The forge's heat rolled over him the moment he stepped through the doorway, carrying with it the tang of hot iron and the acrid bite of coal smoke. Inside, the steady rhythm of hammer on anvil rang through the air, each strike sending sparks leaping in brief, golden arcs. Behind the counter stood a broad-shouldered blacksmith, his forearms blackened with soot, eyes sharp and assessing despite the sweat streaking his brow.
Eleres set the longsword down with a muted thud, the steel catching a glint of forge-light. Beside it, he placed the dagger he'd taken earlier that day. "I'm looking for something else," he said, his voice low but certain. "A blade that feels like a part of me—small enough to vanish beneath a cloak, sharp enough to finish a fight before it begins."
The blacksmith picked up the longsword, testing its weight, then turned the dagger over in his calloused hands. "Good steel," he said with a grunt, "but not your fight, is it?"
A faint curve touched Eleres's lips. "I need speed, not reach. Silence, not spectacle."
The man's eyes narrowed in thought before he ducked beneath the counter. When he rose, he held a narrow, double-edged dagger in a dark leather sheath. The hilt was wrapped in black cord, the pommel weighted just enough for perfect balance. He set it on the counter with quiet finality. "Made this for a client who never came back," he said. "Light, quick… and in the right hands, lethal."
Eleres drew the blade, letting the light catch along its razor edge. He let the weight settle into his palm, rolling the hilt lightly between his fingers. The balance was perfect—each movement flowed without resistance, the kind of precision only found in a blade made for killing, not for ceremony. It sat in his palm as though it had been waiting for him all along. "It'll do," he murmured.
The trade was swift—longsword and earlier dagger for the new weapon—sealed with a nod between men who understood the language of steel. The blacksmith wrapped the dagger in cloth before passing it over, their eyes meeting for a brief, wordless acknowledgment: this was a tool meant not for show, but for survival. The new dagger rested against his side as he left the forge, its presence a quiet promise with every step toward the Academy gates.
The sun hung high overhead, its warmth spilling across the Academy's front square. The white stone paving seemed to shimmer in the midday light, reflecting the grandeur of the twin towers that framed the iron gates. Students—both new and returning—milled about in small groups, their chatter a constant hum beneath the tolling of the hour bell.
Eleres arrived early, the black cord-wrapped dagger hidden beneath his cloak, its weight a quiet reminder at his side. When Cedric and his entourage appeared, the change in their demeanor was almost tangible. The same men who had once dismissed him now kept their voices low and their eyes wary, trailing behind with the kind of careful respect earned only through fear or hard lessons learned.
Yet among the gathering crowd, respect was far from universal. The clink of chainmail and the low creak of leather straps filled the air, carrying with it the faint scent of oiled steel. Sunlight glanced off polished edges, forcing the eye to turn away from their glare. Here, armored figures gleamed like polished statues, sunlight catching on breastplates, polished greaves, and swords so immaculate they seemed forged for display rather than battle. Compared to them, Eleres's plain cloak and travel-worn boots rendered him nearly invisible—just another shadow on the edge of the scene.
A pair of would-be knights passed by, their laughter carrying just far enough to be heard.
"Guess Cedric's picking up strays now," one of them said, smirking to his companion. "Doesn't even dress his squires properly."
They didn't even glance his way as they walked past, already dismissing him as irrelevant. The words didn't draw so much as a twitch from Eleres's face, but his gaze lingered on them—calm, steady, and unreadable. If they noticed at all, they mistook it for the look of someone too meek to speak.
The examination bell rang again, sharper this time, and the crowd began to shift toward the open gates. Just then, the two would-be knights veered from their path, their eyes lighting up as they caught sight of Cedric.
"Cedric! I thought you'd be taking the royal examination this year!" one of them called out, his tone warm with familiarity.
Cedric's expression eased into a polite smile. "Not yet. Decided to give the Academy's intake one more year—makes the competition interesting."
The taller of the two clapped him on the shoulder, the metal of his gauntlet ringing faintly against Cedric's pauldron. "Still the same old Cedric—never doing things the simple way."
Their laughter was unrestrained, carrying the ease of old campaigns and shared victories. Even their jests had the weight of familiarity, as though no years had passed since they last stood side by side.
"Better than losing my edge," Cedric replied with a chuckle.
They fell into easy conversation, exchanging news of mutual acquaintances, recent hunts, and whispered speculation about the year's examination trials. The two knights spoke with the confidence of men who knew they belonged here, their words tumbling over each other in a rush of shared history.
Eleres stood just a step behind Cedric, close enough to hear every word, but not once did their gazes flicker toward him. It was as though he were a shadow Cedric happened to cast, a silent shape with no name and no place in their world. One of them, mid-sentence, glanced past Eleres entirely, his eyes sweeping over the rest of the square as if searching for someone worth noticing.
When Cedric finally motioned for his men to move toward the gates, the pair of knights walked alongside him, still trading jests and claps on the shoulder. Eleres followed without a word, his steps measured and quiet.
They could pretend he didn't exist if they wished. The examination ahead would speak in a language far older than courtly greetings and polished armor—a language he understood better than most.