Page 58 of Crownless Heirs

He let out a deep, belly laugh that vibrated through the very bedrock of the mountain. “Yes!” he roared, flexing his fingers. “Now that is a weapon!”

Sorcha stared at the scimitar, her chest heaving as the golden light receded back into the steel.

Goibniu grinned at her before turning his piercing gaze toward Kyron and Maelan, who were currently pushing themselves off the dusty floor, brushing soot from their clothes and glaring at the near-disaster.

“Now,” the God rumbled, stepping toward them with heavy, echoing strides, “it is your turn.”

The two men straightened up, exchanging a very wary, nervous glance.

Goibniu reached for a massive leather satchel resting near the anvil, overturning it onto the heavy worktable. A glittering cascade of rare metals and raw ores clinked against the stone, catching the blue forge light in brilliant streaks of ancient bronze, luminous moonstone, and raw gold. Beside the metals, an assortment of uncut, magical gemstones spilled across the surface.

He met their eyes. “Choose.”

Kyron stepped forward first, his critical gaze scanning the wealth of materials. His hand hovered over a block of celestial bronze, a legendary metal forged in the heart of a star, untouched by rust, age, or mortal decay. It was incredibly heavy, resilient, and hummed with divine force. Right next to it, his eyes locked onto a jagged chunk of raw obsidian. The dark volcanic glass didn’t reflect the blue forge fire; it absorbed it, pulling the light into its infinite black depths. It was the perfect conduit for someone who required brute strength paired with control for absorbing power. Kyron hoisted the celestial bronze, testing its dense weight in his palm, before picking up the obsidian for his hilt.

Goibniu nodded, a look of approval on his face. “Celestial bronze and obsidian. A blade of unwavering endurance, born in light but honed in the dark depths. You will craft a longsword. A weapon that perfectly balances crushing force with absolute control.”

Maelan was next. He stood back, studying the remaining treasures with a calculated frown. He was not a fighter who relied on brute strength; his lethality lay in blinding speed, precision, and adaptability.

His fingers bypassed the heavier metals, landing on a bar of star steel. The rare metal, harvested from fallen meteors, felt as light as a feather in his grip. It was a conduit that resonated directly with the warrior’s mind, moving as swiftly as they thought. Alongside it, he slid a brilliant, deep blue sapphire into his palm. The gemstone shimmered faintly, radiating an aura of focus and agility.

“This,” Maelan said, a confident smirk returning to his lips.

Goibniu studied him, then nodded. “Star steel and sapphire. A fitting choice for one who moves like the wind. You will craft a rapier. A blade that does not overpower but outmaneuvers, striking with precision and speed.”

Maelan exhaled, his grip tightening around the materials.

The God motioned them forward. “Let’s begin.”

Kyron and Maelan stepped up to the anvil, mirroring the process Sorcha had gone through just hours before. The forge roared to life again, the blue flames shifting with each movement of metal against fire. Goibniu wasted no time in correcting them.

Kyron struck hard at first, his grip rigid, his strikes full of brute force but lacking the finesse needed to shape the blade properly.

“Control,” Goibniu barked, slapping his hand against the anvil.“Strength means nothing without it. Again.”

Kyron readjusted and focused, his next strikes landing truer.

Maelan, on the other hand, was hesitant.

“Commit,” Goibniu growled when Maelan hesitated before bringing the hammer down. “A weapon is only as sure as the hand that wields it. Second guess yourself, and your blade will do the same.”

The forge echoed with the sound of hammers and the sizzle of molten metal followed with the occasional curse when something went wrong.

Sorcha, now leaning against a nearby workbench, watched as they worked, exhaustion creeping into their movements too. And then at long last their blades were finished.

Goibniu stepped forward, inspecting both weapons with a critical eye.

“Good,” he said, satisfied. “You’re now armed.”

Kyron wiped the sweat from his brow, rolling his shoulders. “That’s it?”

“No,” he rumbled. “Now, you learn how to use them.”

And before either of them could react, he moved. With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed a nearby staff and lunged. Kyron barely had time to raise his sword before Goibniu’s strike knocked him back a full step, the force of it rattling through his arms. Maelan dodged the next swing, but only barely, his breath coming quick as he instinctively adjusted his stance.

Goibniu laughed.

“Come now,” he taunted, twirling the staff effortlessly in his hands. “Show me what you’ve learned.”