He sat in front of the fire for an hour, just watching it. He was heating himself up, they knew, but they couldn't believe how long he was there.

"Good intuition," D whispered, quiet enough for only Z to hear.

"I know," replied Z, smiling like a maniac. "Who do you think got him to come?"

"You mean you forced him?" D glanced, without turning his head, at Z.

"When has my intuition ever been wrong?" There was a moment of silence, between the two. "Okay, besides that one time. And it wasn't my fault."

"Sure it wasn't. Anyway, think she found out?"

"Yeah. That girl's crazy for knowledge. She would memorise everyone's face just to know."

"Shame, too." Again, a brief silence filtered through. "What do you think he did? With her glasses, I mean."

"Fixed them, duh. If they were any looser, they would totally fall off."

"He's moving."

Sebastian got up, shrugging off all the layers he was wearing. The lack of movement was uncomfortable.

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He glanced towards his unfinished weapon, just staring at it. Finally, he grabbed it, putting it straight into the furnace.

He waited a moment before reaching in, and taking it from the flames, then began hammering it. He hammered it, striking it gently.

"Well, then," he muttered, breathlessly staring at the finished product. "Can I have a whetstone, please?"

Sebastian blinked. 'What's a whetstone?' he thought, although Z had already moved.

He returned quickly, carrying a wheel of some kind of stone. It had a pedal, which he briefly pressed with his foot. The wheel turned, quickly, and he couldn't help but grin.

He grabbed the blade, pressed it against the stone, and pressed onto the pedal. Sparks flew, along with a screeching sound that shook ears, yet he found himself entirely focused on sharpening the blade.

After a time, he held it up, feelings of accomplishment exploding. It glistened with how clean it was, and needed only a light swing to make a sound. Of course, Z was the one to swing it.

However, he stared at it. Something was wrong. It took him several minutes to figure out that it didn't have a hilt. "Where are the hilts?" he asked, followed by directions.

It wasn't too far from the Forge, with D and Z leading the way. He would've been lost without their help, though.

There was a whole room dedicated to different types of connectors; Spears, swords, scimitars, greatswords, rapiers. Any bladed weapon he could think of, there were hilts for. He picked one up, randomly. To him, it held a great weight that could smash rocks into dust. It felt wrong, for his weapon.

He kept picking one up, each incompatible to match his sword.

There were none suitable for such a humble sword, so he picked the closest one he could find. It was a royal blue hilt, with what could almost be called fangs coming out from a bump. To him, it felt like a waiting beast, ready to jump. It wasn't a perfect match.

He clicked his tongue, as he set it into the hilt. As soon as it clicked into place, something appeared in his face; a screen, only carrying a few words:

[Created by: Budding Blacksmith, With Little Experience]