The forge hall glowed with molten firelight, embers dancing in the air like fireflies. The heat pressed against their skin, sweat shining on foreheads, but none of it dimd Maelin’s excitent. Her eyes sparkled brighter than the forge flas as Master Kaelor’s heavy voice broke through the steady ring of hamrs.
"You have more than quick hands, girl. You have the instinct." He gestured to the bracer Maelin had forged earlier, still gleaming with faint lightning veins. "This is not the work of luck—it is skill, unrefined, but ready to be sharpened."
Maelin’s cheeks flushed redder than the fire. "Do you really an...?"
Kaelor gave a sharp nod. "Yes. If you are willing, you may work here under my guidance. Not full ti—your studies co first—but whenever lessons permit. I will teach you what the forge itself has taught : how to hear the language of tal, how to coax scales and steel into living forms."
For a mont, Maelin was speechless. Then she nearly squeaked with joy, clutching the bracer to her chest. "Yes! Yes, of course I will! Thank you!" Her words tumbled out so quickly they overlapped, and Lira laughed softly at her friend’s inability to contain her happiness.
Patricia leaned casually against a stone pillar, arms folded, a faint grin tugging at her lips. "Looks like you’ve found your fire, fla spark. You’ll fit here."
Lira bead, clapping her hands together. "Maelin, this is perfect for you! You’ll love it here. And don’t worry—we’ll still support you. We’ll visit whenever we can."
Maelin spun to them, eyes shining. "You an it? You’ll really co and see hamr away at tal for hours?"
Patricia chuckled. "We’ll try. Though don’t expect to swing a hamr every day." She tapped one horn with a smirk. "I’ve already got scales, after all."
Lira giggled. "I’ll be there, Maelin. Even if I just sit and watch."
The reassurance made Maelin’s grin grow wider until it nearly reached her ears. She bounced on her toes, practically bursting.
Master Kaelor raised one bushy brow. "If you are done squealing like a hatchling, we will begin. There is work to be done, and fire waits for no one."
Maelin straightened at once, trying to compose herself though her feet still tapped in restless excitent. "Yes, Master!"
Kaelor beckoned her closer. He laid out three items on the long stone worktable: a dragon-scale shard, a lump of unrefined iron, and a bar of steel. "tal and scale require different approaches. Learn to treat them each with respect, for what bends one will shatter the other."
He demonstrated first, his movents surprisingly precise for such a broad, grizzled man. He heated the scale until it humd faintly, then cooled it just enough before shaping it with careful strikes. The sound of his hamr was not harsh—it rang like a rhythm, each strike deliberate, almost musical.
"Listen," Kaelor rumbled, pausing. "The hamr speaks. The tal answers. If you only strike without hearing, you are blind. But if you listen, you will shape not just the material, but its essence."
Maelin leaned in, hanging on every word. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the glow of the forge. She swallowed, then stepped forward when he gestured.
"Now you. Try."
Her hands shook at first, but she steadied herself. She heated the iron, carefully watching its glow as Kaelor had shown. Patricia muttered under her breath, "Easy, fla spark. Don’t overcook it." Lira gave her a thumbs up, whispering, "You’ve got this."
With a deep breath, Maelin struck. The hamr rang out, and to her surprise, the iron responded just as Kaelor had said—each strike sending a vibration up the handle, almost like it was answering her. Her nerves faded as she found the rhythm, matching her heartbeat to the ringing sound.
Kaelor watched closely, nodding once. "Better. Now try to stretch it. Draw it longer, like this." He demonstrated a few clean strikes, then let Maelin repeat.
Her first attempts were clumsy. The iron bent unevenly, one side thicker than the other. She frowned, biting her lip. "It’s crooked—"
"Then correct it," Kaelor interrupted, voice firm. "Do not curse mistakes. Fix them. Iron does not care for your feelings—it only listens to your will."
Maelin nodded and tried again, this ti adjusting her strikes. Slowly, the shape evened out. Sweat ran down her cheek, but her grin returned. "I can feel it! It’s... it’s like it’s alive!"
Patricia raised an eyebrow. "Don’t let it bite, then." But there was no mockery in her tone this ti—only amusent.
Hours seed to pass as Kaelor guided her through the basics: how to heat, when to quench, how to fold tal to strengthen it, and how to weave dragon scales into steel without cracking either. Maelin’s clothes clung with sweat, her hair stuck to her face, but she was radiant, her hands moving with growing confidence.
Lira and Patricia stayed by her side the entire ti, sotis handing tools, sotis just cheering her on. Whenever Maelin grew frustrated, Lira offered gentle encouragent, while Patricia barked out blunt but oddly motivating words: "Hit harder. No, not like that—like you an it. Yes, better."
By the end, Maelin stood holding a simple but solid dagger—its blade forged from steel and edged with a thin layer of dragon scale, shimring faintly in the light. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers.
Kaelor inspected it, grunted, and finally nodded. "Not bad. For your first day, this is more than I expected. If you return, I will teach you more. Perhaps even the secret of binding fla into steel."
Maelin nearly fainted from joy, hugging the dagger to her chest. "I’ll co back! I’ll be here whenever I can! Thank you so much, Master!"
Patricia shook her head, smirking. "You’re going to live in this forge, aren’t you?"
Lira hugged her, laughing. "She’s glowing brighter than the fire itself."
And it was true—Maelin, tired and covered in soot, shone with happiness. She had found sothing that belonged to her, sothing that made her heart race not from fear, but from purpose.
The forge blazed with golden light, sparks dancing across the stone floor as the heat from the slters and fire-pits wrapped around the three girls like a living cloak. Maelin’s hair clung damply to her forehead, but her eyes glittered with a feverish focus. With steady hands, she placed the half-ford breastplate back on the anvil, her hamr rising and falling in a rhythm that rang like a heartbeat through the hall.
Lira and Patricia stood at her side, watching as Maelin worked. Lira leaned closer, whispering in awe, "She looks like she’s done this her whole life."
Patricia smirked, arms crossed, her eyes never leaving the glowing plate of dragon-scale. "Talent runs deep when it’s real. You can’t fake the way she holds that hamr—asured, but fierce. She’s ant for this."
The ntor, a tall man with deep scars across his arms and the sll of iron clinging to him, stepped nearer. He studied Maelin carefully, nodding to himself. "Not many your age can shape dragon-scale without breaking it. The material resists the fire, resists the will. But you... you’ve already coaxed it into form."
At his words, Maelin flushed with pride, though her hamring did not falter. She struck once more, sparks scattering across the table, and then lowered her tool. The breastplate shone with an iridescent gleam, the faint outlines of scale-edges shimring across its surface like flowing water. It looked alive, as though it might pulse with heat at any mont.
The ntor’s brows lifted. He reached forward and touched the plate, testing the strength of its bonds. After a long silence, his voice grew almost reverent. "This is masterwork level. For a first attempt at armor—no, for any attempt—this is beyond rare."
Maelin’s lips parted, and she let out a breathless laugh. "I—I just followed what you showed ."
He chuckled deeply. "Then you’ve not only learned—you’ve listened. That is rarer still." He straightened, giving her a look filled with both pride and calculation. "Maelin, how would you like to work with here in the forge? Not as a student. As an apprentice. To craft gear for dragon shifters themselves?"
The room seed to still. Lira’s mouth fell open, and she grabbed Maelin’s sleeve with delight. "Did you hear that? He wants you to forge for them directly!"
Patricia’s expression softened from her usual steel-like deanor. She nudged Maelin with her elbow. "Not many are ever asked. This is no small offer. You’ll be shaping the scales of dragons into tools of power. That’s... an honor even seasoned forgers dream of."
Maelin blinked rapidly, overwheld, her cheeks glowing as brightly as the forge fire. "Yes," she breathed, and then louder, with growing excitent: "Yes, I would love to! This—this feels like what I’m ant to do."
The ntor’s smile was rare and fleeting, but genuine. "Good. I will speak to Lady Thalyris myself. If she agrees, you’ll begin formally. Until then, keep your hands ready and your heart steady."
He turned away, already striding toward the door with purpose, his heavy boots ringing across the forge floor.
The three girls remained behind, the breastplate gleaming between them like a treasure.
Lira clapped her hands together, almost bouncing with joy. "We have to celebrate! This is incredible—our Maelin, called into the forge itself!"
Patricia tilted her head, her sharp eyes softening with amusent. "I agree. This is a rare mont. Few get chosen to forge for dragon shifters, and fewer still succeed. You’ve earned it, Maelin."
Maelin hugged them both in her excitent, still trembling from the rush of it all. "I couldn’t have done this without you two—without your encouragent. I’ll make sure... I’ll make sure I beco soone you’re proud to stand beside."
Patricia’s voice, low and firm, cut through her flustered words like tempered steel. "We already are."
Together, the three stood, the heat of the forge behind them and a shared sense of triumph ahead. The beginning of sothing greater had been set in motion, and none of them doubted it.
That evening, after the forge fires dimd and the ntor had gone to find Lady Thalyris, the three girls slipped out of the hall together. The academy grounds were quiet, shadows long under the rising moon. Lira led them toward the little courtyard behind the kitchens where the stone benches were still warm from the day’s sun.
"I may have stolen sothing," Lira whispered with a mischievous grin. From the folds of her sleeve, she pulled out a small cloth bundle. When she unwrapped it, the sweet sll of honey cakes drifted into the cool air.
Maelin gasped, laughing. "Lira! You didn’t—"
"Oh, I did," Lira said, breaking one in half and passing the pieces to them. "If today isn’t worth a little rule-bending, I don’t know what is."
Patricia accepted hers with a raised brow, her sharp composure softening into a rare smile. "You’re reckless," she murmured, but her tone held no real disapproval. She took a careful bite, and the tiniest hum of approval slipped past her lips.
Maelin bit into hers, the honey sticking to her fingers, and sighed with delight. "This is perfect. Sweet, warm... just what today needed." She leaned back against the stone bench, staring up at the stars. "I still can’t believe he asked . —of all people."
Lira nudged her shoulder. "Why not you? You’ve got skill, and now everyone will see it."
Patricia’s voice, calm and steady, cut through the night air. "Do not doubt it, Maelin. You were chosen because you earned it. Few will be able to say the sa."
The three of them sat in a comfortable silence after that, nibbling at their honey cakes, the hum of crickets filling the courtyard. The air was cool, the stars sharp and bright. For a mont, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just them—their laughter, their bond, their shared triumph.
When the last crumbs were gone, Lira brushed her hands clean and grinned. "We should promise sothing."
Maelin tilted her head. "Promise?"
"Yes," Lira said, eyes shining. "That no matter what—forge halls, training, battles—we’ll keep this. Us. Together."
Patricia considered them both, her gaze serious. Then she extended her hand. "A vow, then. Sisters in fla."
Maelin’s face lit up, and she eagerly placed her hand atop Patricia’s. "Sisters in fla."
Lira pressed hers over theirs, warmth blooming in her chest. "Always."
The three girls sat there under the stars, hands clasped, a bond of fire and trust sealing itself in that small, secret celebration.
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