The smith's curiosity deepened as he watched Kelen pull a folded, worn piece of parchment from his pocket.
Kelen smoothed it out on the workbench—the sketch revealed a blade as hauntingly beautiful as it was lethal.
"I want this," Kelen said, his finger tracing the lines on the paper.
His voice held a cold, unwavering certainty.
"A blade that slices through the dark. Its tip must be needle-sharp and triangular, designed to puncture through the heaviest armor in a single thrust."
The smith leaned in, squinting at the design.
His gaze locked onto the mid-section where one edge was lined with wicked, zig-zag serrations.
"This is for tearing through prey, Kelen. But this part..."
He pointed toward the hilt.
*
"There must be a heavy metal cuff," Kelen finished, his tone absolute.
"That cuff will fit perfectly around my wrist. Attached to it will be a reinforced iron chain, bolted directly to the handle."
"I want this blade to be an extension of my arm. If it slips during the heat of battle, the chain will ensure it never leaves me."
"It remains bound... just like my shadow."
The smith let out a long breath, studying the intricate details once more.
"Such precision... such ferocity. I have never forged a blade like this."
"To bring this to life, I will need Vespera's coldest steel and its hottest flame."
Kelen narrowed his eyes, his 'mask' as unreadable as ever.
"Can you do it?"
A challenging grin spread across the smith's soot-stained face.
He gripped his hammer and nodded.
"The work begins before the sun sets. But remember, Kelen—a blade that cannot be parted from the hand... it leaves its mark on the soul of the wielder as well."
Kelen pulled his gaze away from the blueprint and met the smith's glowing eyes.
"How soon can I have this steel?"
The smith studied the complex design once more, resting his heavy hammer against his shoulder.
"To be honest, I've never forged anything like this. This isn't just a sword; it's an art form."
"It will take time to get the balance right. I'll aim for tomorrow, but if the intricacies don't settle, it might take longer."
Not a single line of worry etched Kelen's face.
He offered a simple, formal nod.
"No matter. If not tomorrow, then the day after. I have no use for a rushed, half-finished weapon."
The smith stoked the forge, the orange light flickering in his eyes as he spoke with concern.
"Your patience is admirable, Kelen. But Vespera's nights do not wait."
"To face the 'monsters' lurking like shadows outside the walls without this new blade... you are walking into a storm."
"Can you truly afford to wait?"
Kelen ran a thumb over the hilt of his old, weathered sword.
"For those shadows, this old friend is more than enough for now. She hasn't failed me yet."
The smith let out a cold sigh, gesturing toward the empty supply crates.
"I still owe you an apology, Kelen. I've found no way to secure the black powder or the rounds. Without them, you are—"
Kelen cut him off, his hand resting briefly over his inner coat pocket, where the faint clink of brass echoed.
"Don't be. I have a small reserve of powder and a few rounds left from the previous batch."
"As long as I have my steel and what's left of my lead, Vespera has nothing to fear."
Kelen turned to leave, but his gaze caught on an ancient brass clock mounted on the wall.
Each swing of the pendulum echoed with a heavy, rhythmic thud.
"Make sure the windows and shutters are double-bolted," Kelen said, his eyes still fixed on the clock.
There was a sharp edge of caution in his tone.
"The dark is no longer a distant threat."
The smith set a heavy mallet on the workbench and glanced at the clock, which, like in every other room here, hung like a silent judge.
"I know, Kelen. Every tick of these hands reminds us of what waits."
"Don't worry; I will personally check every latch and every chain."
"Tonight, this corner of Vespera stays sealed behind cold steel."
Kelen gave a short nod and stepped back into the main hall.
The space that had been filled with the roar of the forge and the bustle of people testing blades—the fruit seller, the silk merchant—was now as silent as a tomb.
The vast chamber, once teeming with life, now held only empty racks and the acrid scent of cold ash.
As Kelen reached the main exit, his eyes locked onto the massive door.
It wasn't merely a wooden barrier; it was a fortress of thick iron plates and heavy, interlocking chains.
One look at it told the story: it wasn't built to keep things out, but to hold the terror of Vespera within.
The moment Kelen crossed the threshold, a heavy, metallic groan echoed behind him—Clang!
The smith had dropped the chains.
Kelen checked his own watch; the hands had snapped onto the 5:00 mark.
"Five o'clock," Kelen whispered toward the sealed door, his voice barely a breath in the cooling air.
"Keep your wits about you."
Outside, the wind had turned sharp, and a heavy, suffocating silence began to drape over the streets of Vespera.
A suffocating silence had begun to drape over the streets of Vespera, but in a corner of the market, shadows were still moving in haste.
A few vendors were frantically gathering their remaining wares.
Among them stood two young girls, clutching the hand of an elderly man, their eyes reflecting a mix of stubbornness and fear.
Kelen's heavy boots echoed against the cobblestones, making them flinch.
He reached them and knelt down to meet the girls at eye level.
"Go, now," he said, his voice soft but laced with an undeniable command.
"Your parents are waiting."
"They wouldn't budge, sir," the old man said, his voice trembling.
"I tried to send them away, but they refused to leave my side."
Kelen rested a hand on their shoulders.
"Go home, little ones. And remember—no matter what sound you hear outside, no matter who calls your name, do not open the door."
"Do not even think about peeking through the windows. Stay silent. Stay hidden."
"Okay, Brother Kelen," the younger one whispered before they vanished into the narrowing alleyway.
Kelen turned to the old man and, without a word, lifted the heavy basket of fruit from his weathered hands.
"Which way?" he asked, following the man's lead.
Along the way, he encountered an elderly woman struggling to walk; he adjusted his gear and hoisted her onto his back.
With a basket in one hand and a life upon his shoulders, Kelen moved through the desolate streets like a guardian spirit.
After ensuring the last soul was safely behind a bolted door, he checked his watch.
Time was slipping away like sand.
He strode toward a massive, dark building that loomed over the street.
Before him stood a gargantuan iron door, silent as a grave but immovable as a mountain.
Kelen unlatched the heavy chains and heaved the massive gate open.
The darkness inside seemed ready to swallow him whole.
As he stepped in, he pulled the heavy iron shut behind him, the finality of the sound echoing through the empty halls.