The Celestial Forge

By: Schin Ka'Tharos

CHAPTER 19

(Part 3)

The nawing of hunger alerted me to the amount of time I had spent exploring the workshop. I headed upstairs with thoughts racing and bursting with possibilities. I ate a small ration of food while I checked on Ciara and Adeon who both remained in their comatose state. Before my first descent into the basement I had moved them into more comfortable positions and set up makeshift pillows from some of my bedding. Through my link with the tower I already had a sense that they remained under the floor's influence but I confirmed it nonetheless.

I estimated that they would remain in their unconscious state for at minimum another ten days but I needed to get as much done as possible before they awoke. I transported most of the contents from the cabinet in the Room of Reflections down to the workshop. Besides about two thirds of the food I left only one Lesser Thousand Hands of Healing vial, one Golden Rising Tide vial, three Red Lunar Drop vials, the Sleepless Grave Leaf, and two Skin of the Silver Wind pills.

As I worked my mind mulled over my new findings. The contents of the stations for the first flowline seemed to hold potential for some immediate benefits. I believed my skills would allow me to form something useful from what was there.

Then, my mind turned to the contents of the other tables and my thoughts soured. I bemoaned my lack of understanding of what the other stations contained and also my lack of skill in what seemed to be required to find any of it useful. I was no alchemist nor tailor. I had no true skill in core-forging. Negativity and anger rose within me at my own inadequacies and limited abilities.

A memory surfaced of a time I had complained to grandfather of the same deficiency in my youth.

"I wish to be better at everything grandfather and perfect. Like you. You're perfect at pretty much everything."

He had chuckled initially but responded with serious intensity. "I am far from perfect, my boy. And what makes you think trying to be better at everything would make you perfect?"

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"Isn't being perfect being the best at everything." I had said.

He thumbed his beard for a few moments before pulling out a knife from his belt.

"This here is a knife from my youth, days long gone. It's far from perfect but it holds a lot of value to me." He said and set the knife down between us. "Now, can you imagine a more perfect knife than this?"

I stared at the blade, unsure how to answer. It was misshapen and nicked along the entirety of the edge. The blade seemed to be worked from inferior metal and the hilt was incredibly simple and severely worn down from years of use.

"I can imagine a better blade, yes."

"How so? Describe a more perfect blade. Not the one and only perfect knife, don't try to do that. Just attempt to describe a blade approaching perfection the best you can."

I went with my grandfather's prodding. These types of endeavors always proved worthwhile and he always led with an understanding yet guiding hand of a good teacher.

"It would be well made by master craftsmen of the finest metal alloys, probably something even better than black steel if it exists. The blade would be incredibly sharp yet strong on its edge. Possibly never dulling. The weight would be perfectly balanced. Its hilt would be functional yet beautiful. I'm imagining maybe a serpent's head masterfully carved into the bottom of the pommel."

"And the blade itself, how does it look?"

"It's beautiful and dangerous. There is a layered technique into the metal, an intricate pattern that reflects rainbow colors in the sunlight."

"Good. Now imagine if I took that knife and forged a hammer face onto one side of the blade's edge. Does this make it more perfect?"

"...No"

"How about if I welded a fork onto the blade's tip. An improvement?

"…No"

"So what then makes the blade approach perfection? Is it in doing more things? You brought beauty into your description. What part does function play and what part beauty?" he said, settling into his lecture. "Now you can also imagine a circumstance where a blade with a fork melded to its top may be exactly what you desire. Say if you are going to eat and have no other useful utensils. So then is there a universality to perfection or is it dependent upon the temporal? What about my blade here? What characteristics cause it to be at whatever level this knife may fall within the hierarchy of knives? Does my nostalgia towards it have any bearing? "

"I ask all of this expecting no answer. Just reflect on these musings and allow them to reorient you." he had said before moving on to other things.

There within the tower, as I was in my youth with grandfather, I pondered his questions' mysteries and was left wanting for satisfactory answers.

Next Chapter...

Chapter 20