Vulcan tapped into his gravity force to build a bubble of repulsion around himself. Nothing. He tried to remember, but everything was hazy. His weak metal sense picked up something comforting in the air. One of his family members was around. He could feel the distinct wisps of a Numitor aura. It was strong, but also distant.

The mere fact that it was present meant that he hadn’t been kidnapped. Everything was foggy, he decided that he must have had too much to drink the night before. Ailinn was going to kill him if she found Vulcan sleeping in the dirt again. Jumping to his feet, Vulcan stumbled. He felt so weak, his balance was terrible, and the horizon was so hazy.

“I need to stop hanging out with Ajax and the boys, they are a bad influence,” He muttered. His mind cleared a bit when he thought of Ajax, but the image brought forth was a grotesque figure of flame and darkness. Pushing the disturbing thought down, he refocused.

Forge time. He had a workshop, but he had a suspicion that nothing out here would match its quality. Good thing the quality of the craftsman mattered more than the quality of the tools. He looked forward to using some of the local primitive technology. Local? He should still be in the capital. Whatever. He was a legend, not many things could hurt a tier fifteen.

He followed the sounds of hammers and smoke, waving at people as they passed by, “Good day citizen.”

“Huh,” the confused baker said.

“Work hard, for the Empire!” Vulcan pumped his fist into the air.

All he received were confused looks. No matter, the masses did not need to be educated to be given the benefits of the Numitor Empire. Enoch thought healthy people produced more resources thus they should be nurtured, which was true, but Vulcan liked being around happy people.

It did not take long for him to find the blacksmiths. Most were working on buckles, buttons, and nails, and there was even one pressing a screw into clay for a mold. There were a few weapons and armor on display, but the only people looking at them were young boys dreaming of glory. Seeing no true difference in the blacksmith’s equipment he chose one at random.

This forge was manned by a woman with a bandanna which kept sweat out of her eyes and healed burns ran up her forearms. She was not pretty, but for what she lacked in looks, she made up for in diligence. To be fair, Vulcan did not believe it took much diligence to overcome the comparably fleeting value of beauty.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Vulcan started. She glanced up from her hammering but did not stop. He waited patiently for her to get to a stopping point.

She used some tongs to pick up the bar of metal and dip it in a bucket of water. Vulcan almost told her that oil tended to work better, but it was likely she would not take kindly to unsolicited and income restricted advice. When she pulled out a crowbar he took back his critique, it was not a high quality tool in the first place.

“Do you have a commission?” The smith asked.

“Yes,” Vulcan nodded, “Though I would like to make it myself.”

“I don’t charge less just because you are the one making it,” The smith said dismissively before pulling out a few ingots and placing them in a smelter.

“Ok, how much,” Vulcan nodded. He was not up to date on how much a smith charged, but it should be well within an emperor’s budget. Patting his pockets he realized that he had no money. Did Ajax run off with his coin? No, the man was uncivilized, but he was not a thief.

The smith raised an eyebrow at Vulcan’s patting, “More than you have.”

This was humiliating, he wondered if this was how poor people felt. He left the smith feeling embarrassed, but he still wanted to complete his project. Vulcan scanned the various stalls and stopped on one that had a familiar boy in it. He could not remember the boy’s name but had an inexplicable feeling of pity for him. If the boy knew him then he should be glad to assist the emperor.

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Vulcan strode over and nodded to the boy, “Good afternoon citizen, how do you find yourself.”

The boy cocked his head to the side, “Uh, fine, just getting ready for the war.”

He showed a rudimentary mold he was making. It was made of many isosceles triangles all in rows with the tips of one touching the base of the next in the row. To Vulcan, it looked like some of the nonsensical abstract art Ailinn liked.

“I was thinking, what if I made a mold for the nails and they could be stored in sheets? The metal connecting them is thin enough that with a little twisting, they could be removed by hand,” He demonstrated with what Vulcan assumed was a prototype piece.

It was not a terrible idea, but anyone with metal essence could make a sheet just as impressive in a fraction of the time. The smith saw Vulcan’s doubtful expression and sighed. Vulcan panicked slightly he needed a smithy and he did not want to forcefully commandeer one.

“No no, it's a great idea, but wouldn’t someone with a metal kern just outproduce you?” Vulcan asked.

“Tristan, you’re the only metal kern here,” the boy frowned.

The name sent jagged waves of pain through Vulcan’s mind. It was his name, but it also wasn’t. How could something like this cripple him? He staggered back holding his head, and the smith rushed to help him.

“Are you alright, do I need to take you to the doctor?” The boy said.

“No, I’m fine, sorry for concerning you,” Vulcan caught his breath, “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Really?” The boy thought back, “No, I don’t think Doil ever introduced me. I am Drew, apprentice smith turned regular smith when Doil stayed in the Forrest Caldera.”

Vulcan cringed at all the names. He was starting to feel dizzy. All were familiar, yet alien. Clenching his teeth, Vulcan took control of himself, he would not be defeated by a headache.

“Drew, I was wondering if I could forge something with your forge?” Vulcan asked.

A calculating look entered Drew’s eyes. Vulcan prepared to leave, but Drew did not ask for money, “Sure, but I want several ingots of infused metal.”

Vulcan frowned several ingots of high quality gravity alloy would be possible, though difficult with the metal he sensed in his surroundings. Standard alloys could not carry the weight of a force, it was why simple forces like absorption or buoyancy were used instead of gravity. Mostly they were high end materials for people below the heroic realms, higher tiers could rip right through them. A flash of lightning and a wave of carnage surfaced in his memories, was that him looking at himself from behind?

He nodded slowly, “I can try, though you should expect the effects to be muted.”

“Then you have yourself a deal,” Drew smiled stretching out his hand, “I can find a good use for some of that disintegration metal.”

Vulcan frowned, disintegration? He had no such force. Well, he could not expect a commoner to understand the difference between combustion and disintegration. Vulcan got to work right away. The absence of his fire kern caused problems. He could not reach in and grab the pliable metal with his bare hands.

The headache grew as more idiosyncrasies built up. No fire, no gravity, no money.

Vulcan attempted to use his metal domain to lift the metal out of the smelter. Finally, he turned his metal sense inward and scanned his mind. He blinked in surprise.

The headache grew and cracks started forming in his perception. His anima and dominion were gone. His kern was two tiers stronger than it was supposed to be.

It became harder and harder to push down the invasive thoughts. He couldn’t work like this. Not only were the tools simple metal, but he had primitive senses as well. When he narrowed down his metal sense to only include the metal he was working with, the migraine induced broke something.

“Are you feeling well?” Drew asked. He was looking at Vulcan with wide eyes.

Vulcan gave him a pained smile, the emperor never demonstrates weakness to the populous. They need to feel safe taking shelter behind him.

“Yes, why,” Vulcan managed to get out.

“Tristan, you’re crying blood,” Drew answered the horrified look intensifying.

Again with the name. It hit Vulcan like a hammer, the edges of his vision fading to black. Drew left the smithy when Vulcan returned to the forging. It took three attempts to grab a hammer. He already had the rune patterns planned out. Void gauntlets, he could make them, and then he would go on a trip with his uncle.

Rolling the metal he pounded the edges together, then quenched it. Once it was cool he sketched out the path he wanted the the void to follow. He set it aside and started on the forearm plate. Adamance would flow through this one, Enoch could supply the force for that. Vulcan smiled as he fell into work and the world started to put itself back together, the blackness started receding.

That was until a deep masculine voice yelled at him, “Tristan, what do you think you are doing?”

Vulcan turned to find a man in yellow and black battle robes, black hair with white at the temples, and a well trimmed beard. It was almost too much, Vulcan staggered, barely maintaining his balance.

The man's next words pushed him over the edge, “Just because people died, does not mean you should kill yourself in turn.”

Vulcan collapsed.