The forge hummed with a low, magical energy, casting dancing shadows across the workshop.
In the center of the room, Aya was deep in concentration, her brow glistening with sweat. Before her, suspended in mid-air by her Blacksmith skill, was a blade of the deepest black. It was not yet a sword, but a raw, sharpened shard of darkness that seemed to drink the light around it.
Her hands moved with precise gestures, coaxing the unusual material into shape, her eyes reflecting the flickering forge-fire as she poured her focus into the enigmatic weapon.
A short distance away, Celestia observed in silence. She sat perfectly still, her sharp eyes missing no detail of Aya's process. Her presence was like a calm anchor in the room, a silent testament to her support and her own innate curiosity about the creation of a new weapon.
