The forge roared like a living beast, flames licking upward as if hungry for the steel and sweat that fed it. The morning sun had barely risen over Ravenshire, yet Hunnt was already at Coerl's side, sleeves rolled up, eyes burning with anticipation.
Coerl, arms folded across his soot-streaked chest, gave the boy a long look before pointing toward the anvil. "Today's different, lad. Up till now, you've only shaped steel. That's a blacksmith's bread and butter. But hunters… they demand more than steel. They need weapons that can turn monster hide into nothing but scraps."
On the workbench lay a collection of fragments: hardened bone, jagged scales, and one claw—curved, serrated, and gleaming faintly even in the dim light.
Hunnt's breath caught. "These… these came from monsters?"
"Aye." Coerl's voice was steady, almost reverent. "Each piece is more stubborn than iron and twice as dangerous if handled poorly. Bone will splinter if struck wrong, scales crack if you force them, claws resist shaping altogether unless you understand their grain. But if you master them…" He gestured at a row of blades on the wall, their edges gleaming unnaturally sharp. "You'll forge weapons that carry the spirit of the beast itself."
Hunnt reached for the claw first, fingers brushing its ridges. Cold, heavy, and unyielding—it felt less like bone and more like stone. His imagination leapt unbidden. What if… this could be fused with a gauntlet frame? Reinforce the knuckles… sharpen the strike…
Coerl's chuckle cut across his thoughts. "Already thinking too far ahead, lad. That hunger is good, but don't let it trip you. Start simple. Respect the material. Today, all you'll do is learn how they react to heat, to hammer, to patience."
---
The lesson began with observation. Hunnt turned each fragment over in his hands: bone with its fibrous texture, scales with layered ridges like armor plates, and the claw that seemed to resist his grip. Each felt alive, as if carrying the memory of the monster it once belonged to.
"Heat the bone," Coerl instructed.
Hunnt slid it into the furnace, watching the pale surface darken under the fire's breath. He pulled it out carefully, hammer ready. The first strike bounced back, vibrating through his wrist. He winced.
"Too hard," Coerl said. "Bone resists brute force. Tap it, lad. Guide the shape."
Hunnt tried again, lighter strokes this time. The bone responded, edges chipping where he directed, bending slightly under coaxing instead of cracking.
"Better." Coerl nodded. "You see now? Not every material yields to strength. Some yield to precision."
---
By midday, Hunnt's brow dripped with sweat, his arms sore from experimenting. He had tested scale after scale, learning how they flared under heat, how they resisted until struck at the right angle. Each time he grew frustrated, Coerl's steady voice reminded him: "Patience, lad. The forge punishes haste."
Hunnt wiped his face with his sleeve, staring at the half-shaped fragments before him. They were crude—misshapen, unrefined—but every piece carried a lesson. His mind replayed each failure, noting what worked, what didn't, storing the knowledge away like sparks waiting to ignite.
And beneath it all, that secret vision tugged at him again: a gauntlet, its frame steel, its strength borrowed from monster bone, its edges reinforced with scale. He didn't dare voice it yet, but every strike fed the fire inside.
---
As the day wound down, Coerl leaned against his hammer, watching Hunnt struggle to fuse a scale to a steel strip. The attempt failed, the scale snapping clean in two. Hunnt's shoulders slumped.
"Don't frown, lad," Coerl said. "Every failure teaches more than success. You're not just making weapons—you're learning their nature. And you're quicker than most I've taught. That head of yours doesn't just copy; it questions."
Hunnt glanced up, chest heaving. "So… you think I can really do this?"
Coerl smiled faintly, a rare warmth breaking through his stern exterior. "Aye. You've the eyes of someone who sees the weapon before it's made. Keep at it, and there'll come a day when you forge something that no one else could even imagine."
Hunnt straightened, pride mingling with determination. "I'll keep learning, sir. Every day. I want to master it all."
---
That evening, the forge glowed like a beacon in the dark village. Hunnt lingered long after Coerl dismissed him, hammering lightly, repeating strokes, whispering the lessons under his breath. Sparks danced around him, lighting up his golden eyes as if mirroring the fire within.
One day, he thought, hands tightening on the hammer. One day, I'll make it real.
And though Coerl had only meant to teach him patience, the old smith couldn't help but wonder if this boy's restless vision might someday change the forge itself.