The heavy oak doors of the mission hall thudded shut behind them, leaving the golden hush of parchment and whispers behind. Outside, the afternoon sun cast long beams across the cobbled path, catching the dust still clinging to their armor and skin. Each step they took felt heavier than the last, not because of the journey, but because of the memory of what they'd seen—the crystal, the waves of goblins, the Goblin Shaman's feral gaze... and those three strange, pulsing eggs now hidden deep within their storage rings.
They didn't speak about it. Not here. Not yet.
Asher groaned as he cracked his shoulder back into place. "Man, I swear—if Kael tries to lecture me before giving me a new sword, I'm throwing him into his own forge."
"You'd bounce off his beard," Nick muttered. "That thing deflects all sarcasm."
Ethan didn't comment. His mind was elsewhere—flashes of the Shaman's final roar, the veins in the crystal, the eerie stillness that followed. And Kael's expression when they returned weaponless, injured, and slightly shell-shocked.
As they entered the forge wing, the air changed immediately. The temperature jumped several degrees, thick with the scent of molten iron, singed leather, and alchemical smoke. Magic thrummed in the air, subtle but potent—like the forge itself was breathing.
The walls were dark stone, engraved with runes that pulsed dimly with elemental power. Chains hung from overhead beams, each inscribed with binding symbols. Tables were stacked with uncut ore, mysterious bone fragments, and raw elemental crystals humming in containment jars.
At the center stood Kael.
Bare-chested under a leather apron, his muscles corded like braided steel, the Forge Master loomed over an anvil surrounded by floating runes. Molten essence flowed through the air, golden-orange and red, shaped not by hammer or hand—but by Kael's will.
His arms moved in smooth arcs, guiding the spell-forged strands like a conductor leading a symphony of fire and steel. Elemental Creation Magic—rare, ancient, volatile. Only masters could wield it without losing their minds and only know to a handful of people.
The boys stood frozen at the entrance, struck dumb by the sight. Emberfang, Zephyrfang, and the Spellmirror Daggers had all been shattered, their fragments floating in containment runes nearby.
Kael didn't look up. "You're late."
"We came as fast as we could," Ethan said, stepping forward. "You said the weapons were damaged... we assumed you'd fix them."
"Fix?" Kael barked a dry laugh. The air around him shimmered with heat. "Your weapons were more than damaged. They screamed in agony every time you swung them. Those blades weren't ready for what you dragged them through." Said keal caring more about the weapons survival than the boys.
Asher scratched his neck. "Yeah... sorry about that. But also not sorry, because we're alive."
Kael finally turned, eyes sharp as blade edges. "Alive, yes. But barely. And if I hadn't pulled your weapons apart myself, they would've killed you the next time you called upon them."
He gestured toward the three separate circles of floating shards and magical essence.
"So I'm reforging them. No, not reforging—recreating. This time, they'll be born through elemental creation, not just forged with flame and steel. They'll remember your fights. Your blood. Your essence."
Nick frowned. "Wait, you mean they'll be... alive?"
Kael didn't answer directly. He moved to the first ring, where fragments of Emberfang floated—crimson steel glowing faintly.
"Asher's Emberfang will be reborn through dragon-forged flame. It will hunger for battle, but yield only to one who respects its fire. It will bear your mark in its core—your recklessness, your fury, your loyalty."
He moved to the second.
"Nick's Zephyrfang—twin blades of wind. This time they will be shaped with skybound runes and storm-tempered mythril. Faster. Sharper. But if your control wavers, they'll cut more than your enemies."
Lastly, Kael stood before Ethan's Spellmirror Daggers.
"And yours, Ethan..."
Lightning crackled in the air, drawn to the shifting dagger forms suspended in arcs of dark-violet energy.
"Your daggers will reflect the truth of your soul. Spellmirror Daggers—yes—but now they'll store, channel, and amplify energy. Not just magic. Emotion. Fear. Rage. Shadow. Be careful... they may turn on you before they protect you."
Ethan's throat felt dry. "How long?"
Kael narrowed his eyes, as if seeing beyond this moment.
"Three days. Maybe four. If you breathe too loud, five."
Asher raised a hand. "What about six?"
Kael turned slowly.
"If it takes six, I'm melting your shoes."
The forge pulsed with sudden heat. Sparks lifted like fireflies as Kael returned to his craft, voice low but commanding.
"Now leave. These blades need silence, not sarcasm and know that am only doing this much for you duo to the academy's request and for the goblin body's you brought, even if I have worked with better materials"
The boys exchanged looks.
Without another word, they turned and left—but not before Asher whispered, "Do shoes melt slower if they're enchanted?"
Kael's eye twitched.
As the door closed behind them, they each exhaled slowly, as the head back to there dorm.
Three days until the weapons were reborn.
And still, none of them spoke of the eggs.
Not yet or ever.