I made this specifically for you. For your fighting style, your skills, your needs. It won't work as well for anyone else."
"Bound artifacts are worth even more," Demar said, still stunned. "Celeste, do you understand what he's saying? This is—"
"Shh," Celeste cut him off, her entire focus on the covered sword. "May I?"
Kieran stepped aside, giving her access to the workbench. His heart hammered as she reached for the cloth with hands that trembled slightly—anticipation or nerves, he couldn't tell.
She pulled away the covering.
The afternoon sunlight streaming through the forge window caught Dawnbreaker's blade, and the sword seemed to come alive. Light danced along its length, reflecting off the flawless polish, refracting through the moonstone channels in the fuller. The guard's focusing crystal pulsed with soft golden radiance, responding to Celeste's proximity.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
"Oh," Celeste whispered finally. "Oh, it's beautiful."
She reached out tentatively, as if afraid the sword might disappear if touched. Her fingers brushed the monster-core leather grip, and Kieran saw her eyes widen as the weapon responded to her touch—the glow intensifying, the blade humming with a note too low to hear but somehow felt.
"Pick it up," Kieran urged softly. "It was made for your hand."
Celeste drew Dawnbreaker from its scabbard in one smooth motion, and the transformation was instantaneous. The sword seemed to blur in her grip, moving from sheathed to guard position faster than Kieran's eyes could track. Celeste gasped as the passive skills activated—he could see the moment the enhanced agility and dexterity flooded through her system.
"It's so light," she breathed, moving through a basic form. The blade sang through the air, leaving trails of faint golden light. "It feels like... like it's not even there. Like it's just an extension of my arm."
She accelerated into a more complex sequence—the same forms Kieran had watched her practice weeks ago, but faster now, more fluid. Dawnbreaker moved with her like it was anticipating her intentions, the perfect balance making every strike effortless.
"The weight distribution is insane," Demar said, his professional assessment kicking in. "I've never seen a blade move like that. The speed—Celeste, try channeling some radiant energy through it."
Celeste's eyes lit up—literally. Golden light flared around her irises as she activated her skills, and Dawnbreaker responded instantly. The blade erupted with brilliant radiance, bright enough to make everyone squint. But more than that, the power was amplified—Kieran could see it in the intensity of the glow, in the way the air around the sword seemed to shimmer with heat.
"Forty percent boost to light-based abilities," Kieran explained, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "Plus enhanced agility, maintained sharpness, and increased damage in low light. And it's self-repairing, so you don't need to worry about maintenance."
Celeste lowered the sword slowly, and when she looked at Kieran, there were tears in her eyes.
"This is..." She shook her head, seeming unable to find words. "I've held legendary weapons. Family heirlooms from the old noble houses. Enchanted blades from master craftsmen who've been working for fifty years. None of them felt like this."
She crossed the distance between them in two quick steps and pulled Kieran into an embrace that caught him completely off guard. She was warm and solid and smelled faintly of jasmine and sword oil, her face buried against his shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered fiercely. "Thank you for making me something worthy of my dreams."
Kieran stood frozen, acutely aware of every point of contact—her arms around him, her cheek against his collarbone, the way her hair tickled his neck. His face burned hot enough to forge steel.
"I... you're welcome," he managed, his arms awkwardly patting her back. "Just, um. Win. Please win."
Celeste laughed—a sound of pure joy—and stepped back, wiping at her eyes. "I'm going to win. With this, I can actually win." She looked down at Dawnbreaker with something approaching reverence. "What did you name it?"
"Dawnbreaker," Kieran said. "It felt right. For you."
"Dawnbreaker," she repeated softly, testing the name. The sword pulsed with light in response. "It's perfect. You're perfect. This is—" She caught herself, laughing again. "I'm sorry, I'm gushing like a child. Demar, tell him. Tell him this is extraordinary."
"This is beyond extraordinary," Demar said seriously. "Kieran, I don't know what class you have, but you need to be more careful. If word gets out that you can make A-rank artifacts, you're going to have every major power in the region trying to recruit you. Or worse."
The joy in Kieran's chest turned to ice. "That's why the confidentiality clause exists. No one can know about this until after the tournament. That was the deal."
"And I'll honor it, as will he" Celeste promised. "Not a word to anyone. As far as the world knows, this is a family heirloom I've been hiding." She sheathed Dawnbreaker with visible reluctance. "The balance on delivery—one hundred twenty-five gold, correct?"
"Actually," Mira interjected smoothly, "given the final product quality, we discussed adjusting the—"
"No," Kieran cut her off firmly. "Three twenty-five was the agreement. That's what we're charging."
Mira shot him a look that promised a later conversation, but pulled out the scales to weigh the payment. Celeste produced a coin purse that clinked with heavy promise.
As the transaction completed, Celeste kept stealing glances at her new sword, her hand resting on its pommel like she was afraid it might disappear. "I should go," she said reluctantly. "I need to practice with it, get used to the weight—or lack thereof. Learn how the enhanced abilities interact with my skills."
"Three days," Kieran reminded her. "Don't overtrain. You'll be ready."
"I'll be more than ready." Celeste moved toward the door, then paused. "After I win—and I will win—I'm taking you to dinner. Both of you. The finest restaurant in Millhaven. No arguments."
Before Kieran could protest, she was gone, practically floating out to her horse, Dawnbreaker secured carefully at her hip.
Demar lingered a moment longer. "Take care of yourself, Kieran. And seriously—be careful who you tell about this. A-rank artifacts..." He shook his head. "That's the kind of thing that changes lives. Usually not for the better."
After he left, the forge fell silent except for the ticking of Mira's small clock.
"She hugged you," Mira said finally, her tone carefully neutral.
"She was grateful. For the sword."
"She called you perfect."
"She was emotional. It doesn't mean—"
"Kieran." Mira turned to face him fully, grinning like a cat with cream. "She's going to win that tournament while wielding your masterpiece, and then she's going to come back here and—"
"Don't," Kieran interrupted, his face burning again. "Just... don't."
But he couldn't stop the tiny smile that tugged at his lips, or the warm feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with the forge's heat.
Three days until the tournament.
Three days until he learned if his work was truly enough.
Three days until everything changed.