The forge blazed hotter than usual, the coals stirred into a furious glow that painted the walls in deep orange. Today wasn't another practice round. Today, Coerl had laid out the task clearly:
"Steel core. Bone edge. Scale reinforcement. That's your first trial. No excuses."
Hunnt's heart pounded against his ribs. His arms still ached from yesterday's attempts, but his spirit burned brighter than the flames. This was it—the step that would separate him from fumbling with scraps and walking the path of a true forgemaster.
---
The steel bar was the foundation. Hunnt hammered it with steady rhythm, shaping it into the slender body of a dagger. The sound rang clean: clang, clang, clang. His hammer strokes were no longer hesitant. Each strike followed the image in his mind—a blade narrow enough to pierce, long enough to slash.
Coerl circled him, watching with arms crossed. "Good. Your hands are calmer today. Yesterday you struck like a boy desperate to prove himself. Today you strike like someone who knows the fire won't betray him."
Hunnt gritted his teeth, focusing on the molten steel. He wanted to speak, but words felt like they would break his concentration.
---
Next came the bone. Hunnt pulled a curved Gorgawump fragment from the pile. He brushed his thumb along its ridges, recalling yesterday's lesson: don't force, guide. Into the furnace it went, the white-gray surface darkening, then glowing faint red.
Sweat trickled into his eyes as he set the bone against the steel's edge. Tap. Tap. Tap. Each strike was a negotiation, bone and steel resisting each other, unwilling to merge. The first attempt snapped—splinters scattering across the anvil.
Hunnt froze, chest tight. No… not now, not when it matters.
Coerl's voice rumbled. "Breathe. You think failure isn't part of this? That piece is gone. So what? Take another. And this time, don't rush the bond. Let them learn each other."
Hunnt nodded, swallowing his frustration. He grabbed another bone fragment, steadied his breath, and tried again. The second piece resisted just as much, but this time he didn't force it. He adjusted the steel, shifted the angle, coaxed instead of commanded. Slowly—agonizingly slowly—the bone fused, lining the dagger's edge like jagged teeth.
Hunnt let out a shaky breath. It's holding… it's actually holding.
---
Now, the scales.
These were trickier. The fragments Coerl had chosen were thin, meant for reinforcement along the dagger's spine. Hunnt heated one until faint sparks licked its surface, then pressed it against the glowing steel. The material groaned under the hammer, flaking at the edges. He almost pulled back, but forced himself to listen—not to his fear, but to the sound of the strike.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The scale settled. Uneven, ugly, but fused. Hunnt's lips curled into a grin, his golden eyes reflecting the firelight. "It's working."
"Don't celebrate yet," Coerl barked. "Finish the blade. If the whole holds, then you can call it a success."
Hunnt returned to work. Hours blurred as he hammered, tempered, and ground the blade into shape. The workshop filled with the smell of smoke, hot iron, and singed bone. His arms screamed with fatigue, but his spirit carried him forward.
When at last the dagger lay complete on the anvil, Hunnt almost didn't believe it. The steel core gleamed faintly beneath jagged bone teeth. The scales along the spine shimmered like dark stone, lending it a strange, primal beauty.
He lifted it carefully, the weight unfamiliar yet thrilling in his hand. It wasn't just a weapon. It was alive with history—the remains of a beast reforged into something new.
---
"Test it," Coerl ordered.
Hunnt nodded, stepping to the side where a thick block of wood awaited. He raised the dagger high and slashed downward.
Thwack!
The blade bit deep, sinking halfway into the block. The bone edge cracked faintly but didn't shatter. The steel held, and the scales along the back didn't peel away. Hunnt pulled the blade free, his breath caught in his throat.
"It… it worked," he whispered. His hands trembled, not from exhaustion but from awe.
Coerl approached, lifting the dagger from Hunnt's grip. He inspected it closely, grunting. "Ugly. Rough. Won't last more than a few battles." Then he smirked, handing it back. "But it is a weapon. Your first true hybrid. You've crossed the threshold."
Hunnt clutched the dagger to his chest, his heart swelling. I did it. I actually did it.
---
That night, Hunnt couldn't sleep. The dagger rested beside his cot, catching faint glimmers of moonlight through the forge's window. He rolled onto his side, staring at it, thoughts racing.
[If bone can edge steel, and scales can reinforce the spine… what if claws could become the tip? Or hide stitched into grips? Or…]
His imagination spiraled endlessly, a storm of visions. Weapons unlike any that existed. Armor that moved like a second skin. Creations that didn't just protect or kill, but carried the soul of the beasts within them.
Hunnt clenched his fists under the blanket. [I'll do it. I'll make something the world's never seen. This dagger is only the first step.]
---
The next morning, Coerl found him already at the forge, hammer in hand, eyes alight with feverish determination. The dagger sat proudly on the workbench, crude yet defiant.
"Already back at it, eh?" Coerl muttered. He studied the boy, then gave a low chuckle. "Good. That hunger—you'll need it. The path you're stepping on… it eats weaklings alive."
Hunnt didn't look up, hammer striking with new rhythm. Sparks burst with each blow, reflecting his unspoken vow.
One blade forged. A thousand more to come.
And with each, Hunnt's dream drew closer.