The forge was alive with sound—coal hissing in the furnace, iron groaning as it softened under the heat, and the steady heartbeat of hammer against anvil. But today's rhythm was different. Today, Coerl had laid out something entirely new on the workbench: a neat collection of Gorgawump fragments. Jagged bone, thickened scales, and one serrated claw gleamed faintly in the light, promising both challenge and opportunity.
Hunnt's hands twitched at his sides. His chest tightened with excitement and nerves. These weren't ordinary scraps. These were pieces of a creature that had once roared, hunted, and fought. And now, they lay silent, waiting to be reborn as weapons.
Coerl's deep voice cut through the moment. "This is where most apprentices fail. Steel is forgiving—you can bend it back, reshape it, correct your mistakes. But monster materials?" He tapped the claw with a calloused finger. "They don't forgive. Strike wrong, heat wrong, force them, and they'll shatter. And once broken, they're gone for good."
Hunnt nodded quickly, his throat dry. I can't waste this. Not even one piece.
---
The first lesson was bone. Coerl placed a curved fragment on the anvil. "Start simple. Bone's rigid, aye, but with the right angle, you can shape it into edges or spikes. Test it. Listen to it."
Hunnt slid the fragment into the furnace, eyes fixed on the way it darkened, the faint smoke curling upward. He pulled it out and struck gently, exactly as Coerl had drilled into him the day before. The first tap echoed hollow, bouncing the hammer back. He steadied himself and tried again, angling the strike. This time, the bone splintered slightly, shaving off in clean lines instead of cracking outright.
Coerl grunted approval. "Good. You're guiding it, not bullying it. Remember that."
Hunnt's lips pressed into a thin smile. It's different… so much harder to read than steel, but… I can feel it. Like it's resisting me, but not completely.
---
The next test was with a scale. Hunnt held it carefully in both hands, running his fingers along its ridges. It was lighter than he expected, but sharp, like layered stone. He thought of Pyro's claws scraping against the Gorgawump's hide, sparks flying. That hide had turned blades aside—and now it rested on his anvil.
Coerl leaned in, eyes sharp. "Scales want to hold their shape. Heat them too much, and they'll crumble. Too little, and they won't bend at all. Find the middle ground."
Hunnt swallowed hard, lowering the scale into the flames. He counted in his head, watching the color shift—dull gray, then faint red. His instincts screamed to strike quickly, but he waited, listening for Coerl's quiet grunt of approval.
When it came, Hunnt pulled it out and tapped lightly. The scale bent, stubborn but yielding just enough to curve along the steel strip he'd prepared. The fusion wasn't perfect—the edges jutted awkwardly—but it held.
His breath caught. "It… worked. A little."
Coerl's mouth tugged into a half-smile. "Not bad for a first try. The shape's ugly, but the bond's real. Beauty comes later. For now, learn to make it stay together."
Hunnt nodded, sweat dripping down his cheek. His mind was already racing. If scales could reinforce, if bone could shape edges… then what of claws?
---
By late afternoon, Hunnt's arms trembled from effort. His anvil was littered with fragments—some cracked, some bent, a few holding their form. He examined each piece like a puzzle, committing every failure to memory.
Coerl clapped his shoulder firmly. "Most lads would've tossed their hammer by now. You, though… you keep thinking. That's the mark of a smith who'll last."
Hunnt exhaled, staring at the scale-steel fusion he'd managed to hold together. It was crude, barely functional, but to him, it was proof. Proof that the impossible could be shaped, stroke by stroke.
Inside his chest, that vision burned brighter: a gauntlet lined with bone for strength, scales reinforcing the guard, claws sharpened for strikes. He didn't dare speak it aloud, but the idea refused to leave him.
---
As the forge quieted, Coerl set down his hammer. "That's enough for today. Tomorrow, we'll try something functional. A dagger—steel core, monster edges. Fail and we start over. Succeed… and you'll hold your first true hybrid weapon."
Hunnt's golden eyes shone in the firelight. His hands ached, his body screamed with fatigue, but his mind buzzed with determination. "I'll be ready, sir."
That night, long after Coerl had left, Hunnt remained at the forge. The fire dimmed to embers, but he kept hammering softly, practicing the same motions over and over. Sparks lit the dark, and in their glow, the boy's dream sharpened.
One day, he thought, gripping a half-shaped fragment. One day, I'll forge a weapon that's alive. A weapon that feels like part of me.
And in that small forge, with the world unaware, the first true steps toward that dream began.