26. The City of Victory #2
Pride swelled her chest. She turned toward Goibniu holding the blade out for inspection. The God paused his instruction, stepping away from Kyron and Maelan. His calloused fingers curled directly around the hot hilt as he hoisted it into the light, remaining silent for a long, agonizing moment.
“Good,” he said simply, his voice echoing off the cavern walls. “Now, you’re ready to make a real weapon.”
Sorcha’s brow furrowed. She looked between the smith and her hard work in utter confusion. “This isn’t one?”
Without answering, Goibniu muttered a low incantation in a language older than the mountain itself.
The forge rumbled in response as orange flames violently recoiled before erupting into a blue so deep, so fiercely alive, that nothing on Eadartha could compare to it.
The cobalt fire surged toward the stone ceiling, casting distorted, unearthly shadows across the chamber.
Goibniu stepped aside, gesturing toward a heavy stone table laid out with an array of glistening minerals and metals. Each piece hummed with a faint, musical vibration.
“Choose,” he commanded.
Sorcha stepped forward, her fingers hovering just an inch above the shimmering materials as Goibniu explained their virtues.
“Amber. The sun’s gift. A shield against harm, a beacon of healing and protection.”
“Jade. For balance, wisdom, and harmony. The choice of a leader who sees far beyond the battlefield.”
“Clear Quartz. A stone of absolute clarity. It amplifies, sharpens, and makes the unseen known.”
“Carnelian. Courage, fire, and raw creativity. The heartbeat of true warriors.”
“Citrine. Fortune’s blessing. The very prosperity of the gods rests within its crystalline veins.”
“Silver. Sacred. Moonlit power, woven tightly with divine energy.”
Each material whispered to her, a pull straight to her soul. Goibniu watched her carefully. “A warrior’s weapon is far more than just folded steel, It is a reflection of who they are.”
Sorcha’s fingers trembled. The blue forge glowed brighter, the heat prickling against her skin.
Her eyes drifted over the carefully arranged elements.
She reached forward, her skin brushing the smooth, freezing surface of the silver first. It felt balanced, carrying a quiet, dangerous power.
Next, she lifted the raw chunk of amber, and finally the carnelian its crimson stone shining brightly.
“Amber, silver, and carnelian.” He nodded, stepping closer to inspect the trio. “The sun’s gift, the moon’s strength, and the fire’s heart. A reflection of who you’ve become.”
Goibniu gestured to the anvil. “Now, let’s forge it.”
She placed the chosen materials directly into the blue flames, watching in awe as the enchanted heat licked at the silver and amber, fusing them together in a vibrant, molten dance.
Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead as she worked tirelessly, pouring every ounce of her remaining strength into the hammer, bending the magic to her will.
Hours melted away into the rhythmic song of steel meeting steel. When she finally finished, she placed the blade in the stone bath, a violent cloud of steam hissed into the air.
It was a scimitar, its sweeping, curved edge catching the blue firelight. The silver and amber ran down the length of the blade like the intertwined threads of fate itself. It was sleek, perfectly weighted, and thrumming with an electric current of power.
She presented it to Goibniu. The God reached out, his massive hand wrapping around the hilt and lifting it with a casual ease that made her hours of labor look effortless. He ran a thick thumb over the pristine edge, testing the balance and craftsmanship.
“Now,” he smirked, a dangerous glint in his eye, “you have a true weapon.”
Before Sorcha could process the praise, Goibniu turned back to the forge, his hands moving over the ancient runes carved into the stone hearth as he chanted a quiet blessing.
The scimitar in Sorcha’s hands suddenly shivered violently.
The carnelian stones along the hilt ignited, burning with a brilliant, blinding crimson light.
A sudden pulse of raw energy surged out of the grip, racing up her arms like liquid lightning.
Instinct overrode her exhaustion. She gripped the hilt with both hands, dropping into a low, defensive stance just as the tip of the scimitar unleashed a brilliant ribbon of golden light.
It unfurled across the room like a whip of pure, concentrated sunlight.
“Get down!” Kyron yelled.
He and Maelan violently threw themselves to the ground, their shoulders colliding as the glowing arc of solar energy hissed mere inches over their heads. Loose iron tools clattered across the floor. A violent wave of dry heat rippled through the chamber, singeing the air.
Only Goibniu remained completely unmoved. The tail end of the golden arc struck his bare forearm, leaving a searing, glowing brand across his bronzed skin, only for the flesh to knit back together instantly.
He let out a deep, belly laugh that vibrated through the very bedrock of the mountain. “Yes!” he roared, flexing his fingers. “Now that is a weapon!”
Sorcha stared at the scimitar, her chest heaving as the golden light receded back into the steel.
Goibniu grinned at her before turning his piercing gaze toward Kyron and Maelan, who were currently pushing themselves off the dusty floor, brushing soot from their clothes and glaring at the near-disaster.
“Now,” the God rumbled, stepping toward them with heavy, echoing strides, “it is your turn.”
The two men straightened up, exchanging a very wary, nervous glance.
Goibniu reached for a massive leather satchel resting near the anvil, overturning it onto the heavy worktable.
A glittering cascade of rare metals and raw ores clinked against the stone, catching the blue forge light in brilliant streaks of ancient bronze, luminous moonstone, and raw gold.
Beside the metals, an assortment of uncut, magical gemstones spilled across the surface.
He met their eyes. “Choose.”
Kyron stepped forward first, his critical gaze scanning the wealth of materials.
His hand hovered over a block of celestial bronze, a legendary metal forged in the heart of a star, untouched by rust, age, or mortal decay.
It was incredibly heavy, resilient, and hummed with divine force.
Right next to it, his eyes locked onto a jagged chunk of raw obsidian.
The dark volcanic glass didn’t reflect the blue forge fire; it absorbed it, pulling the light into its infinite black depths.
It was the perfect conduit for someone who required brute strength paired with control for absorbing power.
Kyron hoisted the celestial bronze, testing its dense weight in his palm, before picking up the obsidian for his hilt.
Goibniu nodded, a look of approval on his face. “Celestial bronze and obsidian. A blade of unwavering endurance, born in light but honed in the dark depths. You will craft a longsword. A weapon that perfectly balances crushing force with absolute control.”
Maelan was next. He stood back, studying the remaining treasures with a calculated frown. He was not a fighter who relied on brute strength; his lethality lay in blinding speed, precision, and adaptability.
His fingers bypassed the heavier metals, landing on a bar of star steel.
The rare metal, harvested from fallen meteors, felt as light as a feather in his grip.
It was a conduit that resonated directly with the warrior’s mind, moving as swiftly as they thought.
Alongside it, he slid a brilliant, deep blue sapphire into his palm.
The gemstone shimmered faintly, radiating an aura of focus and agility.
“This,” Maelan said, a confident smirk returning to his lips.
Goibniu studied him, then nodded. “Star steel and sapphire. A fitting choice for one who moves like the wind. You will craft a rapier. A blade that does not overpower but outmaneuvers, striking with precision and speed.”
Maelan exhaled, his grip tightening around the materials.
The God motioned them forward. “Let’s begin.”
Kyron and Maelan stepped up to the anvil, mirroring the process Sorcha had gone through just hours before. The forge roared to life again, the blue flames shifting with each movement of metal against fire. Goibniu wasted no time in correcting them.
Kyron struck hard at first, his grip rigid, his strikes full of brute force but lacking the finesse needed to shape the blade properly.
“Control,” Goibniu barked, slapping his hand against the anvil.“Strength means nothing without it. Again.”
Kyron readjusted and focused, his next strikes landing truer.
Maelan, on the other hand, was hesitant.
“Commit,” Goibniu growled when Maelan hesitated before bringing the hammer down. “A weapon is only as sure as the hand that wields it. Second guess yourself, and your blade will do the same.”
The forge echoed with the sound of hammers and the sizzle of molten metal followed with the occasional curse when something went wrong.
Sorcha, now leaning against a nearby workbench, watched as they worked, exhaustion creeping into their movements too. And then at long last their blades were finished.
Goibniu stepped forward, inspecting both weapons with a critical eye.
“Good,” he said, satisfied. “You’re now armed.”
Kyron wiped the sweat from his brow, rolling his shoulders. “That’s it?”
“No,” he rumbled. “Now, you learn how to use them.”
And before either of them could react, he moved.
With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed a nearby staff and lunged.
Kyron barely had time to raise his sword before Goibniu’s strike knocked him back a full step, the force of it rattling through his arms. Maelan dodged the next swing, but only barely, his breath coming quick as he instinctively adjusted his stance.
Goibniu laughed.
“Come now,” he taunted, twirling the staff effortlessly in his hands. “Show me what you’ve learned.”
And with that, the lesson began.