"Thank you, but-" Irwin said as he stared at the older woman beaming at him and holding forward a small parcel.

"No! Don't you dare," she said. "You saved mine and my grandson's life! I brought these raisins just for a festive occasion, and what could be more festive than living another day!"

Irwin reluctantly took the package, looking at the little boy staring at the parcel. He was probably two years old, at most, and seemed unable to understand why food was being given away. Taking a quick look around and noting no other people around, Irwin knelt and pulled open the tiny bag. In it were two handfuls of raisins.

"By Gerwin's beard, so many raisins," he whispered as he raised his eyebrows at the little boy. "I don't think I can ever eat all of these. Do you think you can help me with some?"

The boy nodded resolutely, and Irwin took a handful of raisins, carefully placing them in his hands. He grinned widely as the boy began stuffing his face. Then he took a few, chewing on the savory and incredibly sweet dried fruit. Sharing another smile with the boy, he rose and saw the old woman nod at him.

"Such a decent young man," she said as she took the boy's free hand. "Thank you again! Take care of yourself, and make sure you don't get killed."

Irwin swallowed and nodded. "I will." He watched the old woman walk off, hearing her mutter under her breath. "A shame I don't have any more daughters."

Irwin grimaced, stuffing the remaining raisins in his new coat's pocket as he continued towards Trimdir's. Pulling the front of his new jacket closer together, he shivered. The sky was still blue, and the wind almost nonexistent, but the temperature had dropped even more. A thin layer of ice covered the ground, cracking below his boots.

I wonder how Trimdir will react, he thought.

Daubutim had agreed that it was time to talk with the smith, though he had advised not to explain exactly how they could reforge the cards. They had talked for a while and came up with what Daubutim said would be an at least reasonably plausible explanation. After that, he'd suggested he come along in case the smith would try something.

He won't, Irwin thought as he shook his head. He'd never heard or seen anything bad from Trimdir, and unless he was willing to let Degonda perish, he needed to find some way to get more higher-level cards circulating. Thinking back to the demonic frogs eating people, he shuddered. No. He wanted to help!

As he passed through the town's narrow streets, he thought back to the sight just outside of the tower he'd witnessed. A few dozen people had been gathered at the tower square, chatting and thanking Basil and some of his elite guards. The heavily armored men and women, some still wounded from the previous day, had mingled easily, obviously knowing many of those that had come there.

The noble's guards back in Malorin never did that, he thought, feeling more than a little impressed with Lord Bron.

A loud chatter came from up ahead, and as he rounded the final corner to the crafter's square, he saw a large gathering of youths. They were surrounding a few of the older craftsmen who were shouting and pointing. As he closed in, the wrinkled old woodworker that he'd seen his first day in Degonda walked towards him.

It took him a few moments to recall the old man's name.

"Orwin! I hear you did well yesterday. You made Trimdir proud."

"Hamir," he said as he nodded back, slightly uncomfortable as he noticed some of the other people began to stare at him.. "Thanks. I did what I could."

"Hah, well, let's thank Yilda. We managed to get through with mostly ruined buildings," the old man grunted. "Now, off with you to Trimdir. I'm sure there's plenty of work to be done!"

Irwin nodded, thankful he could move forward. As he did, he absently noticed that Hamir had seemed smaller than he recalled. More hunched over? Probably stressed from the hard work.

Two young men stood before the door to Trimdir's, moving out of the way to let him pass. One look showed him that they were likely new prospects, and as he stepped into the smithy, he saw Trimdir in the center, staring at two other youths. Both had a hammer before them, trying hard to hold them up while Trimdir stood quietly staring at them.

A dozen smiths stood around, but where they had been joking and making fun mere weeks ago, it was quiet now. Irwin also missed a few faces.

"There you are," Lamia whispered as she rushed to his side. Before Irwin could react, she began prodding his shoulders and arms.

"What-?"

"Good, you seem fine. No injuries, at least no bad ones," Lamia said as she sighed. "Did you hear?"

Irwin, still stunned by her prodding, shook his head. "Heard what?"

Lamia's face dropped, and she continued in a whisper. "Olger and three others died trying to fight off two of those monsters."

Olger? Irwin thought as he felt his joy die down at the memory of the older smith. Though sometimes cranky and short of words, he'd been fair to most others.

"Trimdir's asked me to take over some of his things," Lamia said with a grimace. "I guess I'll have to work harder from now on."

Irwin looked around, scanning for another face, and when he didn't see it swallowed. "And Brent?" he asked, recalling the other youth that had started together with him.

"He was injured," Lamia said, sounding down. "One of his legs… it's not good. He might lose it."

Irwin stared dumbly at Lamia before looking around the smithy. He noticed a large stack of broken armor, plates, and shields on one side and cracked and shattered swords beside another anvil.

A pained groan came, and he looked up to see one of the boys drop the hammer.

"Out, and come back when you've got more strength of will," Trimdir grunted without giving the boy another look.

The other still stood, jaw clenched, arms shivering. Irwin felt for him, remembering how it had been for him to do so.

Wait, didn't Trimdir say I had to hold that hammer for a full two minutes at some point? As he recalled the moment, the second boy dropped the hammer.

"Not bad. Follow me," Trimdir said before turning around and marching toward his office. "The rest of you, back to work! Focus on repairing the armor and weapons!"

There was a rustle as the smiths rushed to their anvils and workstations, and Irwin looked around, wondering what to do. He needed to talk to Trimdir in private, but that might not happen for a while yet.

"Can you bring us some ingots before you start?" Lamia asked, snapping him out of it.

"Sure."

"Thanks. I'll talk to you after I get things underway," Lamia said, giving him a small smile. Then she turned, shoulders squared as she stomped towards the stack of broken armor.

Irwin quickly brought ingots around, barely noting how easy it was or how many bars he could haul in a single go. When he finished, he decided the best thing would be to continue practicing his metal purifying, so he dumped a few loads of raw iron beside his anvil and started.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Two hits in, he knew something was different. The resonance from his cards seemed clearer and slow. With ease, he struck at exactly the right moment, causing the resonance to increase. The sensation of harmony he felt was nowhere near as strong as with card reforging, but he could sense that it had the same underlying reasoning.

He continued, trying to figure out if something had actually changed or if that was just what it felt like compared to the Card Reforging the day before. Tentatively, he struck harder, and the speed and chaos seemed to increase only slightly. He struck at the exact right moment with ease, using even more force—another increase, still manageable, and another, harder hit.

Then there was a ringing, showing the iron was finished, and Irwin stopped, hammer raised for another hit that wasn't needed anymore. The rough iron had been flattened and lay gleaming and ready to be processed into an ingot. It had cost him a fourth of the time it usually did.

Is this because of working with Ambraz? he thought.

There was no answer, and he'd have to ask Ambraz later. For now, he grinned, put the purified iron to the side, and continued working.

He quickly got used to the ease, striking with so much force that the next nugget of ore was finished even faster. The only downside that he found was that he was sensing the wear in his arm and shoulders, and after each chunk of ore, he switched hands. It still felt awkward, but Trimdir had told him early on to always use both hands. Besides increasing a smith's output greatly, he also said it would stop his body from becoming unbalanced. Irwin didn't know exactly what he meant with that but had decided to do as the smith had told him.

"-that you have improved again!"

Irwin was jolted by the loud voice, striking off-center and getting a nasty dissonant sound from the nugget. He blinked and looked up to find Trimdir staring at him, one corner of his mouth turned up. Then he realized the smith had said something before which hadn't gotten through to him.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I didn't hear you."

"Yes, I noticed," Trimdir said, a grin flashing on his face before disappearing again. "I asked how it was possible that you improved again in such a short time," the smith said.

Irwin shrugged, unsure how to answer that, before remembering why he was even here. He put the tongs down and took a deep breath. "Do you have some time? I need to talk to you," he said, staring at Trimdir.

The smith blinked as the smile vanished from his face. After a second, he nodded.

"Alright, let's get this over with then," he muttered.

Irwin was surprised by the weary sadness in the smith's voice. Wondering what the other thought he was going to tell him, he followed him into his office. Trimdir thudded into his chair, leaning back and staring at Irwin.

"Well, let's hear it then," he said. "You going to go with your friends?"

Irwin blinked, then shook his head. "No? That's not… not what this is about."

He saw Trimdir's eyes widen in surprise, even more so when Irwin checked to make sure the door was closed before sitting down opposite the smith. As he stared into the curious eyes, he suddenly wasn't sure how to even begin the conversation. He suppressed the need to lick his lips, took a deep breath, and decided to just go for it.

"I'm going to tell you something nobody else knows, and I hope you can keep it to yourself," he said in a rushed whisper. Somehow speaking about this out loud seemed more dangerous than before.

Trimdir cocked his head, then frowned. "If I thought you were the type, I'd warn you against telling me things that are illegal," he said. "Fine. I'll keep what you tell me to myself. Don't make me regret it."

Irwin felt some tension release from his shoulders and took another deep breath, preparing the story he and Daubutim had come up with. He suddenly wasn't as sure how Trimdir would respond.

"In one of the Portals I've entered, I came across a way to reforge cards, taking them from common to uncommon," he said before waiting to see how Trimdir would react. He and Daubutim had decided to keep anything above that a secret, as they had no idea if Ambraz could even help him do more than a few of those.

The smith blinked, then blinked again and leaned his elbows on the table. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "That is… not possible," he muttered, sounding far less certain than Irwin thought he should. Not just that, the smith's eyes drifted off to the side, and he seemed lost in thought.

"Why… why don't you seem surprised?" Irwin whispered. Most of his fear had faded, and his curiosity was now piqued.

Trimdir jolted, then looked at him, his face rapidly returning to its normal placid look. "Tell me everything," he said.

"I… will," Irwin said, surprising himself. "But I'm afraid that if anyone finds out, they will try to lock me up somewhere."

"To reforge cards?" Trimdir asked. "Yes… I can understand why you would think that." He was quiet, then looked up at Irwin. "What do you know of Lord Bron?"

Irwin blinked at the odd change of direction of the conversation. "Not a lot, but please don't tell him!"

Trimdir was quiet, then shrugged. "I can understand your fear… and without knowing the details of how you reforge cards, I can't be sure, but… I think it would be easiest to take this discussion to him. He isn't what you seem to think he is, or like most other nobles."

Irwin felt his blood drain from his face, and he almost got up. Trimdir wasn't going to tell more people, was he?

"Calm down, Orwin, calm down," Trimdir hissed as he leaned back with a sigh. "I won't tell anyone unless you let me, but… can you tell me more about how you do it?"

"Why aren't you more surprised?" Irwin said, shaking his head. "I had expected you to tell me it was impossible and want proof."

Trimdir grimaced, then raised his left, full-hand, staring at it for a bit. "You told me something that might get you into trouble… trusted me… I guess it's only fair for me to tell you," he finally muttered. Then he looked up. "But this goes both ways. Don't tell people about what I'm about to share! It is something only known to city rulers and higher nobles… sorcerers, of course."

Irwin nodded quickly, waiting with bated breath. Part of him somehow wasn't surprised that the nobles and sorcerers knew more than the rest of them did.

"I used to close portals with Lord Bron, Basil, Myda, and-" Trimdir hesitated, a sad look on his face. Then he shook his head. "No matter. I don't like long stories, so here's the short version. During one of our excursions into a rare portal, we came across… people."

"People?" Irwin blurted, leaning forward. "Like us?"

"For as far as I could tell, yes," Trimdir said. "They didn't see us, and we followed them. They spoke of impossible things, one of which was something they called card-reforging. Back then, I didn't think much of it, but…" Trimdir shrugged before staring straight at Irwin, his eyes suddenly sharp and pressing.

"Now. Orwin, I have shown you enormous trust by sharing this with you. I think it's about time you told me how you reforge those cards?"

Irwin swallowed, then hesitated. He really wanted to share everything with Trimdir, but he had promised Daubutim to stick with their story.

"I… have a card," he began, staring at his hand.

"The one you told me about that becomes more powerful?" Trimdir asked, eyebrows rising. "Don't tell me…"

"It lets me summon an anvil," Irwin said slowly. "And with it, I can reforge cards. Though, only one per day."

"That is… incredible," Trimdir said slowly.

Not half as incredible as the truth, Irwin thought, feeling slightly bad, but not enough.

"Now… Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want to help," Irwin said, meaning every word. "But… I don't want to be kept here, forced to reforge cards for the rest of my life."

Trimdir was quiet again, looking at him intently, then he sighed.

"I think you should speak with Bron… but I understand you might not have much trust in other nobles. There is wisdom in this. Fine. I'll think of a way to get common cards and circulate them back."

Irwin blinked, then blinked again. Trimdir would help him, just like that? He'd hoped the other would, almost expected it, but he couldn't help but stare at the other somewhat stupidly.

"You look confused. Did you not expect me to help?" Trimdir asked.

"No- yes! I mean…" Irwin stuttered. "It's just.. You believe me?"

"Yes. I don't think you would lie about something like this. Though I have to say, I'm very curious to see you reforge a card," Trimdir said. "Who else knows about this?"

Irwin shrugged. "Daubutim and another friend of mine. But we lost him on the way here."

"My condolences," Trimdir said with a sad look.

"What? No! He isn't dead… at least, I don't think he is," Irwin said. "He had to flee from a surge, and we lost each other. But I'm pretty sure he made it out alive. We think he went towards Esterdon."

"Good. I hope he made it there before all those surges occurred," Trimdir said softly. "Now. Go and purify some more Degnin Iron. We need far more with all the broken weaponry. I'll get some common cards and warn Daubutim you will stay here after closing time."

"I will?" Irwin asked.

"Yes. If you can only do one per day, we need you to start right away," Trimdir said. "And this is a safe place to do so. If someone asks why you are staying, tell them I've asked you to help make more purified metal."

The smith pushed himself up as he stared at Irwin.

"If you can really do this, perhaps we will still survive this winter."

Irwin nodded as he let Trimdir guide him out of the room and back into the smithy.

"I'll be back with food before dark," he said as he stomped away.

As Irwin watched him stride through the smithy, then outside, he suddenly shivered. Was there a chance that Trimdir was going to go to Bron? He didn't think so… but…

They knew each other from before, he thought as he stared dumbly at the door, wondering if he had made a big mistake.

"You alright?"

Irwin jumped, then looked at Lamia. He really had to stop his mind from wandering off!

"Yes, fine," he said. "Just heard I'll be here for a long day," he said with a weary grin. "Need more purified metal and all that."

Lamia grimaced, then sighed. "Not fun, but Trimdir is right. If we are to replace all the broken parts, we will need way more. Lord Bron has also commanded all smithies to provide more weaponry so the commoners can defend themselves if worse comes to worst."

"Then I better get started," Irwin muttered as he smiled at her. Then he turned and headed to his corner.