“Dr. Montgomery, how do we choose our orestones?” piped a nervous girl.
“By feeling,” he answered.
“Each of the thousand orestones on these tables are unique in their own right, for they possess different combinations of Atomions as you’ve learnt. They shall thus sing different melodies to you to reveal their unique personalities – personalities that may be compatible with yours. Since no two people are the same, most of you would have felt a pull towards a specific ore. It is a subconscious calling, if you will.”
“Do the shapes matter at all?”
“No, and neither is their color. The color of your Quans shall manifest when you complete the forge and put it on your forearm for the first time. Therefore, waste no time vying for an ore with a pretty color.”
Elwin looked around, and found to his surprise many already looking this way and that, all drawn towards one specific ore. To his left, Isaac took notice of an ore the shape of a cirrus cloud a little way down the table; Katherine’s attention, on the other hand, was focused upon a wispy ore shaped like flames from a torch.
But Elwin did not feel any such a call, and he quickly became concerned. Could it be that an ore that fit his personality – his character – did not exist at all? If it didn’t, would he be forced to choose an ore against his will? What if he was the only odd one out, and couldn’t ever forge his Quan? What if he in his indecisiveness failed to pick an ore that is right and others snatched it away from him?
That wouldn’t happen, would it?
Swallowing his apprehension, Elwin proceeded to pick up each ore in front of him one by one and examine them closely. There was just one out of thousands in that Temple; even though he had the entire night, he had to hurry.
Elwin picked up the first ore he saw, steely with blemishes of red on its surface, trying to hear its melody in his mind just as he did in Quanmaster Montgomery’s classes. Elwin expected some communicative quality from the ore he picked up, or a feeling with it, but he felt absolutely nothing, save for a dull melody that droned and droned without care. In fact, it felt like the most ordinary piece of rock in the world, so he put it down again to widen his search.
A second piece of ore caught his eye. Sharp, spiky, and with fine crystals of orange sticking out on its underbelly, Elwin eagerly put it into his hands – and immediately cried out with a jolt, for it was hot to the touch, and smelled of burnt coal. More so, this ore gave him visions of all the worst memories of his childhood at a single, spiteful glance, almost to the point that the ore must have done it on purpose. It did not like Elwin. Taken aback, and disappointed to say the least, Elwin continued on vying the attention of many different ores for three hours.
Lumpy with forest green. Flat with deep purple. Spherical with cloud-white. Tall and thin with rose-gold. Each new ore he picked up and felt with his hands gave off different tunes to his head. The closest call was the – eighty-sixth one – or eighty seventh, since he lost count – the ore of cloud white, but as he felt this way and that around the ore with his fingers, the initial welcome of the metal did not proceed beyond a casual greeting. The cloud-white orestone could be his friend, but Elwin knew it could not be the mate for his soul. So he put it down.
By now, almost everyone had chosen their orestone, and he was one of the few odd ones out still searching.
Then, a set of dull and ordinary orestones placed in the farthest end of the table near the shadows caught his eye. It was a part of the table where no Fradihta would go, since the largest and freshest ores found their way into the center of the table, and a vast majority of Fradihta picked among that display.
“What’s this section made out of? Why does no one come here?” asked Elwin to Professor Aionia.
“This section,” she replied, “is where orestones that were not picked by previous Fradihta go. It is unfortunate, because these ores are just as great, even if they look marred and unpretty compared to their newer friends. And so they sit there, some for many, many years, gathering dust and wishing for someone to examine them.”
“May I try some pieces?” asked Elwin, pointing to the sections. Professor Aionia nodded with a smile.
Elwin picked up many and examined them – some friendly, some unfriendly, but mostly dull to his touch and feeling, quite unremarkable. Professor Aionia was right; there was no marked difference between the pretty ores the Fradihta sought at the center of the table and here in offshoots, at least for him.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Just then, Elwin saw the saddest and most pitiful ore he’d seen tucked away behind the farthest counter of the nearly abandoned section, almost completely hidden out of view so that if he hadn’t turned his head a very specific way at that moment, he could have missed it entirely. The ore looked forlorn. It was possible nobody had taken notice for years, maybe decades.
“Professor Aionia, may I try that ore?” Elwin pointed to that counter, far out of his individual reach. She reached out and held the ore to pass it to Elwin – and as she did so, a briefest expression came over Professor Aionia’s countenance, one that Elwin could not decipher. She gathered her memories to explain.
“This ore,” said Professor Aionia, “had been mined with great challenge from a sunken mineral node deep under a faraway sea, a long, long time ago.”
She held out the ore to Elwin. Outwards, it was dull, dirty, and ugly, its many fissures and pores pungent with the smell of unwashed brine; but from certain angles he could catch a glimpse of an iridescent blue and green, and at unexpected moments a fragrance of the open ocean that he remembered so fondly from his city of birth. Elwin closed his eye and grasped the full ore with both of his hands.
At first, he could barely notice it; but as he gently cupped the ore in his hands and reverently called its many atoms, he began to hear a murmur. The murmur grew into a whisper, and a whisper into voices more distinct, until at last Elwin could hear the thousands, and tens of thousands of atoms, all clamoring for him to choose them. There was also a hint of sorrow in those voices, for many before him had passed and decided not to entertain the ore for their Quans, and so it had been left forgotten for many a year, weeping gently in some cupboard that nobody saw; and in that sorrow Elwin found solace, for they were much like himself. If only someone could discover its potential and give it a chance!
And that’s when Elwin chose this ore of sea-bronze for his Quan. Forget the ores that appeared new or fresh or fashionable or beautiful; this wistful little ore may be ugly and unwanted to ordinary eyes, but to anyone understanding enough to love it the ore would give all its strength, and that was enough for Elwin.
He opened his eye.
Professor Aionia looked up from her thoughts. “Did you hear of their call to your soul?”
Elwin smiled, eye-wide with mirth.
“I did!”
And so Elwin gently slipped the ore of sea-bronze into his knapsack.
Now that his metal was chosen, it was time to forge the Quan for real.
* * *
“Make no mistake,” Quanmaster Montgomery declared.
“Your first forge shall be arduous, and your Quan imperfect at best!
“But it shall be your Quan, wieldable by no one else, and you shall have the chance to improve upon it.”
The forging of their Quans would take three days, they were instructed. Most hopefuls imagined that they would be able to sleep soundly, but as the Quanmaster added, it wasn’t simply three days; it was also three nights, and they would have to calibrate their own fire that arrived from the central furnace, heat and treat their own metals, and strike the metal ten thousand times, until it was soulforged. They would have to take very short naps the entire time, which by all means, many boys were excited for since the familiar condition of bedtime was removed, but most had no grasp of what prolonged wakefulness was like in reality.
Mirai out of all was equipped and prepared for what was to come. She was still disheartened with Elwin at betraying her trust and hampering her chance to start life at Aeternitas unchained from her past, but knew that it was not out of malice, but rather an overenthusiasm for good. As much as she was disappointed, she could not find herself to blame him, because she would have most likely done the same if the situation was reversed.
But she had to shelve such thoughts for the time being, for the coming nights needed her attention. This Quan she would forge in a moment would redeem the shape of her soul, or Kaha; it would require monumental effort to not let the demons of her past flood into each strike, as her father once warned.
On the contrary, Elwin’s head was tempestuous with concern. A month of intense training, while enough to drill the foundations, could not realistically compete with decades of artisanship Quanmasters possessed as a matter of career, and his mind whispered how terrible it would be to fail. But succeed he must, even if imperfect.
The gates of the TERATANIS, the great forge that occupied the entirety of the third and penultimate level of the ziggurat, swung open once again to a familiar sight. It was filled with various smithing tools, structures, and of course, the giant furnace that dominated the central space, which supplied a constant stream of superheated air to the individual fire-ovens. Rows upon rows of smithing tables and anvils, which looked to be fashioned out of volcanic basalt and granite, arranged themselves upon a circular fashion around the center, with space enough to accommodate all the Fradihta at once. Professors Helen, Thales, William, and Irina were also there with them, along with Professor Aionia and Quanmaster Montgomery. They were going to accompany the Artens throughout all three days and nights in their monumental endeavor.
Each Fradihta placed their orestone into the heart of the oven; Professor Helen and Irina bellowed mighty streams of air and sparked the central fire to life. Jets of fire roared out from the tops of each oven and shot to the ceiling, ready to melt and mold each metal to the shape of the soul.
It was time.