The heat hit them the moment they passed under the stone archway into the forge proper, like a physical force. It wasn't just warm. It was a dry, swallowing pressure that pushed the cool hallway air from their lungs and pulled instant, beading sweat from every pore.
Wren stumbled back a step, blinking. He looked up at the arch, squinting at the intricate, faintly glowing runes carved deep into the stone. "Whoa. Okay, that makes sense," he said, fanning his face with a hand. "The school enchanted the doorway. Lets people through, but traps the heat in here." He took another half step back toward the relative cool of the antechamber. "You know what? I'm good. I'll admire from right here."
Raven nudged him forward. "Don't be dramatic. It's just heat."
"Just heat? Raven, my face is melting. I can feel my hair getting crispy."
They pressed on into the main chamber. The scale of it was always a shock. The ceiling vanished into shadowed rafters thick with hanging chains and pulley systems. The dominant feature was the central furnace, its open maw roaring with a deep, constant flame that made the very air shimmer. To one side stood a truly massive anvil, its surface a mosaic of ancient hammer marks. A glowing smelter and a wide, oil filled quenching cauldron completed the heart of the workspace. Every wall was a tapestry of tools, tongs, hammers, and files, all hung with a blacksmith's precise logic on soot darkened stone.
Brynja was at a sturdy workbench near the furnace, her back to them. They watched as she gave a final, decisive twist, securing a hilt to a dagger's tang. She set the completed pair down with a soft clink, wiped her hands on her heavy apron, and turned. Her eyes, used to judging white hot metal, swept over them with a similar assessing gaze.
Without a word, she walked to a heavy iron door, pulled it open, and disappeared. She returned a moment later, dragging a heavily scarred metal training dummy across the floor with a grating screech. She positioned it in a clear space in the center of the room, the dummy's faceless head tilting slightly.
Only then did she pick up the daggers. "Yours," she said, her voice barely carrying over the furnace's growl as she held them out to Wren.
Wren's earlier complaints vanished. He took the blades with reverent care. They were sleeker, their steel a darker, oil black hue. The new hilts fit his grip perfectly, and a minimalist logo of crossed talons was stamped into each guard. He moved to the dummy, rolling his wrists. The first slash was a testing flick. The second had intent. The new blades left deeper, cleaner gashes in the metal with a sharper, more resonant shunk. He could feel it, a subtle, responsive kinetic push in his wrist as the edge bit, as if the blade itself was eager to cut deeper. A wide, genuine grin spread across his face. "They're quicker. They want to hit. It's perfect."
Brynja gave a single, curt nod, already turning away. Her focus was now on a heavy, sealed clay vessel that had been drawn from the furnace and left to cool on a stone slab. Using her tongs, she carefully broke the clay seal and tipped the vessel over. What slid out onto the workbench was not a finished sword, but a long, rough blank of metal. It was dull black and crusted with scale, its shape barely recognizable as a blade.
"This is it," Brynja said, her voice cutting through the noise. "Cooled and stable. The fusion took." She picked up the blank. It was about the length of Adam's old sword, but thicker, heavier looking. "The earth from your core and the fire in the old steel didn't fight. They're married in here. Good sign."
Adam stared at the unremarkable black bar. It was hard to see the potential, but he trusted the solemn certainty in her voice.
"Now comes the real work," she continued, setting it down. "I need to draw out the shape, grind the edge, polish the metal to see what we've really got, and temper it. That's when it gets its final hardness and the true color will show." She looked at Adam. "You can see it now, but it won't be a weapon until tomorrow. Come back after last bell."
Adam nodded, a mixture of anticipation and patience settling in him. The success was in the material, not the form. Yet. "Thank you, Master Brynja."
She began shooing them out almost immediately, muttering about wasted time and real work. Wren was still whispering to his daggers as they escaped the oppressive heat for the blessed cool of the hallway, the sudden change making them all shiver.
They were halfway to the dormitory block, the event already settling into relieved conversation, when a figure rounded the corner ahead. He moved with the swift, silent purpose of a hunting shadow, his dark academy instructor's robe, the deep grey of weathered stone, flowing around him. Kael, his mind clearly elsewhere, didn't adjust his path in time.
His shoulder collided with the man's arm with a solid thump.
The instructor didn't stagger. He didn't even break stride. He didn't utter a word or turn his head. His pace never faltered, and he continued down the adjoining corridor, his robe swirling, and was gone.
Kael froze as if struck by lightning. All the color drained from his face, leaving him pale as chalk. A cold, clammy sweat instantly glossed his brow and neck. Adam saw his hands, usually so steady, begin a fine, uncontrollable tremor at his sides. He stood utterly rigid, his eyes wide and locked on the empty space where the man had vanished, his breathing shallow.
"Kael?" Raven asked, his voice low and alert. Lira and Wren had fallen silent, sensing the shift.
The sound of his name seemed to jolt Kael back into his body. He snapped his gaze away from the corridor, but the fear in his eyes was stark, undisguised. His voice, when it came, was tight and urgent, stripped of all its usual dry calm. "Go on. All of you. I need to see Instructor Garrick. Right now."
He didn't wait for a reply. He turned and broke into a flat sprint, not toward their rooms, but back the way they had come, toward the austere faculty administration building.
Adam, Raven, Wren, and Lira were left standing in the quiet hallway, the conversation about the new weapons utterly forgotten. They had faced down E rank beasts and the crushing anxiety of the trials together. They had never seen Kael Frost look scared. And the sight of it, of his trembling and that sudden, terrified sprint, left a cold hollow in the pit of Adam's stomach that had nothing to do with the forge's missing heat.