The morning light through the guild hall's tall windows caught in the polished brass of the reward counter. A clerk carefully laid two small leather pouches in front of Eliakim and Gideon. The clink of coins was satisfying, but it was the next item that drew the eyes of every adventurer nearby—a golden fragment, curved like a crescent of armor, from the Golden Thief Bug's back.
"This is yours," the clerk said. "We've recorded it for the Guild's archives, but you earned the right to keep part of the kill. Not every pest hunt turns into a battle for the records."
Eliakim took the fragment, turning it over in his hands. It was unnervingly light, the etched ridges faintly warm, as if holding the last whisper of the creature's unnatural life. Without hesitation, he handed it to Gideon.
"You fought it head-on," Eliakim said. "You'll make better use of it."
Gideon grinned faintly, rubbing the edge with his thumb."Yeah… I've got an idea."
---
The forge in Greyspire's industrial quarter was a squat stone building, its wide doors thrown open to let the heat breathe. Inside, the air shimmered with heat and the smell of coal dust. The rhythmic clang of a hammer stopped as the blacksmith—broad-shouldered, with ash-colored hair tied back—glanced at the newcomers.
"Shop's busy," he said curtly, turning back to his work.
Gideon said nothing, simply unstrapped his twin axes and laid them on the counter. The sound of the metal hitting the wood seemed to change the air in the room.
The blacksmith froze mid-swing. Slowly, he stepped forward, wiping his hands on a leather apron. His eyes traced the engravings on the axe heads, the sigil half-hidden in the wear of battle.
"…Where did you get these?" His voice had dropped low.
Gideon exchanged a quick glance with Eliakim. "Inherited," Gideon replied. "From my family."
The man's rough fingers touched the symbol as if afraid it might vanish. "My great-grandfather spoke of this mark. Said it belonged to a masterwork set forged by my bloodline, long before we split apart. There's a blacksmith in Yldrahollow—Branik Ironhew—he carries the other half of my family's stories."
Eliakim's brows rose. "Small world."
The blacksmith smiled faintly for the first time. "If these axes are yours, you're welcome here. And if you want… I can teach you."
---
The rest of the morning blurred into the hiss of quenching steel, the ring of hammer on iron, and Gideon's rapt attention. He asked about folding techniques, how to judge the heat of metal by its color, and how to bind different ores for strength. The blacksmith—introducing himself only as Darric—seemed quietly impressed.
Eliakim leaned against the doorframe, watching. He could see the way Gideon's focus narrowed, the way his hands naturally learned the rhythm of the forge.
He's going to need time for this, Eliakim thought.And maybe… time away from the danger that seemed to follow him.
The Collar of Veyrun twitched again against his thumb, the faint sound of rattling links making the hair on his neck stand up. It wasn't just reacting to danger now—it was reacting to change. To Gideon's growth.
Eliakim straightened. "Stay here," he told Gideon quietly. "Learn what you can. I'll handle the rest."
"Rest of what?" Gideon asked, looking up from the forge.
---
The answer came not from Eliakim, but from the guild messenger who had followed him to the blacksmith's door.
"The Guild requests your presence, Eliakim Darkmoor," the messenger said. "Privately. There's a follow-up to yesterday's… infestation."
Back at the Guild, the senior officer from before leaned in close across the desk.
"You're outsiders. New faces in Greyspire. That means no one will suspect you. We need someone to investigate quietly—without tipping off whoever's planting these creatures."
Eliakim folded his arms. "And why me alone?"
The officer's expression hardened. "Because we don't want the… upgraded one drawing attention just yet."
Eliakim didn't answer, but the Collar of Veyrun gave another sharp twitch.
Whoever was behind the infestations, it seemed, had just stepped out of the shadows and into his path.