Mithril

Cane waited until the last of their laughter faded before opening the steel lockbox.

Inside lay his satchel—still closed—along with something else: the adamantium tools. The only set he would even consider using on mithril.

He lifted the silver-colored ingot. It was light in his palm, almost impossibly so—like it should float.

Mithril.

A beautiful metal. Strong, resonant with elemental magic, and light as silk. Just holding it felt like holding a secret the world had forgotten.

He laid out the adamantium tools with care, each one catching the forge's glow like it was meant to be there. Then he unrolled the schematic, smoothing the parchment flat with his palm.

Time to study.

Placing the focal device on his workbench, Cane studied it in silence. His hands and eyes moved with practiced precision, exploring each intricate piece. The design was elegant, efficient. It slipped over the hand like a bracelet, with a slender extension that curved beneath the wrist and rested against the palm.

Neri wasn't wearing this when she healed me on the island.

The palm plate was carved with concentric circles—runes laid into layers of metal, acting as the catalyst for the device.

Cane closed his eyes, letting instinct guide him. He reached for the water essence within the device the way he'd been taught in elemental class, gently attuning his senses.

There.

A hollowed core within the mithril. It held ancient seawater, saturated with Neri's essence. He could feel it pulsing faintly, almost sentient.

I see… That makes this more difficult.

"To fix the crack," he muttered, "I need to heat the mithril. Doing so would evaporate the water—or at least change its composition."

He frowned.

Moments of silence stretched.

"Neri did something to me," he whispered, staring down at the device. "Granted me some attunement… probably by accident. Just that small amount of favor has given me a step up on my peers."

He hesitated.

"But shouldn't I be able to do the same in the element I'm actually strong in?"

His fingers curled around the device.

"My element is metal. I've read that advanced metallurgy allows the person to twist metals to their will…"

His voice grew quiet.

"It's worth a try."

Cane sat and held the device in both hands, closing his eyes again—this time reaching inward, searching for the resonance of his true strength.

Metal.

A sudden vision struck him—unbidden.

A pregnant mermaid, trident in hand, fighting valiantly alongside others of her kind. Their enemies cloaked in shadow. The stench of death. The coppery taste of blood. Screams of misery. And then—brightness. The silvery glow of a woven tapestry of soft metal, rippling in the deep.

He gasped, but didn't break focus.

The mithril…

The visions—memories? echoes?—were held in Neri's seawater. But the metal itself responded to him now.

He extended his hands, grasping the fragile threads of mithril in his mind's eye. Gently, with care born from years at the forge, he pulled them together—mending each one seamlessly with his will.

Starting from the deepest layer, he worked slowly, methodically—submerging himself into the mithril, becoming part of it.

When the repair was done, the metal pulsed softly around him, warm and accepting.

He shifted his focus to the rune.

Surrounded—and perhaps protected—by Neri's seawater, the ancient rune was partially smudged and corroded. But he could read its structure now, its logic. With Neri's elemental echo guiding him, he began the arduous task of repairing it.

Minute by minute, line by line.

To anyone watching from the forge, Cane appeared completely entranced—body drenched in sweat, shoulders tense with effort. Behind the mask, his eyes glowed like lanterns, reflecting the elemental forces pulsing through him.

And the focal device—long broken—began to shine again.

Locked in a trance—the perfect state for comprehension and breakthrough—Cane's mind moved beyond the rune in front of him.

His thoughts drifted to Nos's replicator rune.

Carefully, deliberately, he broke it down to its most basic form. Holding that structure in his mind, he wove it into the healing rune already nested in the device. He used the seawater—rich with Neri's essence—as a medium, shaping the new lines with care. His intent was simple: amplify the healing effect, extend it, make it more efficient without costing the user their strength.

As the work deepened, the mithril grew cold in his hands. Not a gentle chill—biting, unnatural cold. It numbed his fingers, then stung like flame. Still, Cane pressed on, bearing it with grit, guiding the metal and the magic as one.

And then—warmth.

Slowly, the cold ebbed. The metal's temperature rose until it matched his own. Alive again. Resonant.

That's when the trance shattered.

Cane collapsed forward, catching himself against the workbench as his lungs convulsed, dragging in air like a drowning man breaching the surface.

He glanced down—and swore.

"Shit… it's frostbite."

His hands were blackened, stiff, barely functional.

Panic clawed at the edge of his mind. Back home in the highlands, he'd heard the stories. Frostbite this bad often meant amputations.

No matter how strong you were, you couldn't smith with stumps.

Then the artifact pulsed in his hand.

Not knowing why, Cane slipped it over his wrist.

The moment it clicked into place, power surged up his arm. A warmth unlike fire—sweet and spiritual, like sunlight through deep water. The feeling was familiar. It mirrored what he'd felt when Neri had healed him on the island.

The light slowly faded.

He looked down.

His hands—heavily damaged, blackened just moments before—were whole again.

He flexed his fingers in silence, staring at them.

Whatever he had crafted was no longer just a tool.

It was a miracle.

Cane pushed the artifact away, exhaling sharply.

Attunement. He could use Neri's focal device to heal.

"Shit… I think I'll keep that tidbit to myself."

Hurried footsteps snapped his attention toward the path leading up to the forge.

Ria and Neri were running—one in a full-blown panic, the other as serene as ever. The pirate captain looked like she'd sprinted the whole way, eyes wide with alarm. Neri, in contrast, moved with unhurried grace, a friendly smile curving her lips when she spotted the masked blacksmith.

"Oh—thank goodness I caught you before you started," Ria huffed, bent slightly at the waist. "I didn't realize blacksmiths couldn't repair water devices. When you said you could, I was so relieved. I'm sorry for wasting your time—"

"You didn't waste my time," Cane said, calm and measured. "I'm done."

The words hit like a thunderclap on a clear day.

"Done?" Ria blinked. "Oh no… the water must've evap—"

She cut off as Neri stepped forward, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. The mermaid picked up the device and, without hesitation, slipped it over her wrist.

Immediately, a pulse of power surged outward, and the focal glowed brightly.

Neri stared at it in wonder—curiosity turning quickly to recognition.

"You did something to strengthen it?" she asked.

"I just fixed it," Cane said.

Her head tilted, expression sharpening. She studied him—not the mask, but through it.

"You're Cane."

She spoke the words with quiet certainty. His appearance had changed—older, broader, bearded—but they were attuned. That couldn't be faked.

"Cane?" Ria echoed, blinking now. Her gaze swept over the exposed parts of him: the salt-and-pepper stubble, the lines on his neck, his broader shoulders.

"Cane," she said again, this time as fact.

He hesitated, then glanced around once more before tugging the mask free.

"CANE!"

Neri launched herself over the workbench, wrapping him in a hug so tight it nearly knocked him back. Ria followed, beaming wide as she ruffled his hair with both hands.

"You little bastard!" she laughed. "Why are you here instead of at the Academy?"