Kent's fingers reached toward the cold metal of the bow's upper limb.
The moment he touched it—
Boom!
A low, thunderous hum rippled through the forge, shaking even the rune-carved walls. The bow vibrated under his fingers, as if resisting, trying to twist free, the divine runes flickering in agitation.
It did not wish to be tamed.
Kent gritted his teeth and set his feet shoulder-wide.
With both hands, he grabbed the limbs of the bow — one in each palm — and began bending the weapon. The divine metal refused him at first. Its body groaned, not like steel, but like something alive — a creature trying to fight its master.
Crackle… hnnnnggg… SNAP…!
No break.
But the air around him distorted from the pressure.
His arms bulged, shoulders trembling, sweat pouring down his chest in rivulets. For minutes, he leaned into it.
Then an hour passed.
Then two.
Still it refused.
But Kent was a storm tamer.
He had endured poison trials, abyssal flames, and soul-severing chants.
