Tisk's Joining
When the two returned to Tisk's workshop with the three precious materials, dusk had already gilded the forest with golden edges. Tisk sat on the wooden stool at the door, with half-melted mechanical parts piled at his feet. His goggles were pushed up to his forehead, and he was biting down on his pipe, puffing out clouds of smoke.
Upon seeing the materials they brought back, his murky eyes suddenly lit up: "Looks like you're no ordinary adventurers." He roughly grabbed the materials, inspected them carefully, and let out a low chuckle. "Not bad. The volcanic crystal carries the fury of the lava beast, the crystal flower still clings to the soul breath of the mirror lake, and the thunder feather..." He lightly flicked the feather that was still faintly sparking, "even brings back the pride of the thunderbird."
Tisk took the materials and placed Fa's short blade on the anvil, beginning the repair work. His movements were rough yet highly skilled. First, he embedded the crystal core into the hilt, then mixed the volcanic crystal and crystal flower into a strange alloy. Finally, he used the thunder feather to activate the energy, perfectly fusing the alloy with the short blade.
The entire process was filled with sparks from the collision of metal and magic. Fa and Arya watched breathlessly from the side. After several hours, Tisk finished the repair and handed the short blade to Fa. The blade emitted a dazzling blue light, resonating strongly with her star eyes.
"It's fixed," Tisk said, unable to hide the pride in his tone. "I installed an energy buffer in the hilt. Not only is it stronger than before, but it can also prevent overburdening you during excessive use."
Fa took the short blade, feeling the powerful force contained within. "Thank you, Master Tisk. This is even more perfect than I expected."
Tisk waved his hand dismissively, but couldn't hide the interest in his eyes. "Your adventure is quite interesting—more appealing than my mechanical devices. Tell me, where to next?"
Fa and Arya exchanged a glance, and Fa extended her hand. "We're searching for the star shards. If you're willing, perhaps you could join us."
Tisk was silent for a moment, then grasped Fa's hand and grinned. "Alright, I'm in. It's more fun than hanging around here with those rigid-thinking dwarf folks. Besides," he winked, "I want to adventure around and see what new sparks I can strike with this world."
As night fell, the three lit a bonfire outside the workshop. Tisk brought out his home-brewed ale and recounted the history and legends of Silver Red Village. Fa and Arya shared their journey experiences and the importance of finding the star shards.
"Star shards, huh..." Tisk sipped his ale, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes. "I heard the elders mention them when I was young. They say each shard holds unique power and requires specific methods to retrieve safely."
Fa stroked her newly repaired short blade, feeling its resonance with her star eyes. "We've already found the first piece, but there are more scattered across various places."
Arya gazed at the starry sky, her emerald eyes reflecting the twinkling lights: "The prophecy says that when all the shards reunite, it will be the day Muret's fate is revealed."
Tisk nodded and fetched a set of meticulously crafted equipment from the workshop: "Since we're traveling together, these are for you." He handed Fa a pair of bracers embedded with crystals from the same source as the short blade; for Arya, it was a folding longbow made from a special alloy that conducted magic better.
"These pieces of equipment can enhance your abilities," Tisk explained. "The bracers will protect your safety, and this bow will make your magical arrows more precise and powerful."
The two gratefully accepted the gifts, feeling the new equipment's harmony with their own energies.
As the night deepened, the bonfire crackled, and the stars shone exceptionally bright. Fa and Arya took turns keeping watch, while Tisk organized his gear inside the workshop, preparing for tomorrow's journey.
Fa sat by the bonfire, stroking her newly repaired short blade, her mind racing. Her father's figure, the secrets of the Star Heart, Curator Inya's expectations... everything was pushing her forward. And now, they had a new companion and greater strength.
Arya approached softly and handed her a cup of hot tea: "Can't sleep?"
Fa took the teacup, feeling the warmth seep through the walls into her palm. "Just thinking about how far we still have to go. The star shards are scattered across the world, and our enemies might be more numerous and stronger than we imagine."
"No matter how far, we'll walk it together." Arya's voice was firm and warm. "You're not alone, Fa. We're all here. And now with Tisk's help, his skills will be a huge advantage."
Fa nodded, a warmth surging in her heart. Yes, she was no longer the girl searching for answers alone in the library. Now she had Arya, Tisk, Curator Inya's support, and her father's guidance.
Under the starry sky, the three companions from different races prepared themselves for the unknown adventures of tomorrow.
The Call to the South
The next day, the floating mechanical anvil of Silver Red Village was dyed golden-red by the morning light. Fa, Arya, and Tisk stood side by side in front of Village Chief Silversk's residence. Tisk's iron boots uneasily ground against the gravel path, his brows furrowed under his goggles—this was the first time in years he had voluntarily stepped into his father's domain.
When Silversk came out to greet them, the dull clang of the anvil from the smithy echoed across the street. His gaze lingered for a moment on Tisk's oil-stained apron, but his rough palm first extended toward Fa: "Is the repaired short blade to your liking?"
Fa lightly spun the Star Trail Short Blade from her waist, its blue light tracing a smooth arc in the morning glow: "Thank you for your guidance, Village Chief Silversk. We're ready to set off."
Silversk nodded, then suddenly turned to Tisk, his voice dropping half a tone: "Under the old birch tree by the northwest river, that iron hammer you botched forging at twelve is still buried." Tisk's ear tips suddenly turned red, and his goggles clattered down to hide his expression. But the chief didn't dwell on it; he pulled out a rolled-up cowhide map from his bosom and tapped heavily on the mark for the southern mountains: "Cross the Red Ridge Mountains, and you'll reach the great trading city 'Golden Merchant Fortress.' Merchants from all over gather there; perhaps you can inquire about clues to the star shards."
When Arya took the map, she noticed sloppy red cross marks along the mountain edges: "What are these?"
"Recently, there have been frequent attacks on villagers in the Red Ridge Mountains," Silversk said with furrowed brows. "A type of magical beast called 'rock scorpions' has taken hold there. Their back shells can easily pierce through iron armor, and many of our patrol teams have been injured." He paused, then suddenly reached out to hug Tisk's shoulders. The latter reflexively tried to dodge, but was held in place by his father's calloused palm: "You brat, don't just tinker with your mechanical gadgets. Remember to use the 'Red Iron Amulet' passed down from your grandfather—"
"I know, I know!" Tisk fiercely shook off his father's hand, a puff of annoyed white smoke drifting from under his goggles. "It's not my first time crossing the Red Ridge Mountains!" But he still reluctantly pulled out a rusty iron amulet from his collar, with the rune for "father" faintly glowing warm.
Fa watched the awkward interaction between the dwarf father and son, recalling how Tisk had secretly chiseled a mini anvil pattern on the inside of the hilt while repairing the blade—the short blade now rested against her waist, its metal warmth overlapping with memories. She cleared her throat lightly, breaking the subtle silence: "We'll be careful. Master Tisk's craftsmanship is our sharp weapon against dangers."
Tisk's ear redness hadn't faded yet, but he immediately puffed out his chest: "You know quality when you see it. I've got a few more treasures here—" He pulled three walnut-sized silver devices from his canvas backpack and attached them to Fa and Arya's bracers. "In case of danger, crush the shell, and the anvil will guide the direction. Of course, best not to use them, since these are the first-generation prototypes of my improved 'Star Dust Locator'!"
As dusk deepened, the three set off on the southern path under Silversk's watchful gaze. Tisk walked at the front, kicking stones with extra force, but he turned back from time to time to check their footsteps; Arya leaned close to Fa and whispered with a laugh: "Do you think the 'iron hammer under the old birch tree' that the chief mentioned is a memento of Tisk's first forging failure?"
"Perhaps that's the starting point of him becoming a smith." Fa stroked the smooth new patterns on the short blade, remembering Tisk muttering to himself while forging: "Father always said runes must be symmetrical, but star trails are never symmetrical." At that moment, the distant hammering of the anvil echoed, gradually syncing with their footsteps, like an unfinished prelude to an expedition.
When the silhouette of the Red Ridge Mountains appeared in the night, Tisk suddenly stopped, unbuckled his tool belt from his waist, and tossed the heaviest iron hammer to Fa: "Take this. The rock scorpion's weak spot is at the joints under the belly shell. Remember to use the thunder enchantment on the short blade—just like when you plucked the thunder feather." He paused, his voice softening: "And... thanks for giving me the chance to try protecting important things in my own way."
The mountain wind rustled through the treetops, tousling Tisk's messy beard. Fa and Arya exchanged a knowing look—this avant-garde craftsman's bonds were ultimately hidden in the clanging iron fire and unspoken care. Ahead of them, the dangers of the Red Ridge Mountains surged forth, stretching their shadows long, like the first heavy strike about to chisel open the anvil of fate.
The Concerto of Iron Fire and Star Eyes
The morning mist of the Red Ridge Mountains carried a rusty scent, and Fa's star eyes shimmered faintly in the dimness—three animal corpses lay in an arc at the rock path's corner, their chest cavities pierced with charred wound edges, and fingernail-sized metal fragments lodged between broken bones. Tisk squatted down to pick up a fragment, his goggles reflecting the rolling sky: "The plating from a rock scorpion's back shell. When these beasts roll, they fling their back spikes like wheels, piercing prey from afar."
Arya's fingertips brushed over the animal's stiff eyelashes: "No signs of struggle on the corpses, meaning the attack came extremely fast." She suddenly looked up as a faint "clatter" came from the distant rock wall—like hundreds of iron beads bouncing on a porcelain plate.
"Get to the side!" Fa yanked Tisk's collar and pulled him into a rock crevice. A silver-gray streak grazed past his nose tip, the airflow stinging his cheeks. It was a two-meter-long rock scorpion, its back shell covered in serrated spikes, now curled into a ball rolling, with its tail stinger hooked up like an iron claw.
"My turn to shine!" Tisk broke free from Fa's grip, pulling out the iron hammer with forging flaws from his waist—the very one his father mentioned, botched at age twelve. He twirled the hammer in his palm, slamming its head into the ground with sparks: "Remember, when this guy unfolds its shell, the soft flesh at the belly joints will be exposed! Arya, you're in charge of prying open the back shell gaps; Fa, when I yell 'magnetic rail,' sever its tail spike!"
Before the rock scorpion's second charge, Arya's wind blade precisely struck the back shell gap, the strong wind lifting several spikes. Tisk leaped out, his hammer smashing the joint with dwarven explosive force, a "clang" echoing with blue sparks—that was the conductive rune he had pre-carved on the hammerhead, channeling the residual thunder power from Fa's short blade into the rock scorpion's body.
"See that? This is called 'Magnetic Pulse Shock'!" He retreated while pulling three iron nails from his tool bag, their heads etched with spiral patterns. "Old dwarves teach hammer techniques as 'one strike to break armor,' but I invented magnetic rail traction—Fa, press your short blade onto its back shell! Right, in that gap!"
Fa complied, pressing the short blade's blue light between the metal shell plates. Tisk hurled the nails into the ground, creating a magnetic resonance between the three nails and the rock scorpion's back shell, instantly pinning the beast to the rock. "See? Three times faster than traditional tripwires!" He wiped sweat from his forehead, a smug gleam under his goggles. "Father always said I was messing with fancy tricks; now he knows how useful they are?"
Arya stifled a laugh as she released ice spikes: "Master Tisk, if your tricks could be explained three seconds in advance, our coordination would be even better."
"Cut it out! Smiths who talk too much on the battlefield can't nail good horseshoes!" Tisk swung his hammer at the rock scorpion's belly joint, but paused the moment the head hit the soft flesh. "But... you two are way more flexible than my workshop's mechanical arms."
When Tisk's hammer heavily smashed the last joint, the rock scorpion's shell finally cracked open, dark green fluid splattering on his apron. He shook off the pus from the hammerhead, his eyes under the goggles shining like a furnace: "See? Traditional dwarven hammer technique plus magnetic rail resonance—three times faster than those old fogeys' clumsy methods!"
Fa pulled the short blade from the base of the stinger, teasing: "So that hammer you botched at twelve was prepared for today?"
Tisk's ear tips heated up, and he quickly changed the subject: "Don't bring up that old stuff! Quick, look at this back shell—" He leaned close to the corpse, his goggles almost touching the metal plates. "Something's off; this plating is wrong. Normal rock scorpions have earth attributes, but this one's back shell has thunder attributes, like it's been artificially enhanced... Could someone be experimenting on the rock scorpions?"
As the three leaned against the rock wall catching their breath, Fa noticed a long gash on Tisk's left arm: "The wound needs treatment. Arya, pass me the medicine kit."
"No need, no need!" Tisk waved hurriedly, pulling out an iron box from his waist pouch filled with sulfur-scented ointment. "This is my homemade red iron healing cream—more effective than your elven petal paste—" Before he finished, Arya had grabbed his arm and rinsed the wound with water.
"Ow ow ow! Easy there, you elf lady!" He grimaced in pain but obediently let Arya bandage it, suddenly glancing at his exposed half-armor, his ear tips reddening again. "Ahem... Actually, I slightly improved the amulet Father gave me. See the patterns on these plates? They convert magical attacks into power; just the appearance is a bit ugly..."
Arya nodded, holding back a smile: "Indeed ugly, but better than the oil stains on your apron."
When more rock scorpion wriggling sounds came from afar, Tisk jumped up, twirling his hammer rapidly in his palm: "Ready? Next up is the 'Anvil Whirlwind Formation'—this is my improvement using the residual heat from the volcanic crystal. When I swing the iron chain, Fa, you're in charge of severing the first row of back spikes; Arya, use wind fields to force them into the canyon depths!"
"What if it fails?" Fa checked the thunder enchantment on her short blade.
Tisk rattled the iron chain: "It won't fail! Even if it does..." He suddenly lowered his head to stroke the forging flaw on the hammer. "With you two here, you won't let me get stung alone, right?"
The battle continued amid iron fire and thunder. When the last rock scorpion collapsed, Tisk slumped to the ground, pulled out a flask from his pouch, took two gulps, then handed it to Fa: "Remember when I failed forging my first iron hammer? Father said 'A smith's scars are the marks of quenching.' Now I finally get it—swinging the hammer side by side with companions is a hundred times more fun than holing up alone in the workshop!"
Arya lightly kicked his iron boot: "So no more saying 'adventurers are all reckless fools'?"
"When did I say that—" Tisk stiffened his neck in defense, but upon seeing the blue light on Fa's short blade resonating with his amulet, his voice softened. "...Okay, only three times."
As dusk seeped into the canyon, the three discovered back shells etched with star lock runes amid the rock scorpion corpse pile. Tisk pulled out a magnifying glass for a close look, sucking in a cold breath under his goggles: "This pattern... it's the same as one I saw in Father's old notes. Back then, he opposed my research on star smelting, saying it was 'touching sacred domains.' Now it seems someone got to it before us."
Fa placed a hand on his shoulder: "That's why we need to go to Golden Merchant Fortress and find out."
Tisk brushed off her hand but secretly hooked onto their backpack straps: "Cut the sentiment! I just want to see how much use my invented weapons can get—and Arya, remember to record the data for my Anvil Whirlwind Formation when we get back; adjust the wind blade angle by fifteen degrees for even more efficiency..."
The wind swept through the canyon, bringing the distant bell tolls from Golden Merchant Fortress. Tisk walked at the front, the hammer on his shoulder at a skewed angle, yet straighter than ever. He suddenly turned back, his goggles reflecting the fervor in his eyes: "Hey, do you think... when we find the star shards, we can forge a weapon that'll make Father's beard drop in shock?"
Arya and Fa exchanged a knowing smile, saying in unison: "As long as you don't blow up the workshop during forging."
"Nonsense! My furnace stability has improved by 20%!" Tisk huffed and strode forward, his iron boots clanging a resonant rhythm on the rocks. "When the time comes, let those old sticks-in-the-mud see that a smith's anvil shouldn't just hammer out symmetrical patterns—it can also hammer out a concerto of star and iron fire!"
Dark clouds churned atop the mountains, and the iron chains at the three's feet still trembled lightly, as if echoing the avant-garde craftsman's unspoken vow. And those dialogues woven with banter and trust had long forged their three hearts into bonds tougher than refined iron amid the sparking iron fire.