Wind howled around him, rain whipped through his clothes and soaked his skin and hair, and lightning flashed and boomed only a few dozen feet away from him.
Leon hovered in the middle of a great storm raging off the coast of Stormhollow, and he felt alive. The energy of the storm was invigorating, filling him not only with power but also confidence and purpose.
He was alone, save for Maia and Anzu flying not too far away, ‘just in case’, or so they said. He didn’t mind their presence so long as they were mindful of what he was going to do and the potential consequences around them. He had a feeling that the storm was going to grow as he worked, and he didn’t want his family to get caught up in it.
As he calmed down, as his heart rate slowed despite the wrath of the storm around him, he pictured what he wanted, and then ran through all the needed steps. He could see it all in his mind’s eye with perfect clarity, and with the power of the storm around him, he felt more confident than ever before.
With a wave of his hand, Leon retrieved all the tools and materials he needed. Vials of bright red mana, his crucible, the metal, and other materials for the alloy he’d be smelting within. Moving almost on their own, his hands directed most of the raw materials into the crucible. Iron, charcoal, and quintessant sand entered the crucible, and he then activated the crucible’s enchantments, not minding at all that some rainwater was starting to fill it—at the temperature he’d be working at, all of that moisture and other impurities within the rain would boil away, leaving him with naught but what he wanted. Runes along its outer and inner surface glowed, those on the crucible’s lip most prominently—that was the enchantment that would infuse his mana into the metal and so were most important.
Once all was in the crucible that needed to be there, he prepared everything else. His extracted mana hovered above the crucible, ready to be poured in. His two remaining vials of mana that had been extracted while he channeled his bloodline powers hovered next to him, ready to aid him in his endeavor. Once he was absolutely sure he was ready, he began his work.
With barely more than a thought, lightning ceased to fall around him, but instead began targeting the crucible. Leon had especially reinforced it, so it didn’t so much as shudder even as bolt after bolt rapidly struck it. The crucible simply absorbed all of that heat and directed it inward, rapidly melting the iron and sand and igniting the charcoal. With such heat, it wasn’t long before Leon had a crucible of glowing molten steel, sizzling as rain fell upon it and instantly vaporized. Fortunately, no heat was lost on the whole as he directed lightning to continue to strike the crucible.
With that done, he upended the vials of mana that hovered over the crucible and unstoppered them, allowing their glowing red contents to spill into the steel. Leon concentrated his magic, ensuring that even with the raging storm around him, not a single drop of magic-infused blood failed to drop into the steel.
When making his pseudo-Adamant, Leon had mixed his blood in much more slowly than he did now, for he needed to do his best to ensure that it mixed well and didn’t immediately boil away and release all of his power back into the environment.
With the two vials of ‘activated’ blood beside him, though, he didn’t feel like he needed such caution. He felt almost like he’d reached some state of enlightenment as he continued, a sense of calm and confidence that he found almost as strange as his intention to not question it. He simply proceeded with the smelt.
As his mana made contact with the steel, his power attempted its escape. Unlike all of his previous attempts, though, Leon was ready and able to stop it. He projected his magic power first into the activated blood vials. His power mixed with the power in the vials, taking on those properties, and then flowed into the crucible, where he was able to calm the power in the poured mana. As his magic filled the crucible in this way, he could feel it mixing with and fusing with the metal, aided by the quintessant sand.
He was almost startled at how easily his magic power allowed itself to be mixed in this way. He supposed his method of controlling it was helping but his poured mana still felt calmer than it should’ve been, more pliant to his will.
‘Maybe just a product of reaching tenth-tier?’ he momentarily speculated before choosing not to look a gift horse in the mouth and instead focus on the task at hand.
The remaining process took about an hour, a long enough time to induce some fatigue but barely a fraction of how long his previous attempts had lasted. With his power so compliant, hours of pouring and infusing were cut from the smelting process. And the best part was that not a single silver-blue spark or lick of black flame escaped from the molten steel—it seemed like every aetos of power contained in his blood was absorbed by the steel.
As Leon finished this step, he contemplated the remaining materials he’d prepared: silver dust and the petals of the as’si flower. The silver dust he tossed into the mixture—even Adamant could use a little extra ability to channel magic. The as’si petals, however, he pulled back into his soul realm. They were supposed to help the smelted metal retain the infused power, but he could tell that wouldn’t be necessary.
The silver melted in an instant, and the enchantments on the crucible ensured that it mixed well. Sensing this, Leon smiled, satisfied with the smelt. Now, he had only to let the metal cool a little so that he could work it with additional tools…
That thought barely flashed through his mind before he felt the metal in the crucible seem to reach out to him. There was no conscious thought there, more like power being naturally attracted to like power, but he could sense some kind of question within it, some unfulfilled need. This question didn’t take the shape of words either spoken or only in his head, but he knew what was being asked of him anyway.
The metal wanted to be formed; it needed shape and purpose, it needed to sense his will and respond to it.
Leon let his magic inundate the crucible, not even questioning what he was sensing. As his magic interacted with the magic-infused molten steel, he concentrated, ignoring everything else around him. He blocked out the sound of rain hitting him and the sizzle as it hit the crucible. He ignored the flashing lightning and booming thunder as bolts fell upon both the crucible and him. He paid no attention to the wind howling in his ears, demanding attention.
He closed his eyes and concentrated only on the magic flowing through his body. He focused so completely that he almost forgot he was a living being, seeing himself only as a dense cloud of magic, reaching out to another dense cloud of magic. The two magics, both originating from him, mixed and flowed through each other as his magic might flow from his chest into his arm. The molten steel, as far as his magic was concerned, was an extension of his body, proving itself no obstacle to his power.
In his mind’s eye, he pictured the weapon he wanted. Thoughts of the sword he would wield filled his head in excruciating detail. He pictured the shape of the sword from the tip down to the tang. He pictured how the light would reflect off of it, and the angle of the central groove. He pictured the edges of the weapon, so sharp that one could almost fear being cut just by laying eyes upon it. He even pictured the ripples in the metal and the perfectly formed runes both within the steel and etched upon it. Runes, both ancient and modern, working together to craft him a weapon of legendary might.
Finally, along the tang, he pictured a small groove within which the Iron Needle could comfortably and securely rest.
Leon opened his eyes and saw hovering just above the crucible a glowing red-hot steel blade, sans handle, guard, or pommel, exactly as he’d pictured it. Sharper than obsidian, smoother than polished marble, and exactly the length he wanted. Power radiated from the incomplete sword as a result of his enchantments, ready to strike down his enemies.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
In short, the perfect blade.
Leon grinned, nothing but satisfaction and pride within his mind. But as he reached out for the sword unconcerned of its heat, its surface ignited in black fire and more bolts than had ever fallen upon the crucible struck the blade, every one silver-blue. Such a storm of fire and lightning blinded even him for a moment as a power beyond almost anything else he’d ever sensed fell upon and was emitted by the weapon he’d just made.
For the first time since the process had begun, Leon started to feel a little nervous as a wave of power forced him away from the blade, and the sky filled with silver-blue lightning whirling around the core of black fire that completely concealed the blade from view. The crucible shattered to dust, the vials of blood he’d used to channel his power lasting only a microsecond longer before following suit.
Leon reached out, hoping to contact the weapon within this storm of power, and wondered if he’d actually failed, if he’d accidentally unleashed destruction upon Stormhollow…
---
Power radiated from Lake Ontarii. The people of Stormhollow were no strangers to powerful storms, but what now battered the city had the people that remained on the streets—relatively strong mages all—fleeing for shelter.
The truly powerful of the city were roused from their sleep or pulled from whatever duties they were seeing to, the strength of the waves of magic that washed over the city appearing to threaten all with destruction if not contained.
Seventh, eighth, and ninth-tier mages shot into the air as alarms around the city went off. Even Iron-Striker, all of his lost limbs completely regenerated yet his body still in need of rest and healing, threw aside all concern as he bolted upward, adding his power, still shaky and weak despite his tier, to the efforts to defend the city.
The shores of the lake dried as the water receded, a massive wave gathering more than a hundred miles away. Ships and waterborne war beasts were left on the beach or pulled out onto the lake, and silver-blue lightning filled the sky.
Many thoughts flew through the minds of the people of Stormhollow, but the common theme was terror at just what was happening, and why it seemed like it was Leon’s power that threatened the city.
Fortunately, the efforts of all the city’s Chiefs and elders paid off as shields of various magics appeared between Stormhollow and the wind, rain, lightning, and magic that fell upon it. Still, many of the city’s defenders were nearly overwhelmed.
Hope was nearly shattered when an explosion of multi-colored lightning heavily damaged a small section of Leon’s palace, and something flashed through the sky faster than even Iron-Striker could track. Whatever it was punched clean through the hastily-assembled defenses, collapsing much of the web of magic altogether.
Wails of despair began to fill the city as the Chiefs and elders of the city, demoralized by this most recent event, silently wondered what was happening, and what had happened to their King.
---
Leon did his best to contain the power he’d unleashed, the power that had been contained within his new weapon. However, what he found more than a little curious—and rapidly rising concern—was that the power he could sense within the core of black fire obscuring the blade from view wasn’t diminishing in strength. If anything, it was only increasing in potency.
Leon reached out and attempted to contain all of this power—it all originated from him, even if it was infused into steel, so he figured that it shouldn’t be that hard to control it. However, his magic entered this sea of destructive power and seemed to vanish within.
In the back of his mind, that questioning feeling that had had him imagining the sword to give the molten steel shape had quieted but not gone away. So, seeing that his attempts to contain this power weren’t amounting to much, he focused instead on that feeling again. He maintained the magical connection between himself and the blade, now lost within the black fire, and attempted to impose his will upon it.
He demanded the storm cease, that the blade subordinate itself to him. However, after a few seconds, he realized that he was falling back into the wrong mindset. The sword was a part of him; he couldn’t simply order it around like it wasn’t. He only had to stop it like he would open and close his hand.
With this in mind, he reached out to the blade again and willed it to stop. No demand, no request, nothing more than picturing a string of nerves connecting him to the blade and his desire for the storm to cease traveling through it.
The lightning ceased almost instantly and the black fire surrounding the sword vanished, revealing a perfectly quenched and tempered blade, exactly as Leon had pictured it when giving it form, hovering in the air as if waiting for him to take it.
However, just as he made to fly closer and wrap his hand around the tang, he sensed a terrible bolt of power from behind him. He didn’t even have time to react before this bolt blasted past him and slammed into his weapon, momentarily blinding him with multicolored lightning of terrifying power.
For just a moment, his heart sank as panic lanced through his mind. However, as his vision returned, he laid his eyes upon his weapon, now hovering before him with the Iron Needle snugly resting in the groove Leon had made for it.
Leon could only stare at the blade in shock and disbelief. It took him several seconds to come to his senses and reach out to take the weapon, though he didn’t make physical contact with it. Instead, he reached out first with a hand, and then with his magic. The blade welcomed his magic as his right arm would his left, and Leon pulled it into his soul realm with almost shocking ease.
He then hovered there for a few seconds more, hardly noticing as a harried-looking Anzu and Maia appeared beside him until Anzu shouted, “Brother! Is everything here all right?!”
Maia was more direct, throwing herself at him and clinging to him with all the strength in her body. Her arms went around his shoulders while her legs wrapped around his thighs and hips, and she buried her face in his neck. Through their connection, Leon could sense her tremendous fear and anxiety, mixed with a growing sense of relief, and he immediately put a smile on his face as he returned her hug and sent waves of serenity back through their connection. Any anxiety or fear he felt from what had just happened was buried as he did his best to calm his river nymph lover, and he gave Anzu his answer.
“Everything’s fine, Anzu. I succeeded in forging Adamant, that’s all.”
---
Far away from Kataigida, the Grave Warden sat quietly waiting for the culmination of his final attempt to contact his missing friend in the seventh of the twelve Divine Graveyards when he felt a massive spike in power from the south.
For a few seconds, he grew concerned as this power threatened to swallow his entire plane. However, as he turned his gaze southward and saw what was happening, he smiled.
“Well done, Leon,” he whispered. “Well done. I hope your luck holds. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll have to call upon you once again…”
---
“I’ll admit it, boy, I’m impressed,” Xaphan said as Leon entered his soul realm.
Leon had quickly returned to Stormhollow and his palace after finishing the forging of his new blade. He’d had to ignore the questions of the Chiefs, elders, and ministers as he did so, but he’d placated them by saying he’d explain in a few hours. For the moment, he needed to inspect what he’d built.
“Thank you, Xaphan,” Leon said completely genuinely. He was in no mood to give sarcastic or otherwise biting remarks. He could only stare at the masterpiece of a weapon he’d forged, incomplete though it still was without a guard or handle.
“Yes,” the Thunderbird agreed with pride dripping from her voice. “To create Adamant is no small thing, and that is most certainly Adamant. In fact, it’s some of the strangest and strongest Adamant I’ve ever sensed… There’s more power in there than even the weapon I made so long ago…” Her yellow avian eyes turned in the direction of the sword that Leon had been using since his father’s death, the weapon that had been passed down through Leon’s family for countless generations.
“Have a name in mind?” Xaphan teasingly asked. “Swords need names, you know…”
“Not all of them do,” Leon said with a bit of exasperation. He, too, glanced at his family’s blade. “That one doesn’t.”
“No,” Xaphan conceded, “but surely the sword of the future Storm King should have a name, no?”
“Do you name your arms?” Leon said. “Your fingers? Your legs?”
“This one’s Callistapheles,” Xaphan said as he raised his right arm before then raising his left. “And this one’s Greg.”
Despite himself, Leon snorted in laughter, and once the seal on his emotions burst, he fell to the ground of his Mind Palace guffawing with laughter. The stresses of what he’d done melted away in catharsis as the simple fact that he’d actually succeeded filled his head.
When he finally quieted down—though remaining on the ground—he said, “I’m not too keen on naming weapons.”
“There’s a certain use in naming weapons, though,” the Thunderbird said. “Propaganda. Recognition. The spread of legends. All of it will help to solidify your rule if you have a unique and identifiable weapon, even if you never use the name and only treat the weapon as an extension of your being. You can even give it a name that declares your intentions, serves to comfort or invigorate your people, or strikes fear into the hearts of your enemies. There are many reasons why naming your weapon can be useful. Consider the name well, even if you eventually decide that one isn’t needed.”
Leon sighed, then murmured an agreement to at least consider a name. And then he turned his head to stare at the blade hovering just above his throne. Beautiful rippling metal shone in the light of his soul realm, radiating power that was at his command.
And once again, the thought rushed through his head.
He’d succeeded.