Forging Stars

With the simple motion, he shed his identity and stepped into another—Jonas Ironfist, the masked blacksmith.

He approached the forge. Unlike before, it felt different. The air was thicker. The flame inside crackled with sentience, heat rolling in pulses like a heartbeat.

Feed me, came Chimi's voice, warm and eager in the back of his mind.

He grinned. "Greedy little flame."

Shoveling coal into the bin, he gave the forge its meal, then turned to his workbench.

Sofie had mentioned that students could take on missions—some as simple as supply runs, others involving real danger. When he asked Fergis, the fire mage nodded excitedly, then paused, brow furrowed.

"You can fight, right? Against bandits or beasts?"

Cane had only shrugged. "Versed in sabers and hammers. Probably hammers would be best."

That in mind, he rifled through the town's scrap wagon—a treasure trove of broken swords, twisted buckles, dented helmets, and rusted plates. Most of it would be melted down. Reborn.

He spotted the hammer from the old forge—the one he'd cleaned, restored, and used sparingly. Its weight was good for smithing, but too slow, too broad for combat.

Not ideal.

He dropped the head into the forge, letting it heat while he fetched his adamantium tools—the only ones sharp and strong enough for what he had in mind.

"I'll strip the handle, thin out the head. Smaller surface, better punch—something that can crack armor and bone."

He worked with methodical focus. The adamantium hammer rang out sharp against the softening iron. He flattened, folded, refined the metal with practiced strikes. An hour passed in rhythmic toil—heat, fold, strike, fold, chisel, trim.

When he was satisfied, he quenched the new hammerhead in the cooling barrel. Steam erupted in a bellow, rising around him like a veil.

"Thing about iron…" Cane muttered, pulling the metal free, "…it doesn't hold up like steel."

His eyes drifted toward the bundle he kept hidden under a cloth. He hesitated. But maybe…

He unwrapped the starmetal.

It thudded onto the bench with a weight that felt disproportionate to its size. Its sheen shimmered with a dull silver-blue glow, still cold despite the forge's proximity.

He knew from experience—iron, steel, even enchanted alloys were worthless here. Only his adamantium tools had any hope.

"Let's see what metallurgy and smithing together can do," Cane said aloud, almost to himself. He took a breath and placed his hand over the metal.

He reached inward.

His senses extended, brushing against the starmetal's surface. It resisted—unyielding and ancient. Sweat beaded under the mask as his brows furrowed, the edges of his mind scraping against something vast.

Don't force it. He remembered that lesson—metal doesn't bow to will. It responds to understanding.

He relaxed.

The moment he did, visions came.

Massive shapes loomed in the void—beasts of scale and shadow, so large they warped stars. Suns exploded under their weight. Mountains crumbled as they moved. And Cane… floated in the silence of space, speckled with the cold glitter of galaxies.

He stood still.

Searching.

Listening.

And somewhere, something listened back.

A thread of connection formed—a sliver of permission.

He didn't waste it.

Hammer. Chisel. First strike—clean. Second—true. Third—precise.

Then—rejection.

The communion ended as abruptly as it began, like a door slammed shut.

Cane collapsed forward, catching himself on the bench. His chest heaved. Limbs trembled. His mask felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

Gasping. Sweating. Drained.

But—

A glint caught his eye.

A sliver of starmetal, no longer than his hand and barely the width of a finger, sat on the anvil like a gift.

He smiled weakly.

"It's a start."

Exhausted, he carefully packed the sliver and his newly-forged hammer into his satchel. The rest of the starmetal would have to wait—he could refine this piece during Metallurgy class tomorrow.

He left the forge, looking up as the moon rose over the rooftops.

The Academy grounds were quiet when he returned. His mask was hidden in his bag, robes pulled over his arms, steps measured.

A small meal box sat waiting by his door. Cane picked it up, smiling softly.

Thanks, Sofie.

Inside, a warm slice of savory pie, a bit of fruit, and a folded napkin scribbled with the words: You missed dinner. Don't miss breakfast.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Every muscle ached.

His mind spun with stars and metal and the weight of things far older than the forge.

Still, he forced himself to eat—because tomorrow, it begins again.

Not long after, Cane stepped into the Metallurgy shop—refreshed, robed, and back in academic mode.

Brammel looked up and grinned. "Free rein again today, Cane. I'll be going over some beginner theory—unless you've got something more exciting."

Cane's smile widened. "Actually, I might."

He unshouldered his satchel and handed Brammel a bundled cloth.

The dwarf raised an eyebrow. "Feels heavy... There's no way this is—" He unfolded the cloth and froze. "Starmetal?"

"Straight from the sky," Cane said casually as he moved to the workbench.

Brammel followed him, holding the sliver of metal like it might disintegrate if handled wrong.

"This looks cut," Brammel murmured, grabbing a magnifying lens. "Clean, too. How in the Nine Realms did you manage that? Even adamantium would shatter."

"I… connected with it. Immersed myself in the element. Asked nicely."

Brammel blinked. "You communed with starmetal?"

"Yep."

"Well then." Brammel turned to the rest of the room. "Change of plans! We're working with the rarest metal in existence today."

Students gawked as Cane brought out the iron hammerhead he'd reshaped the night before. Brammel examined it, turning it over in his hands.

"Making a weapon?" he asked.

Cane nodded.

"You should keep one side a hammer, but taper the other into an axe. Gives you versatility—blunt or sharp, depending on your target."

Cane nodded again, grateful for the veteran's insight. "Let's get started."

The class watched, enraptured, as Brammel and Cane modified the iron weapon. The hammer-axe hybrid took shape—sleek, balanced, wickedly sharp even before tempering.

"Now comes the hard part," Cane said, voice low.

The starmetal was passed around, students reverent as they felt its impossible weight. Awe filled the room.

"This bit has already accepted you," Brammel said, slipping into lecture mode. "That's the only reason you were able to separate it. Today, we'll weave it into the iron—infusing both the blade and the hammer head."

Cane rolled his shoulders, mentally bracing.

Brammel stepped forward, resting both hands on Cane's shoulders. "I can't manipulate the starmetal. It's bonded to you. But I'll channel energy into the iron to support the merge."

Cane exhaled deeply and reached inward.

This time, there was no resistance. The starmetal recognized him—welcomed him. It flowed like liquid will, threading itself into the heated iron. The process was seamless, but draining.

Every time Cane faltered, energy surged from the glowing iron, replenishing him. It was a duet—his will and Brammel's energy guiding the elements together, folding them into something new.

When it ended, Cane sagged against the workbench, drenched in sweat. Brammel wasn't much better.

"Let the class see it while we recover," Brammel panted.

Students crowded around, murmuring in amazement as the weapon gleamed in the forge light—pale gold alloy, almost too perfect to be real.

Cane smiled weakly.

"I'll handle the grip," Brammel said. "Got just the thing in storage."

"Thanks." Cane slumped onto a stool. "How the hell are we supposed to sharpen it?"

Brammel clapped a heavy hand on his back. "Funny you should ask."

He vanished into the storage room, returning a minute later with something wrapped in cloth. He unrolled it with care.

Cane blinked. "What is that?"

"A grinding wheel like no other," Brammel said proudly. "Frame reinforced with runic steel. The wheel's edge?"

He handed Cane a curved, pale fang the length of a forearm.

Cane weighed it in his hand. "Surprisingly light. What's it from?"

"Not sure. Some Grade Ten carnivore." Brammel smiled like a man about to share a secret.

"And the wheel?"

"Dragon scale."

Cane let out a low whistle. "Well… that explains a lot."

Cane communed lightly with the alloy, just enough to guide the blade across the dragon-scale wheel. By now, the merge of iron and starmetal had accepted him completely—the weapon felt like an extension of his will, its edge almost eager to be honed.

Nearby, Brammel finished prepping the handle, waiting until Cane completed his final pass.

"Going to need you to commune one last time," the dwarf said. "Expand the socket so I can tap the fang in. Once it's in place, use a surface weave to seal it tight."

Cane nodded and got to work. Compared to the forging and alloying process, this part was simple—almost meditative. He eased the material open, guiding the socket wider as Brammel carefully seated the fang deep into the haft.

Three inches of fang protruded past the hammerhead—enough to give the weapon a third option: bash, cut, or stab.

When it was finished, Brammel handed it off to a waiting student. Cane watched silently as his classmate tested the weight and balance, then brought it down against a steel bar.

The weapon didn't just slice—it sundered.

Steel parted like wood, then shattered on impact like glass.

Brammel crossed his arms, watching with pride. His opinion of Cane had clearly shifted. "That'll do, lad. That'll more than do."

By the time Cane approached Tower Seven, exhaustion clawed at every step.

"I'm going to sleep for a week," he muttered.

"Cane!"

He turned to see Fergis jogging up, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Let's see it."

"See what?"

"The weapon! The whole Academy's talking about it! I heard Brammel bragging his student forged a mythic-ranked weapon."

"I'm not his only student," Cane deadpanned.

Fergis stared. "Really?"

Cane sighed and reached into his bag. "Fine, here—"

WOOO-WOOOO.

A klaxon sounded across the Academy grounds—sharp, urgent, impossible to ignore.

Fergis immediately rolled up his sleeve, revealing a bracelet marked with a faintly glowing psi rune. He activated it with a swipe of his hand.

A calm, disembodied voice spoke directly into their minds:

"A pack of Direwolves has been sighted, approaching the eastern perimeter of the city."

"Direwolves?" Cane blinked. He wasn't alarmed. "Shouldn't the city guard be able to handle that?"

"Usually, yeah. But a pack that close to town…" Fergis trailed off. "It's rare."

"Where'd you get that rune?" Cane asked, eyeing the bracelet.

"Standard issue when you sign up for missions. Receive-only. All alerts from the Academy or the Protectorate get piped through."

I need one of those, Cane thought, filing it away. "Where do you sign up for missions?"

"Room across from Admissions."

Cane stopped mid-step.

Fergis turned. "What?"

"Sofie." Cane's voice dropped. "She's visiting her parents today."

Then he took off—no hesitation, no thought—just full sprint toward the gates.

"Hey!" Fergis yelled, scrambling to follow. "Wait for me!"

"Where?" Fergis kept pace beside him, breath even, hands already flickering with heat.

"Tailor shop," Cane said, his voice tight. "Her parents live in the apartment above."

They sprinted down Main Street, their boots echoing against cobbled stone. Strangely, the street was empty.

"Where is everyone?" Cane asked, scanning doorways and windows.

"Klaxon goes off, and they're supposed to head to shel—"

SHRRRK.

A shadow flickered—then a wolf materialized mid-lunge, its fangs inches from Fergis's neck.

Cane didn't hesitate.

The axe head of his weapon arced cleanly through the air—

SWKSSHH.

Blood sprayed in a wide arc. The wolf's head hit the ground a full second before its body crumpled.

The new weapon had tasted its first blood.

"Shit…" Fergis muttered, flames erupting from his palms as his voice dropped. "These aren't just Direwolves. They're Shadow Wolves."

Cane rotated, placing his back against Fergis's. "Eyes up. Stay tight."

The shadows rippled again.

"THERE!" Fergis roared. A fireball burst from his hands, colliding with a pair of stalking wolves. Both lit up like torches—but kept charging, jaws wide and eyes blazing.

They were relentless.

Cane sidestepped the first, spinning low as his hammer rose.

CRACK.

The beast's spine snapped under the blow, its momentum folding into the street like a dropped sack.

The second wolf lunged for his side—but never made it.

Fergis's flames erupted again, the inferno swallowing the beast whole until only blackened bones hit the ground.

Cane exhaled, eyes scanning the rooftops and alleys. "We've got to move."

"They're phasing through a rift," Fergis said, wiping soot off his hands. "We're not dealing with a random pack. This is coordinated."

Cane didn't answer. He was already running.

"Dammit!" Fergis cursed as a wide breach tore open across the street. From it, shadows poured like living nightmares—and the fight began in earnest.

City guards surged forward, blades flashing, spells crackling. The air rang with shouts, steel, and snarls as the battle unfolded across doorways and alleys.

Cane and Fergis stepped back, holding formation as the guard pressed in. Their backs touched briefly—unspoken trust anchoring them in the chaos.

Then—a scream.

It came from behind the tailor shop.

"This way!" Cane broke off without hesitation, sprinting down a side alley that had been split by another breach. The second rift had torn through the foundation of the shop, dividing it like a wound.

Fergis followed close behind.

Without slowing, Cane vaulted into the breach—his weapon already in motion. He swung, bashed, stabbed, and sliced his way through a pack of wolves, each attack flowing into the next with terrifying precision.

Behind him, a steady barrage of flame cleared his flanks. Fergis's fire roared like a wall, keeping them from being overwhelmed.

At the far end of the alley, a man stood at the base of a stairwell, holding a short sword in trembling hands. In front of him loomed something far worse than the others:

A massive black wolf, cloaked in shadow and radiating malice.

Its eyes burned red.

"That's the Alpha," Fergis muttered, stepping beside Cane.

The wolf turned toward them. Intelligence gleamed behind its hatred—cold, calculating, aware.

"Get up the stairs!" Cane barked at the man. "We've got this!"

The man hesitated. Cane didn't need a name—Sofie's description was enough. This was her father.

"We'll hold it," Fergis added. "Go!"

The man turned and ran, limping up the steps as the Alpha stalked forward.

"I'm dropping my trump card," Fergis warned. "But once I cast, I'll be useless. You'll have to finish it."

Cane nodded, shifting his stance as the wolf tensed.

He felt it then—a massive swell of power gathering in Fergis's core. Heat rolled off him in waves.

"BALEFIRE!" Fergis roared.

A streak of white flame erupted from his hands, blinding in its intensity. The air screamed as the flame cut forward like divine judgment.

The Alpha twisted at the last second, avoiding a direct hit—but the blast caught its left flank.

The beast howled in pain, a sound so primal it raised goosebumps on Cane's arms.

Now.

Cane launched himself forward.

The Alpha lunged, jaws snapping with unnatural force, reinforced by shadow magic.

Too slow.

Cane's blade flashed—

SHHHK-CRACK!

The starmetal edge carved through the creature's snout, severing bone and muscle. It cleaved through teeth like butter, then split the skull clean down the middle—a spray of blood, brain, and bone painting the wall behind them.

Silence fell.

Then—a doorway opened in midair.

A rectangular rift shimmered into being, the edges glowing faint gold. Nos stepped through, one brow raised as he surveyed the carnage.

He looked to the massive corpse, eyes gleaming.

"Close," he muttered.

The breach snapped shut at his command.

"Grade Four," he mused aloud, leaning over the body. "Shadow Wolf. Beautiful specimen." He glanced up, smiling far too casually. "Can I have it?"

"NO!" Cane and Fergis answered in unison.

Nos blinked. "Shame." 

"Grade Four," Nos mused aloud, leaning over the body. "Shadow Wolf. Beautiful specimen." He glanced up, smiling far too casually. "Can I have it?"

"NO!" Cane and Fergis snapped in unison.

Nos blinked. "Shame."

Cane stepped forward, his weapon still dripping with warm blood. Something tugged at the edge of his awareness—a pulse, faint and fading. His gaze shifted to the lifeless form of the Alpha Shadow Wolf. Something felt… off.

"Crap," he muttered. "Alpha wolves are always female."

He crouched beside the beast's dark flank, pressing a hand gently to its belly. The fur was still warm. Closing his eyes, he extended his senses—and there it was. Flickering life. Distant. Weak. But real.

His eyes snapped open. "There's still time."

With practiced precision, Cane made a horizontal incision across the abdomen, then a vertical cut to form a clean cross. He set his weapon aside and plunged both hands into the wet cavity. Warm flesh gave way.

A moment later, he pulled out a slick, squirming bundle and passed it to Fergis.

"A Shadow Wolf pup?" Fergis stared, wide-eyed, before grabbing a rag from the nearby shelf and tearing off a piece to wrap it.

Cane went back in, hands steady. "That makes two," he said, lifting a second bloodied bundle from the still-warm mother.

Later, Cane returned to the stairs, cradling one of the pups against his chest. He crouched beside Fergis, who was still catching his breath, eyes on the tiny creature in his arms.

"Bond with it," Cane said quietly.

Fergis blinked, then his face split into a grin. "Seriously?"

Cane nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm in." Fergis reached out, and the small pup crawled instinctively into his lap, curling against the heat of his hands. A faint tendril of dark mist twined around his wrist as the bond began to take hold.

Nos scowled. "Curses," he muttered again. "Why isn't there three?"

Cane ignored him, climbing the steps with the second pup cradled to his chest. He stepped through the half-broken doorway and scanned the dim interior.

"Everyone okay?"

A middle-aged man with soot on his face and a sword still clutched in one hand gave him a weary smile. "Thanks to you two… yeah. I was at the end of my rope when you showed up."

Cane nodded, about to respond—

"Cane?"

The voice came from deeper in the apartment. Then—

Sofie burst into view, eyes wide, breath catching as she took in the scene: her father, bloodied but safe; Cane, dusty and bruised, holding a tiny wolf pup.

She didn't hesitate.

She rushed into his arms, hugging him tight, the pup squirming gently between them. Cane held her close, grounding himself in the warmth of her embrace, his heart finally slowing.

Behind them, Fergis—still sitting on the steps, holding a shadow creature of nightmare—grinned through the soot and muttered, "Best. Mission. Ever."