"We left the village a few days ago. The Master rarely speaks, but when I ask him something, he answers. While still in the village, he helped the Elder with the aftermath of the fire. My brother cast the molds, and the Master poured the metals into them. Together, they repaired a well and a lot of doors. They even rebuilt our guardian! The Master forged the pieces with his own hands, removing any imperfections, and the Elder brought the machine to life with his spell... If not for him, the village would have been destined to burn. While the Master was fighting on the border, killing the remaining bandits, the Elder was creating water literally out of thin air! However, before they left, they were talking intensely... I didn't hear anything, but the Elder looked displeased. I volunteered to go along with Master. I need to learn more about blacksmithing. When I return, I can fully help my brother!" - The young man closed the journal, setting it aside in his sack.

Thick branches crackled in the tongues of fire, lazily consumed by the flames. Sparks flew out of the fireplace, rising to join the stars of the sunset sky. Vikur sat on the coffin lid, roasting a hare carcass over the fire. His assistant was perched on a pile of broken twigs, snuggled into a thick fur. The wind howled across the steppe, driving dust and fallen leaves, blowing the young man to the bone. He huddled closer to the fire.

-Master, tell me, how long do we have to walk?

-A few more days. Maybe four, maybe more. Soon we should reach the trading route, which will be easier to follow - He took the hare off the blade of his sword and handed it to the young man. - You need to eat. Here, enjoy it.

-Thank you... - the apprentice placed the carcass in a wooden bowl, waiting for it to cool - are you not hungry?

-No. I don't need food.

Silence hung in the air, allowing the sounds of nature to fill the camp once more. Vikur burned his blade over the dying fire, cleaning the fat from it, while the young man was eating the hare carcass, slicing through the tough muscle with a short knife. The sword blade, glinting dimly in the red glow of the embers, snapped back into his wrist with a click, being replaced by his ordinary palm.

The fire had long since gone out, leaving only a thin stream of smoke that drifted upward, as if trying to catch up with the sparks that had flown away. The young man wiped the bowl clean, shaking the remains of meat and bones to the ground.

-Bob - Vicur stood up from the crate - Don't leave meat near our shelter. There are predators here. It would be bad if we attracted one.

-I apologize, I'll clean them up right now - the young man started to gather the bones back into the bowl, but was stopped by a movement of his master's hand.

-I'll take care of it myself. Go to sleep.

-Thank you, Master...

The branches crunched beneath him as he laid on his back. Wrapping himself more tightly in his traveling clothes, Bob closed his eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep. Vikur finished picking up the remains and, glancing at the slumbering young man, headed away from the camp.

After a while, it was as if a wolf howl cut through the air. Vikur stopped, looking at the hills that stretched before him. At the top of one of them, shadows flickered, nimbly making their way down. Machine laid the meat out in front of his feet and began to back away slowly, not turning away from the eyes that glinted in the moonlight, drilling him from the darkness. Once he had moved a fair distance away, Vikur saw a wolf approach the pile of remains, sniffing it curiously. The animal snorted, wagging its tail, and then two wolf cubs emerged from behind, eating the fruits of the easy hunt.

Dawn was breaking. The early rays of the sun were beginning their regular rounds on the earth, slowly climbing out from behind the horizon. The light faintly shone through Bob's eyelids, beckoning him out of the dream world. Opening his eyes, the young man found a clean wooden bowl beside him, and not a trace of meat nearby. Looking up, he saw Vikur sitting with his back to him. The gaze of his empty eye sockets was staring off into the distance, toward the sun. The young man stood up from the branches, putting his belongings into a sack.

-Woke up?

-Yes... - Bob's voice sounded sleepy but firm.

-Gather your things. We need to keep going.

The sun was looking down, softly illuminating the world with its brilliant countenance. Vikur walked ahead, carrying the coffin on his back, and Bob followed him leisurely, surveying the view with delight. It was the first time he had ever been out of the village, much less traveled so far. To their left were mountains, their snowy tops standing out against the blue sky, trying to merge with the clouds. Along the edges of the road grew rare flowers, embellishing the long journey with their marvelous colors. In the distance they could see their goal - the stone walls of a distant city at the border of earth and the skies.

It was as if the road did not end, stretching with the passage of time. Random citizens, merchants, sometimes even old men in robes passed by. And each of them lingered their gaze on the travelers, even if only for a second. Their eyes flashed with surprise, curiosity, and in some cases even fear... After hours of walking, it seemed that the city had hardly come closer. Its walls still towered, seeming deceptively distant. The young man's legs were buzzing and his back was aching from the sack of tools, molds and other things. His first journey was taking a heavy toll on his body.

-Master... - Bob's breathing sounded ragged, and his legs stumbled with fatigue - Let's... take a break....

-We have to get to some shelter before night falls. Otherwise we might encounter wild animals or worse, pillagers.

Vikur slowed down and turned around, looking at the tired young man. His eyes seemed to be begging the machine to take a break. With a shake of his head, Vikur stopped, taking the crate off his back. Bob, smiling happily, sat upright on the ground, exhaling loudly. After a few minutes, the young man pulled a journal out of the bag, beginning to make another entry. Vikur looked toward the city, where the sun was beginning to set. Gradually, everything around him seemed to be engulfed in a soft flame, painting the autumn trees red.

The sound of the horses' clacking hooves began to approach from the direction they had come from, beating their rhythm in unison. Bob slammed his journal shut, hastily tucking it back into his sack, and Vikur stepped a little out of the way, waiting for a glimpse of his guests. Soon, in no hurry, a pair of horses appeared from behind the hill, pulling an ordinary carriage. The light of an oil lamp burned faintly in its windows, casting glittering shadows of fire on the glass. The coachman who drove the horses looked tiredly at the travelers, but kept moving. As the carriage passed them, however, the horses were sharply pulled by their harnesses, forcing them to slow down. The carriage door opened, and a man in working clothes stepped out from inside.

-Why are you hanging around on the side of the road so late? - He asked, coming closer to the travelers. - Don't you know that the road should be empty after dark?

The young man got up from the ground, slowly getting behind Vikur's back, but he was stopped by a slight movement of the hand.

-Yes, sir, we know - Machine pointed to a crate standing beside him - I am the blacksmith, and this is my apprentice. We are going to the city to gain knowledge in exchange for our help. That's it.

-Wow, that's the first time I've ever seen a golem talk... - the man looked at Bob in amazement - good job, youngster. But really, why do you humiliate yourself like that? You created such a marvel, and you made him call you an apprentice?

-I'm afraid you misunderstood me. I was born long ago and learned blacksmithing from my Creator. The young man wants to learn smithing better than he could on his own.

-Hmm, well, you know better, - the man chuckled in surprise, - You're in luck, the city really needs blacksmiths. Come on, let's go to the carriage. It's dangerous on the road in the dark.

-Thank you very much - Vikur slung the straps of the coffin on his back, and then turned to Bob - we can consider ourselves lucky. Let's go.

The young man exhaled a sigh of relief, then picked up his bag from the ground and followed Vikur toward the carriage.

It had already become dark behind the cloudy panes of the windows. The coachman drove the horses without haste, letting them rest a little from a day's work. The wheels of the carriage tapped quietly on the ground with an even, lulling rhythm. Bob sat snuggled up with his sack, long since fallen asleep. Vikur was talking to the man in whispers, trying not to wake his sleeping apprentice.

-To prevent the blade from shattering at the first blow to the armor, you must reduce the amount of coal in the furnace. Or don't use steel at all, but rather other alloys. It's only good against flesh, but any armor will stop it.

-Yes, but it's a lot easier to get than some fancy alloy from the capital. It's less of a problem in the city: after all, there are a lot of traders going through there who want quality weapons. But then what to use instead of steel?

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-No need to actually replace it. Make the edge of the blade out of hardened steel, but leave the back, the blunt part, out of a different metal. The more flexible the alloy, the better. Then the edge of the blade will have enough hardness to cut, and the blade itself will be able to bend, which will prevent chipping on the sword and make it better against armor. Plus, a steel blade takes longer to dull.

-Wow, you're really good... Tell me, how would you feel about you working for old Milton?

-If you've got a place where we can sleep and live, yes, we'd be glad.

-Don't worry about that, I've been working on a new workshop recently; I think there's plenty of room for you and your equipment.

The horses roared, interrupting the conversation between the blacksmith and the machine. Muffled shouts and threats were heard outside. Flames from torches flickered in the windows.

-W-what's going on...? - Bob woke up to the noise, looking at the windows in fear.

-The pillagers... They use this road at night as their main money-making vein. That's why I said the road should be empty by dark... The whole trip to the other town is for nothin', we can only hope they don't kill us at least.

Vikur's wrist slid to the side with a click, the patterned blade slipping out. Milton looked at the machine's weapon with surprise, but said nothing.

-I'll be back soon. Cover the windows with cloth.

Vikurad stepped out of the carriage, closing the door behind him. Outside, there were immediately threatening shouts and laughter. One of the pillagers was walking towards the carriage, shouting profanities as he addressed Vikurad. Suddenly, his speech ceased, replaced by loud wrenching wheezes full of fear. Another of the pillagers screamed, firing a makeshift weapon. The glass behind the thin cloth flashed with fire several more times before the shooter finally fell silent. Bob raised his head, wanting to look outside, but another shot forced him to duck. A second passed, and another... It seemed to be over. But the gentle silence that had just begun was suddenly shattered by the body hitting the door of the carriage, which held his weight with a pitiful creak. There was another click from outside, and then the door opened.

The metal on his body glistened dimly from the dark, scarlet liquid. A drop of blood slowly oozed from the gap between his casing and his wrist, drawing a path across his wooden palm, reaching his fingertips and falling downward. Behind him a dead body could be seen lying face down. On his back was a gaping sword wound.

-Do you have a rag? I don't want to get the seat dirty.

-Yes, of course... - Milton opened a drawer under his feet, pulling out a large piece of cloth - Here, you can leave it on the ground with him.

-Much obliged.

Vikur headed to the back of the carriage, wiping the blood off the smooth metal of his hands. Snatching the lock off the coffin, he pulled a glass jar from there before slamming the lid shut and walking to the nose of the carriage, beckoning to the coachman. There was the sound of cutting cloth and the hissing of liquid, which made Milton look outside for a second. The machine was walking back.

-I apologize for the delay, I had to bandage the coachman's wound. His arm was damaged by a gunshot.

-No need to apologize, you've been a real help. Come on, get inside.

Bob glanced at his master, whose clothes were still stained with blood. A red sheen of solidified liquid was visible between the plates of his hands, gradually eating away at the metal. Sighing quietly, he closed his eyes and, with difficulty, dozed off.

An hour passed. Dawn began to gradually rattle outside the window, illuminating the glass with its faint glow. Vikur didn't pay much attention to it, but after a second he looked at the window, searching for the source of light.

-It's still night, what's going on? The sun isn't supposed to rise for hours... Is there a fire in the city?

Milton smirked, raising his eyes to the Warforged.

-I can tell you're not from around here. It's a feature of the city. You see, this place is one big shopping center. And how can sellers of herbs, for example, have goods if they grow only in a certain season? Well, the magicians help them with that. I don't know about their powers and secrets, but it looks impressive from the outside. Don't worry, you'll see it soon enough.

The closer the carriage got to the city, the brighter the light became. It shone through Bob's eyelids, causing him to open his eyes. When he saw his master peering through the window, he did the same. Outside he could see a massive lavender field that seemed so fluffy you could dive into it and wrap yourself in a giant purple blanket. A miniature sun hovered above the field, casting bright daylight on the area around it. Stable fire magic kept this star aflame every night. During the day, it was extinguished so as not to burn the delicate flowers.

-Wow... This is incredible! - Bob leaned his face against the window, looking out at the magenta sea beyond the carriage.

-You haven't seen what mages can do at the academy, kid. Sometimes it sounds like the world is about to fall, - Milton chuckled, - but in reality it's just the students being given too much freedom. God forbid one of them actually damages something. They're strict about that.

Outside, the guards were heard shouting orders to the coachman to stop the horses. The company got out of the carriage and headed for the huge gate that towered above them like a rock. Massive chains were tied to the gate, each ring the size of a man.

-Why did you stop us? Why didn't you open the gate? - Milton went to one of the guards, ready for a brawl.

-Your coachman is wounded, and the doors are stained with blood. We have to check who is inside the carriage - the man looked behind Milton's back and immediately put his spear forward - what is this machine and why is it here? Any machinery from the outside can be sent by our enemies and must be destro-...

Milton put his hand on the shaft of the spear and tilted it downward. The blacksmith's massive palm gripped the weapon tightly, preventing the guard from lifting it back up or snatching it out of his hands.

-I wouldn't yell so loudly if I were you. This machine saved not only me and my coachman, but also all of our belongings. Plus, it's not like any device from techno-outcasts I've ever seen. It can talk and has a brain of its own, not some sparkly panel. If you really think you can kill him and not get your neck slapped by the uppers, try it. Truthfully, I strongly recommend you don't.

The man loosened his grip, and the guard immediately yanked the spear out of his hands, setting the weapon on the ground with its shaft. He looked uncertainly at Milton, then at Vikur, who had already released the blade from his wrist, and then back at the smirking blacksmith. Sighing, he set the spear aside and removed his gloves.

-You may board the carriage, the gates will open now. Welcome to Saint-Arcana.

The guards moved around the sides of the gate, reciting an incantation to themselves. At the same time, they raised their hands up; their palms glittered with blue sparks that flew into the air and formed the silhouette of something larger. A few seconds later, two huge palms woven with blue light floated above the ground. The guards guided them towards the chains that were lying on the ground, forcing the projections to take them by the outermost rings. Together they pulled the chains toward them, opening the massive gate as if it were an ordinary door. The coachman mounted the horses, and the carriage pulled into the city.

Parcels flew between buildings, merchants enticed customers with colorful flashes of magic. Here and there were rare curiosities that Vikur had never seen before. The capital of commerce and arcane was thriving, expanding its holdings and creating new goods every day.

Milton led Vikur and his apprentice to a lone house at the end of the street. Outside, a small forge was set up: red and white cloths were stretched like a huge canopy, to the left of the entrance stood an anvil on which many tools lay, and to the right was a small furnace for melting metals. Behind the shed rose a house of pearl brick, the roof of which was composed of thick pine logs.

-This is your new home and place of work. There is no need to pay, your lodging will be provided by your own labor. You will mend armor, forge weapons and tools... Kid, and you can make dishes. You know how to work with clay, and the rest will come to you naturally.

-Thank you very much! - Bob took the keys from Milton's hands and went to the entrance of the house to bring his belongings inside.

Vikur walked around the furnace that stood outside, checking its compartments - why is it so small? A furnace needs a fuel compartment and a large pipe for it to be efficient. You can't melt anything in it.

-If you try hard enough, you can melt metal with your hands. But don't worry about the furnace, it's designed that way. You see, they use a special crystal to heat it. I wanted one myself, but they wouldn't give me permission. They said only those who can use magic can melt it. We'll see if you have any luck with it. If not, I'll show you my smelter tomorrow and we'll work together.

-Thank you very much for everything. -Vicur extended his hand for a handshake.

-Come on, it's you I should thank -Milton shook the cold, wooden palm of the machine -you saved my hide today, I just put in a good word for you. Go rest, I think your apprentice is waiting for you.

The house looked even better from the inside than from the outside. The floor on the first floor was made of horizontal slices of different logs that formed a pattern of many different rings. A counter for goods, money, and souvenirs stretched from wall to wall. The only way in was through a wicket on the right side of the counter.

A staircase leading to the second floor stood against the far wall. There were lanterns on the walls, and in the center of the room was a simple but beautiful copper candelabrum. Under the stairs, behind a hanging cloth, Bob was already resting in a small room. After adjusting the box on his back, Vikur went upstairs.

Before entering his room, he noticed a ladder that led to the attic. It was covered with rags, and the hatch to the top was locked. After a little thought, Vikur climbed up the dusty steps and unlocked the hatch to the attic. By the window was a table with many books, some of them yellowed by time. He took the coffin off his back and set it against the wall, undoing the lock. Inside, his father's breathless body stared back at him with faded eyes, unchanged from the warlock's spell in the village. Vikur smoothed the hair on the head of the body, which had become disheveled from the shaking of the carriage, then removed the flask from the inside of the lid and closed the coffin.

The harsh moonlight illuminated the congealed scarlet blood through the small window above the table. Vikur gently, with tenderness and patience, ran his palms over the flask, drawing patterns in the air with his fingertips. The blood inside moved slightly, swirling in a slow waltz. The Warforged began to raise his hands upward, to which the liquid also began to creep lazily upward, toward the exit of the flask. Suddenly it tumbled down, leaving a multitude of maroon marks on the glass of the vessel. With anger, Vikur pounded his fists on the table, shaking the books and vials.

-It's not enough... Forgive me, father... I can't yet.....