Fear arrived late.
It crept in only after the awe faded.
Kendo forced himself to breathe steadily as he examined the wall beneath the collapsed opening. Loose soil formed uneven ridges that might support his weight, but one wrong shift could send more earth crashing down.
He tucked the glowing fragment securely into his inner pocket.
Then he began to climb.
Each movement had to be deliberate.
His boots searched for stable footholds among protruding rock and bone.
His fingers dug into soil that threatened to crumble.
Halfway up, the dirt beneath his left hand gave way.
He slipped.
His knee struck against a jutting rib below, sending a jolt of pain through his leg.
He clung to the wall, heart hammering.
Above him, the opening framed the night sky.
Stars stared down, distant and indifferent.
He pushed upward again.
When he finally reached the surface, he rolled onto solid ground and lay there, chest rising and falling heavily.
The disposal grounds were silent.
No one had witnessed the collapse.
He rose slowly and glanced back at the broken trench.
From above, it appeared no different than the uneven pits scattered throughout the area.
The cavern remained hidden.
For now.
He walked back toward town under cover of darkness, mind racing.
The fragment in his pocket felt warm against his chest, as though responding to his heartbeat.
He entered the forge quietly and lit a single lantern.
Rollo was not there.
Good.
Kendo removed the fragment and placed it on his workbench.
Under the lantern light, its surface revealed intricate patterns running through it, faint lines like veins beneath stone.
He touched it again.
The warmth spread into his fingertips.
A whisper brushed the edge of his awareness.
Not a voice.
Not yet.
More like a suggestion.
He shook his head sharply.
Exhaustion. That was all.
He set the fragment into a small crucible and positioned it within the forge.
The fire roared as he fed it more charcoal.
Heat enveloped the crucible.
Ordinary ore would begin softening quickly under such temperature.
This did not.
Minutes passed.
The fragment glowed brighter instead of melting.
Sweat formed along Kendo's brow as he adjusted the airflow to intensify the heat.
Finally, the edges began to yield.
Not liquefying completely, but softening enough to be shaped.
He removed the crucible carefully and poured the semi-molten metal into a narrow mold prepared for dagger blanks.
The metal flowed sluggishly, thicker than iron.
When it settled, it did not dull.
It pulsed faintly.
Kendo stared at it, unease mingling with exhilaration.
He waited for the metal to cool.
It did not.
The glow dimmed, but warmth remained constant.
Hours passed.
Still warm.
No ordinary ore behaved this way.
Kendo reached out and wrapped his fingers around the unfinished blade.
Instead of burning him, it felt as though it fit his grip perfectly.
Balanced.
Dense.
Promising.
He exhaled slowly.
Outside, the guild hall's celebration had long since ended.
Greythorn slept.
Inside the forge, the blade rested in his hand, alive with potential.
And somewhere deep beneath the disposal grounds, within a cavern of ancient bone, something stirred in quiet approval.