“Do you want me to go in first,” Jurao asked.

Feyl had been staring inside the temple for a few minutes but shook his head, “No, I can manage. Though… this rather confirms it, doesn’t it?”

“I would say it does,” Jurao agreed, “We can leave if you wish.”

Feyl stood a few minutes more, tail twitching. The sound of smithing was all around them, but beneath it all was the deeper sound of a hammer hitting metal. A resonance that could only be achieved by the divine size of the gods.

Taking a steadying breath, Feyl strode inside at last - Jurao following behind.

Like other temples, there was an inner chamber - though Soken had no throne. He stood at an anvil, forging something into shape with his famed Star Hammer. His shortened leg was supported by a brace as he worked, though he did not seem to notice their entrance.

Soken was some twenty-five feet tall and, like most smiths, thick with muscle - though Soken, in particular, had a pot belly and a little extra softness to his limbs and jowls. His metallic gray skin was covered in asymmetrical splotches of red, like spots of rust. He had black hair that hung down around his shoulders, though the crown of his head was bald. His eyes were red, and glowed - but dimly, like coals.

“Speak,” he said, voice deep as a bellows as he plunged his work into water. He pulled a second piece of metal out of the fire, forging it now, sparks dancing with each hammer blow.

Feyl flinched.

Jurao considered if he should speak on his best friend’s behalf.

“Not you,” Soken said, pointing back at Jurao with his hammer - though his eyes remained glued to his work as he quenched the second item. He shifted the hammer to Feyl, “Him. He’s the one with something to say.”

Feyl’s tail twitched as he shifted his weight, and asked, “Why?”

Soken snorted, putting what appeared to be a blade over the fire to temper it, “You know why.”

Feyl rolled his eyes, “When, then.”

“When you made that dagger at your hip,” Soken replied, now tempering two blades with his six hands, “Eah’mehn blessed the blade. I blessed the smith.”

“Which brings me back to why,” Feyl rolled his eyes again.

“No,” Soken snorted, “This is a different why. Why did I mark you as Beloved? Same reason any of us do. Why was I there at that moment? Nevve asked, and she had not prayed to me in over a millennia. If you thought it was because you are under my husband’s gaze, sorry to disappoint - most of his make poor smiths.”

“... I don’t know what I was expecting from this,” Feyl huffed, turning to leave.

Soken laughed, “Yes, you do.”

Feyl paused.

Jurao wasn’t sure if his presence was helping.

Soken took the first blade off the fire, letting it cool in the air - holding it up to inspect it as he did so. He said, “You wanted someone to tell you what to do about your life. It’s easier to say, ‘god told me so.’ Too bad for you. If you want to be a flesh and blood smith, you’re going to have to make that choice yourself. How the fuck should I know if that’ll make you happy?”

Feyl’s tail kept twitching as he looked to Jurao, “Does Maenscul talk to you like this?”

“No,” Jurao replied.

“Do I look like Maenscul?” Soken scoffed, tempering the first blade again as he examined the second, “Not that they give advice either. You want advice, ask Nosu. But you don’t want advice.”

“No?” Feyl asked, looking increasingly irritated.

“You know what you want to do,” Soken replied, swapping the blades again, “You just want someone else to tell you to do it in case it doesn’t work out, so you can blame someone else. ‘I just wanted to be a valet, Soken told me to be a smith, it’s not my fault’ - fuck off. Be a spirit, be a smith - I don’t give a shit. It’s your life.”

Soken reminded Jurao of his aunt, but he didn’t think Feyl would appreciate the comparison.

“This is how you treat your favorite mortals?” Feyl scoffed, facing the god again.

Soken grinned, now letting both blades cool in the air, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Feyl glared at the god’s back - then sighed, staring at the ground and seeming to lose his irritation. After a few moments, he said, “It would have been easier.”

“People who want things easy don’t become blacksmiths,” Soken replied - and turned to face them at last. He released his leg brace, grabbing a cane as he held the swords out to Jurao, “Here. For the girl - her brother got a divine gift. Yaugua thought she should have one as well - though he’s not a smithing god, so left the forging to me.”

“I am sure Ayelma will be very grateful,” Jurao said, accepting the blades - they had the sheen of fae metal, but were in the same style as the blades Feyl had made her - Western Frost Elven.

Soken snorted - then turned his gaze to Feyl.

Feyl was still watching the ground, thinking.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“You want advice?” Soken asked, “Fine. You’re a blacksmith. Stop caring about how much people like the sheath you put your blade in. If that’s as far as they look to determine its quality, their opinion is shit.”

Feyl snorted but didn’t reply.

Soken seemed to hesitate - something in his countenance softening - before he reached out and patted his Beloved’s head. He said, “It’s your life, little smith. Consider living it your way.”

With that, Soken dissipated, leaving the inner room of the temple empty save the crackling embers in the forge.

“... did that help,” Jurao asked.

Feyl snorted, “He’s like Nevve.”

“I thought so as well,” the King agreed.

His best friend sighed, straightening up, “What did she say? Sometimes you need a nudge…?”

“Sometimes you need a nudge, sometimes you need a good dunk in a bucket of cold water,” Jurao quoted.

Feyl snorted, “She has a point with that.”

Jurao waited for more.

“Let’s go back,” Feyl said, leading the way.

“Did your meeting go well… ah…?” the High Priest Hous asked as they emerged.

“Feyl,” the valet replied, and hesitated before adding, “I… apprenticed under Nevve Maesculiken.”

Hous snorted, “Ah. Well, I wouldn’t have tried to test you if you’d opened with that. Not with his highness here to confirm it. You’re just such a slip of a thing.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” Feyl replied, “And yes, the meeting was fine, thank you, your grace.”

“Soken appeared to me once - when I became High Priest,” Hous went on, “I do not think he has appeared for anyone else.”

“Apparently,” Feyl snorted, heading down the path at a smart pace, “Being his Beloved grants one the honor of his rudeness.”

Hous flinched, blinking a few times after the valet - then snorted, “That sounds about right,” he turned to Jurao, “Good afternoon, your highness.”

“Good afternoon,” Jurao nodded, jogging to catch up with Feyl.

They did not speak during the boat ride back - Jurao could tell Feyl was thinking, and did not want to interrupt him.

When they reached the docks on the city side of the lake, Feyl said, “I’m not quitting as one of your valets.”

“Alright,” Jurao said, as they walked towards the lifts that would take them back to the top of the canyon.

“At least, not yet,” Feyl snorted, “Forvi and Imena can’t handle it all themselves. Maybe at the end of next century.”

“That should be enough time to find another,” Jurao agreed, tail swaying as he sensed where the conversation was going.

Feyl noted the motion and rolled his eyes, “I think I’ll speak to them about working out a weekly rotation, instead of daily.”

“I am fine with that,” Jurao said.

“I know,” Feyl snorted. He didn’t speak again until they were in a carriage bound for the castle - as the lift they used was on the city side of the Field Walls, rather than the castle side.

“You know,” he said, watching the scenery, “I made a set of daggers for Vajur a while back.”

“This was the third set, wasn’t it,” Jurao asked.

“Fourth, actually,” Feyl said, “I think we’ll make it back for the evening meal.”

“Yes, I think so as well,” the King agreed, marking the position of the sun, “Did you plan to give him the daggers then.”

“I thought I might,” his best friend confirmed, “Since they all know anyway.”

“Do you,” Jurao considered how to ask his question, “Do you intend to…”

“I no longer intend to hide that I am the smithing spirit,” Feyl replied, “Though I don’t intend to make any… announcements, either.”

“Understood,” Jurao said.

“You’re smiling,” his best friend said.

“As are you,” Jurao replied.

Feyl rolled his eyes, “Well. Soken was right. I knew what I wanted to do. I just needed him to piss me off into doing it.”

They did make it back in time for the evening meal - though barely.

“Where did you head off to this morning?” Minaz asked.

“Feyl asked me to accompany him on a trip,” Jurao replied.

“Everything alright?” Braelin asked.

“It is now,” the King replied, and considered before adding, “We visited the Temple of Soken across Brandy Lake.”

“Did you now?” Kloy asked, arching a brow and glancing at the door - then doing a double take.

Feyl cleared his throat, “We did.”

All eyes turned to him in surprise.

Feyl shifted his weight in the doorway, then sighed and rolled his eyes as he strode around the table and set a wrapped bundle in front of Vajur before departing.

The spymaster scoffed as he unwrapped the bundle - before his brows rose, and he picked up one of the daggers inside the bundle. Jurao knew there were four - two stilettos for stabbing and two single-bladed daggers for slashing. While the stilettos had a crossguard and the single-blades did not, the ornate elements of the solid metal hilts matched. The stilettos had pommels in the hollow star motif of Ovvislae - the Deity of Night and Assassins. While a minor deity, Vajur was one of their dedicants - as spymaster and assassin was not so far off.

The unguarded hilts of the slashing daggers had the hollow stars cut out of the pommels, with the handles wrapped in black leather for better grip. The stiletto hilts were more stylized overall, truly a work of art in their own right - though that was the way of assassin tools, thanks to the Scusuli blacksmithing family in Mesescima.

Vajur let out a breath as he tested one of the slashing daggers, “This is animal leather.”

“Ice shriek, specifically,” Jurao said, signaling for the meal to begin.

For their stealth and deadliness, as well as being nocturnal, the ice shriek was another symbol of Ovvislae. To have their leather on a dagger was seen as good luck, though very rare to come by. Feyl had traded several weapons - particularly crossbows he’d been experimenting with creating - to obtain one from Ena when the Mafokuraes band had passed by Caslavven. Now they had a standing arrangement, so Feyl had a selection of leathers already cut for hilts or fittings.

“Be Ovvislae’s gentle hand,” Vajur said, kissing the pommel of each dagger - an assassin’s blessing on their blades. He tucked them away after, back into the cloth pockets of the bundle before wrapping it again. Which meant Vajur certainly intended to put them to use.

“He left before we could thank him in person!” Gavven complained, getting up from eir seat with a rare frown.

“I believe that was on purpose,” Kloy snorted, “He’s not really accustomed to being thanked at all.”

“I always left notes in the smithy,” Gavven protested.

“As did others,” Jurao agreed, “As well as gifts.”

“That’s not quite the same as being thanked in person,” Hujur chuckled.

Minaz was frowning, arms crossed as she said, “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“I still don’t get why he had to,” Vajur scoffed, “Min, when would Nevve have had time to make all those weapons in addition to her regular work?”

Minaz rolled her eyes, “We’re friends.”

“Sometimes that makes it harder, doesn’t it?” Braelin replied, “Feyl respects your opinion of him more because you’re friends. And you had a very specific image of who you thought he was.”

Minaz opened her mouth - then sighed, finally digging into her meal, “Yeah, I guess.”

“You’re just pissed he went on a trip with Jurao instead of eating with you,” Vajur rolled his eyes.

Minaz huffed, and said, “And you’re defending him because he gave you pretty daggers.”

“Obviously,” Vajur snorted.

“... that was a bit petty of me,” Minaz sighed, “Not like I don’t have twenty weapons I’ve gotten from him over the centuries… knowingly or not…”

“Why did you go to Soken’s Temple, though?” Festi asked.

“Ah,” Jurao said, “Feyl wanted to confirm if he was really one of Soken’s Beloved.”

Festi choked on their drink.

“I take it he was?” Kloy asked.

“Yes,” Jurao replied, tail swaying as he added, “Soken’s advice seemed to help him.”

“Two Beloved Department Heads,” Hujur chuckled, “Perhaps we should all make more temple visits…”

“If you wish to check, Eweylona could tell by your aura,” the King suggested, “If she is amenable.”

“I thought only magic users had auras,” Jouvi frowned, patting Festi on the back.

They spent the rest of the meal discussing auras once more - Jurao still simply pleased Feyl would now be open about one of the things he loved to do.