The first room had impressed him.
But this second one…
If the outer forge had been filled with good weapons, sturdy and practical tools of war, this chamber was something else entirely.
The walls were bare in comparison, sparsely decorated, but each weapon that was displayed radiated a presence that dwarfed the rest.
There were fewer than a dozen, but the air felt heavy with their power.
Each carried a hum of restrained energy, faint pulses of energy that pricked against Azel's skin.
His breath misted before him, though no furnace blazed here.
The weapons themselves were the source of the cold.
He walked forward slowly, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor.
It felt sacrilegious to speak loudly here.
Elyon's voice broke the silence.
"I crafted all of these with my good hand," the smith said, holding up the other hand that he had before.
His tone was rough, though behind it lay an echo of pride.
