The Ultimate Forger

3

The golden light from the star-peircer began to fade back into a dull, flickering glow as Lucian pulled his hand away. He looked at the mercenaries, then at Seraphina, his face an unreadable mask.

 The silence that followed the roar of the spear was heavy, broken only by the distant clatter of falling scrap metal somewhere in the depths of the Bone-Yard.

The mercenary leader, recovering from his initial shock, spat on the ground. He gripped his jagged blade tighter, his eyes darting between Lucian’s glowing palms and the General’s trembling spear.

"A neat trick, smith-boy," the leader hissed, though his voice lacked its previous bravado. "You sparked a dead stick. That doesn't change the fact that you're a core-less dog and she’s a General with a broken toy. We have orders to bring her head to Master Caspian, and yours will make a fine bonus."

Lucian didn't even flinch. He didn't drop into a fighting stance or reach for a weapon. He simply wiped a streak of grease from his cheek and let out a long, weary sigh.

"Fight you?" Lucian asked, his voice flat. "Why would I waste my strength fighting trash that’s already heading for the incinerator? Dealing with you people is a waste of my time, and right now, my time is the only thing keeping my mother alive."

The mercenaries bristled. "You arrogant brat!" one yelled, stepping forward. "Do you know who we are?"

"I know exactly who you are," Lucian countered, his eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp intensity. "You're the bottom-feeders who do the dirty work for a man who couldn't forge a horseshoe to save his life. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't need a sword. I’d just let the Aether in this yard eat you alive while you’re too busy laughing at me."

He turned his back on the mercenaries, completely ignoring their drawn blades. It was the ultimate insult. He looked directly at Seraphina, who was staring at him with a mixture of awe and growing suspicion.

"Your spear," Lucian said, pointing a dirty finger at the star-peircer. "It’s not just malfunctioning. The beast-soul inside is starving because the conduit is cracked. It’s trying to eat your own life force just to stay awake. I can fix it. I can make it better than it was when your father first handed it to you."

The air seemed to freeze. Seraphina’s expression shifted from shock to a deep, thundering frown. Her grip on the spear tightened until her knuckles turned as white as her armor.

"What did you just say?" she whispered, her voice like a freezing wind.

"I said I can fix it," Lucian repeated. "The legacy of your father is rotting in your hands, General. I can feel the pain of the metal from here."

"How dare you," Seraphina breathed. The mercenaries behind them started laughing again, but it was a nervous, jagged sound.

"Hear that, General?" the leader mocked. "The beggar who was kicked out of the Iron-Fang estate this morning for being a useless cripple is offering to fix a legendary Imperial weapon. The Emperor’s own Grand-Smiths couldn't stabilize that beast-soul, but this trash-diver thinks he has the secret!"

Seraphina felt a surge of hot fury. This spear was the only thing she had left of her father. It was a dying legacy, a sacred bond that she had traveled across the Empire trying to preserve.

 Every master smith she had consulted had shaken their head, telling her to retire the weapon before it shattered. And now, a boy covered in the filth of the Bone-Yard was claiming he could do what the greatest minds in the capital could not.

"You speak of my father's legacy as if it were a common kitchen knife," Seraphina hissed, her eyes burning with ice-cold rage. "I thought I saw a spark of talent in you, boy. I thought perhaps the rumors of your fall were exaggerated. But you are worse than a cripple. You are a delusional fool who mocks things far above his station."

Lucian felt the sting of her words, but he didn't let it show. He had already been dragged through the mud today; a General’s insults were nothing compared to the weight of his mother’s dying breath.

"Suit yourself," Lucian said, his voice turning cold. He turned away from her, walking toward the patch of Silver-Root he had uncovered earlier. "If my help isn't appreciated, I’d rather not give it at all. I have enough problems without trying to save a weapon that’s owned by someone too proud to see the truth."

"You’re just going to walk away?" Seraphina shouted, her voice echoing off the metal piles.

"There are six assassins here to kill us both, and you’re going to go pick weeds?"

Lucian stopped but didn't turn around. "They won't touch me. They’re afraid of the light I just pulled out of your spear. And as for you... you’re a General. If you can’t handle a few Iron-Fang dogs with a 'broken toy,' then maybe you don't deserve that spear anyway."

The mercenaries were livid, insulted by being called "dogs" and "trash" by a man who wasn't even armed. "Kill him! Kill the smith first!" the leader roared, finally losing his patience.

Two mercenaries charged at Lucian’s back. Without looking, Lucian kicked a rusted metal pipe lying near his feet. The pipe spun through the air, vibrating with a faint golden hum. It didn't hit the men, but as it passed between them, a sudden burst of Aetheric pressure exploded, knocking them both sideways into a heap of jagged scrap.

"I told you," Lucian said, finally looking back over his shoulder. "Waste, of, time.”

Even if he was useless, he still had a few skills and yet he was going to walk away from a lady without trying to help?

He definitely had no morals. 

"You coward!" she screamed. "You have the power to help, yet you turn your back on the Empire? On a dying soul?"

In a fit of rage and bitter disappointment, she did something she had never done in her life. She took the star-piercer, the weapon she valued more than her own life, and hurled it at Lucian to get a hit, but he easily doged.

The spear pierced the soft earth of the junkyard, quivering in the dirt between them.

Lucian looked down at the spear. He could feel the beast-soul inside—a frost-serpent—shivering in agony. It was weeping in the language of metal and steel.

He looked back at Seraphina. She stood there, unarmed, her chest heaving, tears of pure fury glinting in her eyes. She was a General who had just thrown away her only defense in a yard full of killers, all because she couldn't stand the sight of his indifference.

The mercenary leader saw his chance. "She’s unarmed! Kill her now!"

As the four remaining mercenaries lunged toward the defenseless Seraphina, Lucian reached out. His hand gripped the shaft of the sar-Piercer.

"You really shouldn't have done that," Lucian whispered, his voice vibrating with the power of the Heaven-Forging Flame. "Now I have to fix it, just to prove you wrong."

The ground beneath Lucian’s feet began to glow a deep, molten gold. The soot on his clothes seemed to burn away as a pillar of heat erupted from his body. He didn't look like a beggar anymore. He looked like the god of the forge himself, standing in the middle of a graveyard, ready to bring the dead back to life.

"Wait," the mercenary leader stammered, skidding to a halt. "What is he doing?"

Lucian didn't answer. He simply lifted the spear, and for the first time in twenty years, the Bone-Yard saw the light of a true Sun.