A twinge of pain sparked down the bond at her title, but she smiled. I hated how much she had blamed herself for her guild and adventurers’ demise. Itwasn’ther fault. She was as much a victim as they were. Matthieu was at fault for all of this, and we would make him answer for that. “You as well, Darren.”
The guys and I had met Darren a few times, but we hadn’t worked with him before. He had the best reputation for crafting swords and daggers in the Lethium Empire, though, and I was interested in seeing how he would make the femur bone into a weapon.
It needed to be something special enough to kill an evil immortal.
"Come with me, and we’ll get started!" With a brisk yet welcoming gesture, Darren ushered us through the grand entrance of the castle.
Its towering arches and intricate stone carvings whispered tales of a bygone era, and it was familiar to me. This castle had become home for so long, and yet, now, I mourned the loss of Fawn’s cottage. That place had become home more so than this one. I couldn’t imagine how she felt, though.
I reached out to our bond and felt her despair spreading through it. My chest tightened.
Cool air spread over my skin, carrying with it a faint scent of aged wood and polished marble, mingling with the lingering aroma of freshly brewed tea from the nearby chambers. The castle exuded an aura of timeless majesty, each corridor and hall a testament to the empire's grandeur.
As we strode across the polished stone of the castle, Darren's pace remained lively, his enthusiasm palpable. The regal interior echoed with our footsteps, the faint echoes adding an air of anticipation to what would hopefully be the start of the end of Matthieu.
He led us along a corridor adorned with tapestries depicting epic battles and noble triumphs, the vivid colors and intricate stitches capturing the essence of a rich history. I’d used to explore the castle for hours when Emperor Lloyd first took me under his wing, and he’d tell me all the stories I wanted to know about.
A spare room on the first floor beckoned, its heavy wooden door a portal to a realm of creativity and craftsmanship. “Emperor Lloyd gifted me this room as my new shop—and I get to stay here and conduct business! That is until my shop gets rebuilt after the monster attacks.” Darren's words danced in the air as he pushed open the door.
The room bore witness to his trade, a sanctuary of tools and materials waiting to be molded into works of art.
"I’m glad he’s able to keep business coming your way," I offered, my voice resonating in the space.
The sunlight streamed through a large window, casting a warm glow upon the workbenches and shelves adorned with various creations. Dust motes floated lazily in the sunlight, adding a touch of ethereal charm to the scene.
It was cozy for a blacksmith shop.
Darren's chuckle was a cheerful note, a melody that harmonized with the soft rustle of parchment and the clink of metal. "Oh, no. This is free. Emperor’s orders." His eyes twinkled with amusement, the corners of his lips curling into a genial smile.
“That’s good.” Fawn smiled politely, but I could feel her irritability down the bond. She wanted to get this over with more than any of us.
“Emperor Lloyd said you needed a dagger crafted out of bone. What kind of bone are we working with?”
“A femur bone of an abominal,” Fawn answered, handing the large bone she’d been hoarding since the abominal had given it to us over to Darren. “It’s very important, so please, do your best. Silas has to imbue it with runes as well.”
“Fascinating.” His voice held a hint of wonder.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Darren's nimble fingers embraced the bone, a connection forming between the artisan and the instrument of his craft in a way I’d only witnessed between a mage and magic.
The flicker of excitement in his eyes mirrored the thrill that raced through the room as if the very air buzzed with creative energy. Even Fawn’s excitement was palpable.
As Darren set to work, his hands moved with grace, each movement deliberate and precise. He placed the femur on a stone slab that became an altar of artistry as he took the chisel and hammer to the bone. The rhythmic clinking of metal on bone resonated through the room, a symphony of creation in progress as he carefully shaped each ridge and angle to perfection.
The room was a cocoon of focused concentration, a sanctuary where time seemed to bend around the fusion of skill and purpose. Shadows danced along the walls as Darren's hands molded and shaped, turning the femur bone into a masterpiece of deadly elegance. The air hummed with potential, each delicate scrape and purposeful chip imbuing the weapon with a life of its own.
Darren's hands worked with precision, and I couldn't help but admire his skill. He was an artist, crafting a weapon that would not only serve its purpose but also be a work of art. It was rare to find a blacksmith with such talent since most adventurers and mages preferred using their magic to fight.
We watched in silence as Darren kindled a crucible of molten metal, the radiant heat casting an almost otherworldly glow upon his features. The liquid metal flowed like gel, filling an intricate mold with a sizzling hiss that echoed in the very marrow of the room. The hilt took form, an ornate marriage of bone and steel, waiting to be brought to power by the runes I was to carve and ink into it.
The dagger's form took shape, a convergence of art and purpose, until Darren created a blade like none I’d ever seen before—a weapon fit to end Matthieu’s life.
As he handed over the hilt to me, his eyes gleamed with a twinkle of camaraderie. "Now, it's your turn," he quipped, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
The weight of the hilt settled into my palm, its balance a delicate equilibrium that was a testimony of Darren's expertise. The cool touch of the bone sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine, a reminder of the power we were harnessing.
It felt perfect, and I knew Fawn would be able to wield it expertly. Though, it made me realize I’d never actually seen Fawn fight with a weapon. It was always her magic that she used.
With a steady stream of magical energy, I channeled water magic into my fingertips, which came out as strong licks over the surface of the hilt. The mortality runes etched themselves under my guidance, the intricate carvings taking on a life of their own. Each stroke of my magic was deliberate, a whisper of incantation woven into the very fabric of the dagger.
