Weeks had passed since the secret learning sessions with his sisters had begun, and the changes were becoming more apparent. Isolde was growing bolder in her discussions about state affairs, often debating with Eamon on various points of governance. Morwen had developed a knack for strategic thinking, proposing unconventional solutions to problems Eamon presented during their conversations. Elspeth had taken to teaching Ailsa about herbs and healing, combining their interests in a way that seemed to bring them even closer.

Despite the progress, Eamon couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. He felt an unquenchable thirst for a different kind of knowledge—one that involved the tangible creation of things. The visits to the forge and the carpenter's workshop had awakened a longing within him to understand the mechanics of how things worked. He wanted to create, to build, and to bring the ideas swirling in his mind into the physical world.

One evening, after a particularly engaging session with his sisters, Eamon decided it was time to make a request to his father. He needed a mentor who could teach him how to create blueprints and schematics, someone who could guide him in the ways of building machinery and mechanisms.

When Eamon entered the throne room, his father was seated at his desk, poring over documents. King Cedric looked up as Eamon approached, a hint of surprise flickering across his features. It was not often that Eamon sought him out directly.

"Eamon," King Cedric greeted, setting aside his papers. "What brings you here?"

Eamon took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Father, I have a request," he began carefully. "I would like to learn how to create blueprints and schematics. I want to understand how machinery and mechanisms work. I believe it would help me broaden my horizons and understand our kingdom's needs more deeply."

King Cedric raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard by the request. "Machinery and mechanisms?" he echoed. "That's an unusual request for a prince."

"I know," Eamon admitted, "but I feel it's important. Our kingdom relies on various crafts and trades, and understanding how things are built could help us improve our industries. I don't wish to learn just for the sake of knowledge, but to apply it."

His father studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Eamon felt his heart pounding in his chest. This was a risk; his father might see it as a diversion from his royal duties. But after what felt like an eternity, King Cedric gave a slow nod.

"Very well," he said, though his tone was cautious. "I will arrange for you to join the forge as an apprentice under the master blacksmith. But understand, Eamon, this is an unusual path for a prince. You must not let it distract you from your primary duties."

Eamon bowed his head gratefully. "Thank you, Father. I promise I will not neglect my duties."

With his father's approval secured, Eamon felt a surge of excitement. This was a chance to dive into a world that called to him like no other. The following day, he and Liora made their way to the forge. As they approached, the clang of metal on metal filled the air, accompanied by the heat radiating from the blazing fires within.

Inside the forge, a group of apprentices stood in a line, listening intently to a journeyman who was explaining various techniques of metalworking. Eamon and Liora joined the group quietly, taking in the scene. The journeyman noticed their arrival and gave a brief nod of acknowledgment before continuing his explanation.

"Today," the journeyman was saying, "we will focus on hammering techniques for shaping metal. It requires precision and control. Too much force, and you risk damaging the piece. Too little, and it won't take the shape you desire."

He demonstrated the technique with a practiced hand, shaping a piece of glowing metal with rhythmic strikes of his hammer. The apprentices watched closely, some with nervous expressions, others with a mixture of awe and determination.

Eamon's eyes were fixed on the process, his mind racing with thoughts and ideas. He observed the movements, the rhythm, the way the metal responded to each strike. An idea began to form in his mind, one that seemed to spring forth from the echoes of his past life.

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As the journeyman handed the hammer to the first apprentice, Eamon couldn't hold back any longer. "Excuse me," he said, stepping forward slightly. "Wouldn't it be more efficient to use a different angle when striking? And perhaps if you heated the metal slightly longer, it might be more malleable and less prone to cracking."

The journeyman froze mid-motion, turning to stare at Eamon in bewilderment. The apprentices exchanged confused glances, not expecting the prince to intervene in such a technical manner. Eamon could feel the weight of their gazes, but he pressed on.

"I mean," Eamon continued, gesturing to the metal, "if you strike it at a more acute angle and control the temperature more precisely, you could achieve a smoother finish with fewer hammer marks. It would reduce the need for filing and make the process more efficient overall."

The journeyman looked at Eamon as though trying to gauge if he was serious. "Your Highness," he began slowly, "these techniques have been used for generations. They are tried and tested."

"I understand," Eamon replied earnestly, "but there is always room for improvement, isn't there? Sometimes, even small changes can make a big difference in the final product."

The journeyman exchanged a glance with the apprentices, clearly unsure how to respond. This was not a typical situation, and he was at a loss for how to proceed. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Perhaps... it would be best if you spoke with the master about these ideas, Your Highness. He has more experience and... might be better suited to discuss such matters."

Eamon nodded, sensing that he had pushed the journeyman to his limit. "Very well," he agreed. "I would be happy to speak with the master."

The journeyman quickly dispatched one of the apprentices to fetch the master blacksmith, and a few moments later, the master—a grizzled, burly man with arms like tree trunks and a face weathered by years of labor—entered the room. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Eamon, and he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

"So," the master grunted, "I hear you have some ideas about how we should be doing things around here."

Eamon straightened his back, meeting the master's gaze with unwavering resolve. "I do," he said. "I have some thoughts on improving efficiency and the quality of the work."

The master's eyes gleamed with curiosity despite his gruff demeanor. "Well then," he said, his voice challenging, "let's hear it."

What followed was a fervent discussion that drew the attention of every apprentice in the room. Eamon spoke animatedly about the importance of temperature control, the potential for new hammering techniques, and even the idea of using molds to create more uniform pieces. The master listened intently, occasionally nodding or grunting in acknowledgment, his eyes never leaving Eamon's face.

"You speak with the mind of a craftsman," the master finally said, a note of admiration in his voice. "Not something one expects from a prince. Where did you learn all this?"

Eamon hesitated, the memories of his past life flickering at the edges of his consciousness. "I... don't know," he admitted. "It just comes to me."

The master studied him for a moment longer, then gave a sharp nod. "Very well. You have an eye for this work, and an eagerness to learn. I will teach you what I know, but understand that this is a craft that requires patience and discipline."

Eamon nodded, his heart swelling with excitement. "Thank you, Master."

The master turned to the apprentices, barking orders to resume their tasks, while he led Eamon and Liora to his private workspace. Inside, the walls were lined with tools of all kinds, and the air was thick with the scent of metal and smoke. The master began to explain the finer points of blacksmithing, the delicate balance between heat and force, the artistry that lay in every strike of the hammer.

As the master spoke, Eamon felt a strange sensation wash over him. Images flashed through his mind—drawings of gears and levers, intricate designs of mechanisms and machines. He could almost hear the clanging of metal and the hum of engines, the ghostly echoes of a world that seemed both foreign and familiar.

Suddenly, his vision blurred, and he staggered, grasping the edge of the worktable for support. Liora gasped, rushing to his side.

"Eamon!" she cried, her voice filled with alarm.

The master frowned, reaching out to steady him. "What's happening?"

Eamon's surroundings began to fade, replaced by the haunting visions of his past life—classrooms filled with diagrams of machinery, workshops with complex tools, the sound of a hammer striking metal in perfect rhythm. His breath hitched, and the world spun around him.

"Liora..." he managed to whisper, "I... I remember..."

Before he could say more, darkness consumed him, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.

Liora and the master rushed to catch him, the forge suddenly filled with a tense silence. The apprentices gathered at the entrance, their faces pale with shock as they watched the prince being laid gently onto the floor.

The master looked at Liora, concern etched on his rugged face. "What is happening to him?" he demanded.

Liora shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "I don't know... This has happened before... He sees things... Things he shouldn't know."

The master grimaced, looking down at Eamon's pale face. "Whatever it is," he muttered, "it's something beyond the knowledge of this forge."

As they worked to revive him, the forge fell into an uneasy stillness, the clang of metal replaced by the soft murmurs of worry and the flickering shadows cast by the fire.