The dancing books lowered to the height of each member of the cohort, then began to rapidly increase their speed of rotation, flying through the air, worrying the members. Eventually, the pieces of literature ceased their movement in one motion, abruptly pausing in front of each person.
In front of Anemone floated a crimson, blood-red book with an anvil on it made of stone. Above it, a floating hammer with fire burning, showing that it was in the middle of swinging as the hammer rained down onto the anvil like a comet. Its title, Seraphim.
Astrape had her own book float down to her, a teal book with brown leather as the binding. The front of the book, made of gold inlay, was a soldier covered in red armor, holding a bow with its string pulled back, a large, berry blue arrow ready to fire. The name of the book was Hachi.
Tasim's book slowly floated into his hands. It was a forest green book with black leather for the spine. It had the picture of a woman sitting, relaxed against a tree, with long, elegant hair that blew eastward from the wind. Leaves rained down, floating through the air, above the tree burned a bright, blazing sun. In between both pieces of art, Thay was written in white letters.
Father Hatheway's was the most odd of the four. It was a book split in half; one side was the darkest of blacks, and no glare was reflected off this side. The other was a blinding white which reflected all the light in the area. The name of the book was written in grey letters, using the black half of the book as a line for writing. Its name was Elyon.
***
His hammer was falling in blazing arches, sparks spilling from the collision of his gem-like hammer that hit his sturdy, metal anvil. He gazed down upon the sword that was being formed, disdain in his eyes as the hammering sound rang in the air.
'Humans, what creatures, they force themselves through pain, through suffering, through loss, through hurt, through trials, all for a chance to become a better version of themselves. Whether they die, cower in fear in the end, or prevail, they knew the risks before going in, yet they decided to do it nonetheless. And in the end, none become a master of all trades, no matter how many years they live, nor how many trials they put themselves through. Some choose to become masters of a single art, while others spend their lives trying to become a fraction of me. It doesn't matter; it's not like I wouldn't end them if they even batted an eye in my direction.'
The man then picked up the flaming piece of metal that was slowly losing its glow, then tossed it inside a roasting forge with coals glowing white. He set his tongs down on his large anvil, along with his hammer, exiting his forge for a moment, looking up at the bright blue sky that was lit by a mysterious force, not a star or light in sight.
'I wish to be challenged, I wish for a mere mortal to rise above its species, become the zenith of their kind, and challenge me with their own might.'
The man snapped his fingers, and a blue flame erupted from his index finger. He then flicked it into the air and watched it fly to the pure white marble floor beneath him, then disperse into nothingness. He then stood, turning back to go into his forge. His hands reached behind him, tying his long black hair into a ponytail to remove it from his face. His bright blue eyes burned with optimism, and a crooked smile filled his face as he grabbed his tongs, grabbed the piece of metal that was burning bright out of the forge, and tossed it back onto the anvil.
He picked up his hammer that's head looked similar to gabbro, but had colors sparkling from within, teal, crimson, cyan, emerald, gold, and amethyst, it was a beautiful hammer with a simplistic handle made of ebony wood, gold pummel with engravings mixed in, to produce a magnificent site, along with a piece of gold under the hammer head.
The hammer was raised into the air before striking down onto the piece of metal that was slowly being brought to life, into the shape of a blade. Its light was dying slowly as the man was striking quickly, shaping it with incredible speed as the size slowly seemed to increase.
As the shape of the blade came to be, he picked it up with his tongs and quenched it in a vat filled with water. The liquid immediately came to a rolling boil, bubbles rising to its surface and popping with incredible speed. The blade came out, as dark as onyx, the liquid still boiling. The forge, just a few steps away, had cooled down, continuing to cool still as the man began to clean the blade.
He then popped it back into the cooled forge, readying the blade for tempering. Over the next hour, the man tempered the blade into a sturdy piece of weaponry. Proud of his work, he began the next step of the process, the hilt assembly.
Below the straight blade, the guard was made of a shining metal, the outer edges curving into snakes, while the part that held the blade would be constructed into a dragon, with its mouth biting the bottom portion of the blade. The handle was made of a similar material, but parts of it were carved out, and others bulged more outwardly to create more grip. The pommel was simply rounded with a blunt edge at the end of it that came to a point.
Next were the engravings, the sword was laid down onto a table made of holly wood that was adorned with patterns such as leaves, stems, flowers, and random runes that only made sense to him. Four supports were laid out, one for the blade portion of the sword, two for each side of the guard, and one for the handle. The sword was then carefully placed down into each support. The man then grabbed a metal burin, which would be used to engrave.
The man with his steady hands then bent down and began to engrave in a runic language towards the bottom portion of the blade, where it met the guard. The blade slowly came together, and now the final portion was to sharpen the blade. The blade was then sharpened on a whetstone, slowly and carefully, as the water swished around on the stone, until the edge had a slight gleam. Both sides were sharpened, then the polishing began. A liquid was applied to a towel and then wiped onto the blade, producing a shine.
The blade was finished, and the man gripped its handle, raising it into the air, as he swiped it around. Its blade caught fire, radiating extreme heat that the man handled easily. The flame grew more, the faster he swung the blade, the more it grew until it seemed alive. The man began to dance with the blade, fighting an invisible opponent inside his forge. The opponent stabbed towards his neck, and he dodged, parrying the sword away from his body, then using his elbow to hit the opponent in his chin. He mocked the opponent, then quickly recovered his parrying sword and swiped the invisible opponent's neck; thus, the flame enveloping the blade vanished instantly, the room returning to its normal, still extreme temperature.
The man then exited his forge, his sword in hand. The blade began to vibrate with otherworldly energy, the runes glowing. Suddenly, the sword flew out of his hand, acting with its own volition. The flame once again erupted from within, enveloping the blade as the sword flew around as if trying to say that it is finally free.
"Yield." The man said aloud in a stern voice.
The sword continued to fly around, coming to a stop, then spinning dangerously fast in place before flying towards the man's neck. The man stood still, not moving an inch, and through reading the blade, he grabbed the handle midair, stopping its momentum completely. The blade hummed from the sudden loss of momentum, then tore itself away from the firm grip.
The sword backed away, pointing its blade directly at the man's neck, then began to vibrate, the speed hastening as moments passed. Once the blade came to a certain speed, mirages appeared all around the man of the same blade; the man realized through the heat that each one was a real blade. The blades then began to spin again and flew at the man with haste. The man jumped, dodging most blades, though multiple blades clipped his skin, cutting into his cheeks, cutting off part of his ponytail, and into his arms, thighs, and entire body. The man dashed away, taking off his leather apron and his gloves.
"What a lively sword. It's time for you to yield to your creator."
The man was enveloped with otherworldly flames, which made him unseeable for a moment as the flames surrounded him with a blinding light. Once the flames died down, the man was wearing a new outfit, a white dapho hanbok with a black goreium around his waist, grey sleeves protruding down his arms to his wrist. On his feet were now wooden sandals. The man then produced a sword of pure flame from nothingness, gripping its handle that chose not to sear his skin, then glanced at each spinning blade in front of him, dashing towards one that stood alone, his sandals clicking on the ground as his garments flowed with the wind that rushed past him.
The man swung his magical blade at one of the swords that spun in the air, but it dashed out of the way, and the process repeated. The swords gathered together and rained down on the man as a group, pushing him to the brink of his capabilities. But the man simply stood there, not flinching, just watching. The man's body was now covered in holes that were made of flame and lightning, and his flesh and clothes quickly regrew. This repeated multiple times, each time a few blades disappeared until only a handful were left.
"Don't you have more energy than that? I made you, don't fail me now. Here's a little treat to get you going."
The man put his hand out, his palm open, and a stream of fire rained out of it, enveloping the flying blade. Once the flames died down, the blade was glowing brighter, the flames beginning to thrive, thus it began to duplicate, into hundreds of blades filled with fury.
"Good, good. Now fight till the bitter end."
The blades rushed at the man, one after another, but the man simply dodged each one as they became lodged in the marble floor, resembling a dancing man. Each one became stuck, eventually pulling itself out before beginning to speed up again, producing a soft breeze due to the distance.
"Enough. I'm bored."
The man's sword made of pure flame disappeared, then he raised his hand straight in the air, where objects resembling stars began to appear, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, and eventually hundreds of thousands. The air was filled with extreme heat that would sear any man alive, killing them instantly, but the man's power swelled under the conditions.
The star-like objects that filled the sky then began to pour upon the blade that the man created. A mountain of ghostly, flaming swords now filled the area, and a crashing sound rang in the air as each one collided with either a duplicate blade or the ground. Marble bits flung in the air, but every single one missed the man, his hair simply flowing due to the gust.
The hundreds of thousands of ghostly, fiery blades that filled the ground soon disappeared, leaving one blade, dull, lifeless, and cracked, and he stood over it.
"Disappointing."
Suddenly, Anemone's soul was pulled from the illusion she was forced to witness, landing her back in the library, where a faint, otherworldly power seemed to now dwell inside her, and she felt as though her core was somewhat glowing.