The forge burned long into the night. Joran had pulled every scrap of steel left in camp, broken cart-iron and rusted tools, tying them with strips of leather and boards of ashwood. The refugees gathered close, whispering, their eyes flicking between the blacksmith and the faint glow of the Codex where it rested on a stone.
Eda tugged at her friend's sleeve.
"Why's everyone staring? It's only Joran at the forge. He's hammered cart-iron before."
Tira shook her head, her voice low.
"No, not the same. Look at him. The way he sets his shoulders. And the book—see it? It's glowing already."
Mira stepped closer to Draven, her words just for him.
"They don't know what's coming, but they feel it. This isn't like drills or blades. They know it's different."
Joran raised his hammer, sweat dripping from his brow. Sparks leapt as iron bent under his strike.
"Frame first," he muttered, voice rough with heat and strain. "Steel has to hold before words can sit. Without a frame, a book breaks in the hand."
He hammered again, the clang echoing across the camp.
"Cover next. Steel and leather. Strong enough to carry marks, light enough to pass from hand to hand."
The Codex glowed brighter, light spilling across Draven's hands. He drew a line along the plates, and runes burned into the steel where his finger passed.
Mira whispered, eyes wide.
"He's not carving. He's following. The book is guiding him."
Joran stared at the etched marks, breath rough.
"This isn't hammered metal anymore. It's written."
Marrek, leaning on his ox, muttered to the woman beside him.
"I've bent iron my whole life. You hammer it, it holds, then it rusts. That—" he nodded at the glowing frame "—that won't rust in a hundred years."
The Codex pulsed once, light spilling into the forged frame. Ashwood boards and leather bound themselves tight, pages forming where none had been. The crowd gasped as a second book lay smoking on the anvil.
It was small — no higher than a man's palm, ten or fifteen centimeters at most. Light enough to carry at a belt or pass from hand to hand.
"It made another book," someone whispered. "Alive… like the Codex itself."
Draven stepped forward and set the Bloomscript open. His voice carried, steady and calm.
"Step forward and try to bind with your beast."
Marrek came first. He pressed one hand against his ox's hide. His voice trembled but did not break.
"I stand with him, and he stands with me. Let the book see it."
Light leapt from the pages. Threads bound man and beast together, not faint this time but bright, sharp. The ox huffed and leaned into him, and Marrek's shoulders steadied as if he had carried a burden all his life and just set it down.
Eda clutched her staff, whispering to Tira.
"They breathe the same. Look at them, their chests rise together. Like they're one body."
Kerr laughed under his breath, gripping his tool tighter.
"It's running through them, back and forth. Not heavy like a shackle. More like a rope we all hold together."
The camp murmured. Awe spread like fire, but Sana's voice cut through, sharp with fear.
"Paper tears easy. I've torn books before. But these pages… they won't. I can see it. They carry something no hand ever pressed."
Marrek nodded, rough but certain.
"Iron bends, breaks, rusts. Always has. But this—" he pointed at the glowing page "—this feels heavier than any iron I've ever held."
Joran wiped sweat from his face, his voice flat and sure.
"Steel gave it a frame. Leather gave it skin. But those pages—those aren't mine. That's the book's work."
Mira's gaze stayed fixed on the Bloomscript.
"Then it isn't just a book. It's a vessel. It carries more than we can see."
Brenn's gravel voice cut across the firepit, breaking the hush.
"Call it a vessel, call it a miracle, it makes no difference. It's a tool. You've seen it. Either use it or waste it."
The murmurs shifted. Awe steadied into resolve. People no longer whispered "miracle" but spoke of "tool" and "bond," their words practical now.
The Codex stirred. A page turned on its own, and words burned in stylized script:
"A bond shared, not forced.
A strength divided, yet whole."
The glow faded. Silence followed.
Joran ran his fingers across the Bloomscript's steel frame, his voice low, more promise than thought.
"I can make more. As many as the scrap allows."
Brenn closed the book in his hand, the leather creaking.
"Then make them. One book won't hold a wall. The more you forge, the longer we stand."
Mira looked at the crowd, her words soft but steady.
"They won't just follow beasts now. They'll fight as one with them."
Eda whispered to Tira, still staring at the pages.
"It's only paper, isn't it? But it feels heavier than stone."
The camp settled, voices dimming as people drifted back to their fires. Rows of men and beasts lay side by side, breathing steady. Sleep came, but not scatter.
The Codex, though, did not rest.
It glowed fierce, brighter than the forge. Pages turned fast, too quick for eyes. Symbols carved themselves in the air where only Draven could see.
One word etched itself, heavy and final:
"Reward …"
The page slammed shut before it finished. The glow died.
No one else noticed. The camp slept.
Only Draven stared at the closed book, silent, his hand flexing once before he let it fall still.
💖 Enjoying the story?
👉 Support me on Patreon: patreon.com/sa2quasar