Ronan stood in front of the rundown building, and he could feel the contrast between this shop from the others. Unlike the shining, clean storefronts around it, the forge had an almost faded presence. Its stone walls were darkened from years of soot and smoke, and the sign, simple yet bold, hung above the door. The letters, carved into iron, read Tempest Forge—no glowing enchantments, no fancy designs. What it looked like was just raw, unpolished power in old walls.

He could feel the heat emanating from inside, even before stepping through the door. As soon as they entered, the air was thick with warmth, the sound of metal clanging against metal filling the space. Weapons lined the walls, from gleaming swords and enchanted staffs to rough, practical daggers. The space was so weird with the items it had that it looked more like an attic in an old house.

A man stood behind a massive workbench, hammering away at a piece of metal that glowed orange under his hands. His arms bulged as he worked, his skin streaked with soot and sweat. There was no mistaking the power in the way he moved—every strike of the hammer precise, every motion deliberate.

Ronan’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in the weapons, some looked to be pulsing with a faint glow, others simple but deadly. The heat and the noise overwhelmed his senses, but there was something grounded about this place. He liked this place.

The man finally looked up, noticing them. His sharp eyes softened when they met Gideon’s, and a grin spread across his soot-streaked face. “Well, look who decided to darken my doorstep,” the man said, his voice gruff yet warm. He wiped his hands on his apron and approached, offering Gideon a firm handshake.

“Orin,” Gideon said, returning the handshake with equal strength. “Good to see you again.”

Orin turned his attention to Ronan, eyeing him up and down with a quick, appraising glance. “So, this is the one you’ve been talking about, huh?”

Ronan shifted under Orin’s scrutinizing gaze, but before he could respond, Orin chuckled. “Don’t worry, kid. You’re in good hands. I deal in everything—enchanted weapons, wands, makeshift gear. If it’s something that can be used in a fight, I can make it.”

Orin gestured to the various weapons displayed around the shop. “You see, some folks think all that matters is the magic. But magic or not, a weapon’s got to be reliable. And if you want something with a bit of flair? Well, I can make that too.”

Gideon, standing beside Ronan, grinned. “Orin’s the best. He won’t say it himself, but he’s known for crafting some of the most powerful enchanted weapons in the empire. Even makes custom pieces for the nobility.”

Orin shrugged, clearly used to Gideon’s praise. “I make what needs to be made. Sometimes, that’s a sword with runes that can slice through steel, and sometimes it’s a wand that fits in the palm of your hand.”

Ronan looked around the room, his eyes drawn to a staff resting on a rack near the wall. The staff seemed to glow faintly, pulsing in time with the forge’s heat. Next to it, a dagger gleamed, its blade simple but sharp, with a faint magical aura.

Orin raised an eyebrow, noticing where Ronan’s gaze lingered. “Interested in something? Or just browsing?” He grinned, leaning back against the workbench. “I can make you something that’ll last, kid. You’re not here just for show, are you? And judging from the lanky body you have, I don’t think you want a weapon.”

Ronan said almost instantly, “I want a weapon.”

Orin laughed, “I like your spirit. But-” He patted Gideon’s back, or more like, hit it loudly, “You’re a magic user, aren’t ya?”

Ronan made a face at Orin’s words, the casual mention of him being a magic user sending a pang of uncertainty through him. He had wanted a weapon—a real weapon—but he was supposed to be all about magic, wasn’t he? The whole reason he was here, standing in this forge, was because of his magic, not some sword or dagger. And yet... the idea of having a weapon felt like something tangible, something real he could hold onto. He had always felt vulnerable, always unarmed in a world that could tear you apart at any moment.

He glanced nervously between Orin and Gideon, unsure of how to respond. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

Orin noticed his expressions right away. His grin softened into something more understanding. “Kid, you’re lookin’ like you’ve seen a ghost.” He chuckled, patting the workbench beside him. “Listen, you’ve got options. Just ‘cause you’re a magic user doesn’t mean you can’t have a weapon. Hell, some of the best magic users I know keep a blade on ‘em.”

Gideon stepped in, sensing Ronan’s unease as well. “He’s right, Ronan. Magic is a tool, just like a weapon is. There’s no rule that says you can’t have both.”

Ronan blinked, their words slowly registering in his mind. He had assumed it was one or the other, that he was supposed to focus solely on magic.

Orin folded his arms, his grin still in place but less teasing now. “I can make you something that suits you. Could be a staff that doubles as a weapon. Or maybe a wand that fits into the hilt of a blade, ready when you need it. You don’t have to settle for one or the other. That’s the beauty of my craft.”

Gideon nodded, his tone reassuring. “Orin doesn’t take requests from just anyone. He’s selective, and trust me, if he didn’t like you, he wouldn’t even be offering. He owes me a favor—actually, he owes me his life—but he’s still picky about who he makes things for.”

Orin laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the forge. “Damn right I’m picky. But anyone who’s got this one vouching for ‘em—” he jerked his thumb at Gideon, “—well, let’s just say I’m willing to make an exception.”

Ronan watched the two men, noticing how different Gideon seemed with Orin. There was an ease between them, something Ronan hadn’t seen before. He couldn’t help but wonder what Orin meant by owing Gideon his life, though he didn’t ask. It wasn’t really his business.

For all of Gideon’s formality, there was clearly a deeper connection here. What had Gideon done to earn that?

Not that he was that interested to know. He glanced around the forge, his mind drifting back to the weapons.

Ronan’s gaze wandered around the forge, taking in the assortment of weapons displayed on the walls and workbenches. His eyes landed on a heavy, two-handed axe first, its blade gleaming with an unnatural sheen. The dark steel seemed to hum with quiet power, and Ronan could feel the weight of it just by looking at it. It was clearly enchanted, the runes etched into the metal glowing faintly, but he shook his head. It didn’t feel like his kind of weapon.

Next, he noticed a massive broadsword hanging on the wall. The blade was thick, its edge gleaming with an intense sharpness. It looked like it could cleave through anything in its path. The weapon had a raw power to it, heavy and forceful, clearly built for someone with more brute strength than finesse. And frankly, it seemed kind of scary to even wield.

Then, his eyes fell on a sword displayed near the back of the room, its handle wrapped in dark leather, the blade simple but clean. Without thinking too much about it, he picked it up, testing its weight in his hands. The metal felt cold, heavy, and as he awkwardly tried to swing it, the blade wobbled in his grip.

“Ugh,” he muttered, lowering the sword, feeling the disappointment sink in. “Yeah, swords aren’t my thing.”

Gideon smirked, watching from a distance, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’ve got to find what works for you.”

Ronan shrugged, setting the sword back down. “Guess I’m not the knightly type.”

Orin chuckled from his place at the workbench. “Swords are overrated anyway. Too much love around them. You need something that fits you, not something that looks good on a battlefield.”

Ronan moved over to a bow next, testing its string with a tug. The bow was finely crafted, but it felt... wrong. He pulled back the string experimentally, but the action felt stiff and unnatural in his hands.

“Yeah, no,” Ronan muttered, setting it aside quickly. “This feels even worse.”

Orin raised an eyebrow. “You’re not much for traditional weapons, huh?”

“I… don’t know,” Ronan said, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a little embarrassed by how clumsy he felt with everything.

Orin watched Ronan for a moment, then smiled slightly. “Alright, kid, let’s try something different. Close your eyes.”

Ronan frowned but did as he was told, unsure of where this was going.

“Now, picture yourself in a situation,” Orin began, his voice steady and patient. “You’re out in the wild, maybe in a place you’ve never been before. Suddenly, you hear footsteps—someone’s coming. You’re not sure how many, but you know they’re after you. What’s the first thing you do?”

Ronan shifted uneasily, his mind scrambling for an answer. "Uh… I don’t know, maybe… hide?"

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Orin nodded encouragingly. “Yeah, hiding’s smart. Keep yourself unseen. But then, one of them spots you, charges straight at you. What would you do?”

Ronan hesitated, clearly unsure. "I guess… I’d try to run? Or maybe block them somehow, I don’t know..."

Orin grinned, clearly enjoying this process. “Alright, but say you can’t run—nowhere to go. You need to defend yourself. What would feel right in your hands? Not a sword, obviously—you already said that. Something else.”

Ronan bit his lip, the scenario feeling uncomfortably real. “Something… light? I don’t know, something that’s not too hard to swing… maybe something that could, like, knock them back?”

Orin’s eyes twinkled as he guided Ronan further. “Good, you don’t need to know exactly, but think of how you’d move. How would you fight? Fast, from a distance? Or up close?”

Ronan shifted again, feeling the pressure. “I… I guess I’d want to keep them away. But I’d need to hit them if they get close, right?”

Orin chuckled. “Exactly. You’re thinking more like a fighter now. You need something flexible, that can work both near and far. What if they’re right on top of you?”

Ronan shook his head, feeling out of his depth. “I’d… I don’t know, maybe just try to hold them off? Keep them back long enough to do something?”

Orin went over to the display and picked up a spear.

Orin handed Ronan the spear, the smooth, dark wood feeling solid in his hands. “Here,” Orin said with a grin. “Give it a go.”

Ronan hefted the spear, trying to mimic the stance he’d seen in stories. It felt... okay at first. The length gave him a sense of control, but when he tried a couple of jabs, something was off. The movements felt awkward, like he had to put too much effort into making it work.

He frowned, stepping back as he tried a wider swing. It wasn’t terrible, but it felt like the spear was making him work harder than he needed to. He couldn’t picture himself using it for real.

“It’s alright, I guess,” Ronan muttered, handing it back to Orin.

Orin gave a knowing nod. “It’s not bad, but it doesn’t fit you, does it?”

Ronan shook his head. “Feels like I’m fighting the weapon, not with it.”

Orin grinned, setting the spear aside. “That’s what I thought. You’re not a spear guy either. You need something that moves with you, not against you.”

Orin stroked his chin, a thoughtful look crossing his face. He gave an audible huff, then turned back to Ronan. "Alright, kid. Let me ask you this—what do you prefer when it comes to your magic? A wand or a staff?"

Ronan blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What’s the difference, really?”

Orin grinned, clearly ready to explain. “Well, a wand is quick, precise. Think of it like a scalpel. It’s good for detailed work—spells that need focus and accuracy. It’s light, easy to carry around, and you can whip it out in tight spots. But it doesn’t have the power a staff can pack.”

He gestured to a staff hanging on the wall, taller and thicker than any wand Ronan had seen. “A staff, on the other hand, is like a hammer. It channels more energy, packs a bigger punch, and is better for large-scale combat. You can cast more powerful spells, but it’s heavier, harder to maneuver. It’s also a better weapon by itself if you ever run out of magic.”

Ronan thought about both, and came to the conclusion that he wasn’t as invested wands and staffs, as he was in getting a weapon, “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Gideon, who had been quietly watching from the corner, finally spoke up. "It matters more than you think, Ronan." His tone was calm but firm. “You’re going to need something that fits you—both as a magician and as someone who’s not used to relying on traditional weapons.”

Orin’s eyes suddenly lit up, and a wide grin spread across his face. He let out a loud, triumphant laugh, clapping his hands together as if he’d just solved the greatest puzzle of his life. “Ah! I’ve got it!” he exclaimed, his voice echoing through the forge. “Hold on, kid, I think you’re going to love this.”

Without another word, he darted to the back of the forge, moving with surprising speed for someone his size. The sound of clattering metal and muttered words filled the air, as Orin rummaged through various boxes and shelves.

It was a little comical, a person with such a large body, jumping around like a kid.

When Orin returned, he was carrying a beautifully ornate case, which kind of stood out like a sore thumb in the forge. The case was adorned with intricate markings and set with colorful gemstones that glimmered in the light of the forge. Orin opened the case with a flourish, revealing the weapon inside.

Nestled within was a long staff, its surface smooth and polished to perfection. The staff itself was made from thick, dark wood, giving it an air of strength. Three glowing runes, vibrant in color, were etched into its surface, standing out against the deep wood. Ronan stared at it, a little unsure of what he was looking at. It seemed so simple, yet even someone from the slums could see it was something really really amazing.

“Go ahead,” Orin said, offering the staff to Ronan with a grin. “Hold it.”

Ronan reached out, gripping the staff. It felt solid in his hands, heavier than he’d expected, yet balanced. It was a really handsome staff, but it was just that-a staff. He furrowed his brow.

Weren’t we focused on weapons right now?

He looked at Orin. With a gleam in his eye, the blacksmith stepped closer and pointed to one of the colorful runes near the top. “You’re not just holding a regular magic staff. You’re holding one of my greatest creations, the Whisperblade.”

He pressed the rune, and with a soft click, the ends of the staff began to shift. Hidden mechanisms inside the wood sprang to life, and sharp, huge blades extended from both ends, gleaming dangerously under the forge’s light. The blades had a slight iridescent sheen, shifting between shades of dark silver and deep blue. Ronan blinked in surprise, staring at the dual blades now protruding from the staff.

“These blades are made of Nightsteel and can be deployed with just a flick of your wrist,” Orin said with a grin. “Perfect for when you need a weapon in a hurry.”

“Nightsteel?”

“Nightsteel?”

Ronan looked at Gideon who spoke at the same time, his tone surprised to his questioning tone.

Orin nodded his head looking at the staff, “Nightsteel is incredibly strong and lightweight, giving it the perfect balance for both offensive and defensive. What makes it truly unique is its ability to absorb and channel magical energy, meaning the blades can be infused with spells to enhance it, perfect for a mage.”

Ronan was still absorbing that when Orin pointed to the second rune. “Now, here’s more,” he said, pressing the rune in the center of the staff. A hidden compartment opened with a quiet hum, revealing a small wand hidden inside the core of the staff. The wand looked like a miniature version of the staff itself, with the same polished wood and runes, though it was much lighter.

Ronan was completely amazed. He couldn’t help but grin. The Whisperblade Staff was more than just a weapon—it was a perfect blend of versatility, magic, and deadly practicality.

Orin noticed the grin and chuckled. “Oh, you think that’s all, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he pointed to a third, smaller rune near the base of the staff, a faint purple glow pulsing from it.

Ronan tilted his head, curious. “What does that one do?”

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Orin tapped the rune lightly, and suddenly, the staff began to vibrate in Ronan’s hands. It wasn’t alarming, but it was definitely strange. And then, with no warning at all, the staff let out a loud, musical toot, like a horn blast from nowhere.

Ronan’s eyes widened in surprise as Orin guffawed, slapping his knee. “That, my boy, is the ‘Surprise Rune.’ Perfect for a distraction or just giving your enemies a good laugh. Nothing like a good bit of chaos in a fight, eh?”

Ronan shook his head in disbelief. “A horn? Seriously?”

“Life is not meant to be all fight and serious, my boy. Laugh a little!”

Ronan rolled his eyes, but despite himself, a tiny bit of smile slipped through the cracks.

The name was Whisperblade, but there was actual toot installed in it.

Orin stepped back, gesturing to Ronan. “Go on, give it a swing. Let’s see how it feels in your hands.”

Ronan hesitated for a moment before gripping the staff more firmly. He swung it cautiously at first, feeling the weight shift with each motion. Surprisingly, despite its length and the heavy blades on either end, the Whisperblade Staff felt nice. The blades sliced through the air with a smooth, clean sound, and even though he wasn’t a trained fighter, Ronan could sense the potential power in every movement. It was almost like the staff was guiding him.

“Well?” Orin asked, leaning against his workbench with a satisfied grin. “Not bad, eh?”

Ronan nodded, a little breathless. “Yeah… it feels good. It’s... smooth.” He couldn’t think of another word to describe the strange sense of control the staff gave him. It was like the weapon responded to him, matching his movements naturally.

Gideon, watching quietly from the side, crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about this, Orin? Giving him something this... well, this powerful?”

Orin chuckled, brushing a hand over his soot-stained apron. “Oh, I’m sure. I like the kid.” He walked over, giving Ronan a once-over. “There’s a weird kind of fire in his eyes. Something that says he’s not just about the magic or power or revenge, or any hidden motive. This staff suits him.”

He folded his arms, nodding with approval. “Besides, the things I make aren’t meant to sit on a shelf looking pretty. They’re made to be used.”

Gideon chuckled softly. “I should’ve known you’d say that.” There was a rare hint of warmth in his tone as he turned to Orin. “So, how much is this going to cost?”

Orin’s grin widened. He scratched his beard, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “For you? Hmm, let’s call it an old debt paid. And besides,” he added, nodding at Ronan, “I want to see the journey of this weapon in his hands.”

Gideon still seemed uncertain. “And you’re just going to give it to him for free?”

Orin grinned, shaking his head. “Not exactly. Kid’s going to have to prove himself, earn it in a way. This staff isn’t for just anyone. I’ll consider it... a long-term investment.”

Gideon shook his head, “You are one big unpredictable goofball.”

Orin patted his back again, “And you need to smile more, my friend!”

As Orin and Gideon continued their playful banter, Ronan’s grip tightened on the staff. He didn’t say anything, but inside, his mind was a mess.

These days, he didn’t understand anything anymore.

As Gideon waved his goodbye to Orin, who was putting on his working goggles again and yelling to come by more often, Ronan felt weird holding such a large box in his hands.

“I will give you a Vaultstone when we get home.”

Seeing the clueless look on his face, Ronan continued, “It's a stone which is able to store stuff in a pocket dimension. You will learn more about these in your school.”

So much magic.

As they stepped out of the forge, the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the street. The warmth of the day was beginning to fade, replaced by the coolness of early evening.

Gideon walked beside him, hands casually tucked into his coat, his sharp eyes scanning the street. Ronan’s mind was still at the forge when something suddenly cut through the calm air—a blur of motion.

A boy, no older than Ronan, darted right past them, nearly knocking the box out of his hands. He was quick, his ragged clothes whipping in the breeze as he sprinted down the street. Behind him, a shopkeeper’s voice rang out, breathless but furious, “Thief! Stop him!”