Days melted into weeks, and the rhythmic clanging of hammer against anvil had become a familiar song to Hunnt. Each morning, he arrived at the forge before the village fully awoke, his small hands already sore from the previous day's lessons. The air smelled of molten iron, ash, and sweat—a scent that now felt like home.
Coerl stood by the blazing furnace, arms crossed, watching Hunnt strike a heated piece of iron with measured precision. Sparks flew in every direction, illuminating the boy's determined expression. "Steady, lad. Your wrist must guide the hammer, not the other way around. Feel the metal. It'll tell you when it's ready."
Hunnt paused, wiping sweat from his brow. "Yes, Coerl," he said, adjusting his grip. The metal… it speaks if I listen… the shape must feel natural…
Coerl nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, try shaping it slowly. Don't rush. A weapon forged in haste will betray the hand that made it."
---
Hunnt began with small blades and hammers, each piece an experiment. At first, the edges were uneven, and the balance off. Coerl crouched beside him, inspecting each attempt carefully.
"Too heavy here, lad. Bend it slightly. Now tap, not smash. Again."
Hunnt obeyed, hammer falling in measured strokes. The metal hissed under the heat and pressure, softening, bending, and gradually forming the intended shape. Slowly, rough edges began to smooth, curves straightening.
"You're improving, lad. Faster than I expected. Most apprentices struggle for weeks just to make a simple knife straight," Coerl remarked, wiping soot from his forearms. "Tell me… where did the chief find someone like you? And why keep it a secret?"
Hunnt's eyes widened slightly, but he shook his head. "I… I don't know, sir. I just… want to learn."
Coerl chuckled. "Fair enough. Focus on the forge, not politics, lad. You'll learn plenty without asking too many questions."
---
Hunnt's curiosity often ran ahead of his skill. As he shaped swords, he would examine the curves, imagining what materials could make them stronger, lighter, or more versatile. Bone? Monster scales? Hardened carapace? He didn't speak these thoughts aloud—they were private sparks in his mind, quietly building a vision for the future.
"You're thinking too far ahead, lad. Metal first. When you master it, everything else comes easier," Coerl said, noticing the distant look in Hunnt's eyes.
"Yes, sir," Hunnt replied, though he couldn't entirely stop imagining the possibilities.
---
Weeks turned into a month. Hunnt's skill began to show. Blades and small hammers no longer bent incorrectly; edges were sharp but balanced, the weight distributed perfectly for the hand that wielded them. Coerl had him pick up each weapon, feel the center of gravity, swing gently, and adjust.
"Every weapon, lad, is an extension of the hunter. Not just a tool—it's part of them. Observe, adapt, and understand. That's the difference between a novice and a blacksmith who creates true weapons."
Hunnt nodded, running his fingers along the polished steel. "I… I think I understand now, sir. It's not just about hammering… it's about feeling."
Coerl smiled, rare warmth in his eyes. "Aye, lad. Feeling is everything. And judging by your attention, I have no doubt you'll handle more than just steel one day."
For the first time, Hunnt allowed himself to imagine forging something truly unique—a weapon that no one had ever seen. A gauntlet, perfectly balanced for fist style, reinforced for both offense and defense. He didn't tell Coerl; it was too soon. But the thought lingered like fire in his chest, pushing him to absorb every lesson even more eagerly.
---
Evenings at the forge became quiet moments of reflection. Hunnt would watch Coerl clean his tools, polish the anvils, and whisper instructions as if the metal itself could understand him. Hunnt practiced alone after hours, hammering lightly, repeating lessons, experimenting with weight and form. Sparks reflected in his golden eyes, mirroring the ideas forming in his mind.
"You're learning faster than expected, lad. I've never had a student pick up the nuances so quickly," Coerl remarked one evening, leaning on his hammer. "I don't know why the chief kept this quiet… but I'm glad. You remind me why I became a blacksmith. Keep at it. There's no limit if you truly observe and apply yourself."
Hunnt smiled faintly, determination burning brighter than the forge's fire. I will master this. Every strike, every curve, every shape… I'll understand it all. One day, I'll create weapons that are more than tools. They'll be part of the hunter, part of me.
Outside, night fell over Ravenshire. The forge glowed like a beacon against the dark sky, illuminating the boy hunched over iron, absorbing every lesson, every spark, every sound. It was only the beginning, but already, a path to weapons unlike any the village had seen began to form in Hunnt's mind.