Cane studied his two weapons—Starstrike and Starbolt.
Both had been alloyed with starmetal, attuned at the Resolute forge, and enhanced with a mythic-grade glacial rune. Each step had brought him closer to understanding. But not far enough.
"I added an adamantium mesh to the wood handle of my work hammer," he murmured, "just to feel the metal with my hands… and that's when I discovered the real secret of metallurgy: I have to touch the metal."
He frowned, his brow furrowing beneath the silver-black mask of Jonas Ironfist.
"How much has been lost over time? What knowledge was once common to master smiths that I've never been taught? I'm skimming the surface, and I don't even know what I don't know."
Cane shook his head slowly.
"Maybe the first truth is this: I know very little. Maybe even… nothing."
He sat at his workbench, surrounded by blueprints, runes, and cooling alloys, his masked reflection caught in the sheen of steel. He took a deep breath.
"I can start with what I do know—metallurgists must touch metal."
With that in mind, he altered the handles of his weapons, applying a thin, gossamer layer of pure steel from hilt to head. As soon as his fingers wrapped around them, something shifted.
They felt different.
He held Starstrike and Starbolt tight, and entered the metal.
The world vanished.
In its place came the vast blackness of the cosmos. Endless. Ancient. Terrifying. His senses stretched until his head felt heavy, too much for his body. He stumbled forward—reflexively throwing his hands up.
Only… he had no hands.
Blinding energy welled within him. Starlight poured through his soul. Cosmic wonder filled his vision. He floated through the heart of a fading star—still burning, still strong enough to sear through worlds.
When Cane's eyes snapped open, they shone with pure starlight for several heartbeats before fading back to their usual shade of blue.
He looked down at the weapons in his hands.
They pulsed beneath his grip.
"I can feel how they move…"
Without thought, he thrust the trident forward—faster, truer than ever before. A strike he wouldn't have been able to land even yesterday.
"I see now," he whispered. "The most basic truth of metallurgy—always touch the metal."
He set Starstrike gently on the bench and spun Starbolt in his hand like it had become part of him.
"I have to relearn everything," he said. "Without a teacher… I fear my potential will always be limited."
Cane completed the final HAV for the Defiant crew, placing each HAV vest and Breel Counterstrike Blade in his silver storage ring. His last act was to apply Blue—the Glacial Frost Rune that adored craftsmanship.
The rune responded as always: the more wondrous the work, the more prevalent the Ice Gryphon's presence.
Each HAV turned a deep, glacial blue. A shimmering image of an Ice Gryphon now adorned every chestplate.
"These will be my gift to the naval forces," Cane murmured. "I'll keep working—until every sailor in our fleet has one."
He stored the blacksilver mask and changed into a clean shirt before activating the rune that linked him back to his dorm.
And froze.
Someone was going through his desk.
Cane was no stranger to unannounced visitors—Telamon, or Nos in his chaotic form, often wandered in as if privacy were optional. But this… this was different.
"May I help you?" Cane asked evenly.
The figure jumped, landing with inhuman grace—like a cat wired with lightning. Cane grimaced as recognition set in.
Elohan. The elf thief Telamon had somehow conscripted into Academy service.
Elohan closed the drawer slowly, then leaned against it. "Took me a while to figure it out."
Cane frowned. "What? How to use a door?"
Elohan raised a brow. "I did use the door. Easy lock. No runes. Child's play, really."
"Is this you being deliberately obtuse, or do you actually think it's fine to ransack my room?"
Elohan laughed. "Oh, I know it's frowned upon. I placed a geas on the door... but you didn't use the door. Did you?"
His sharp eyes scanned the room. "Standard psi-comm rune. Poorly hidden stash under a loose stone. Nothing else obvious. So, one of two things is true."
Cane scratched his ear casually, turning slightly to hide the rune's glow as he pressed it.
Cane:Why would an elf be in my room?
Fergis: Elf? What're you talking about?
Clara:Huh??
"I'll explain," Elohan said, eyes still sweeping the space. "Either you've got nothing hidden here, or someone with greater Runic knowledge than me concealed it."
Cane:I have no idea what you're talking about. Also... what do you mean you placed a geas on the door?
Elohan shrugged. "Nothing harmful. Just a small shock. Enough to immobilize most humans."
Fergis:On my way!
Clara:Stall him!
Sophie: I'm alerting the Archmage.
Dhalia:Damn it, I'm too far. Heading back now.
Cane: So... using the door would've been bad.
"You'd have woken up tomorrow with a headache," Elohan said, still scanning.
Cane deactivated the psi-rune. Calmly.
"You can see why that makes me unhappy," he said, swiping his ring.
Starstrike appeared in his hand with a flash.
Elohan raised one brow. "You're smart enough to know how pointless it is to attack an elf."
"Am I?"
Fergis:NOW!
Cane's arm snapped back—Starstrike lashed forward, not at Elohan, but at the door.
It turned to ice—and shattered, the burst of light signaling the breaking of whatever enchantment Elohan had left behind.
BALEFIRE.
Elohan's eyes widened, not with fear, but with caution. He recognized white fire.
A flicker of orange suddenly flared—splash—harmlessly against the ceiling.
Fergis had entered, blinding the room with a palm flare. His fingers traced fast patterns on the floor.
"Balefire?" Elohan laughed. "What was that? The weakest—"
"HERE I COME!" Clara burst through the doorway, blunderbuss aimed, fire and thunder exploding toward Elohan.
The elf leapt, twisting in midair to cling like a spider to the ceiling.
"You're like babes in the woo—" he began.
His eyes darted upward.
Too late.
The purple rune on the ceiling ignited, dousing him with a warm, wet, sticky substance.
"What is this crap?!" he shouted, dropping to the floor.
POOF.
The second rune triggered.
The room filled with a cloud of white feathers.
Elohan stood, stunned, now resembling a giant chicken.
ROOT.
BALEFIRE.
"Hold."
A calm voice cut through the chaos like a blade. Both spells fizzled.
A rift split the air.
Through it stepped a dapper gentleman with white hair and a walking cane held casually in one hand.
Telamon.
His sharp gaze scanned the room, feathers still drifting in the air. It landed on Elohan.
"Well?"
Ptew.
Elohan spat out a mouthful of feathers, making Clara clamp a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.
"Interesting," he muttered, brushing at his shirt. Then he turned to Cane. "You must've triggered a psi-rune during our conversation. I was monitoring you—your heart rate was calm, steady. You chose to strike the door and disable my geas instead of attacking me directly. Smart move."
He wrinkled his nose, flicking feathers away, and locked eyes with Fergis.
"And you… you shouted Balefire while casting something I've never seen."
"Rune trajectory," Telamon said mildly, "hidden by a simple flare spell."
Elohan raised an eyebrow. "A prodigy?"
Telamon nodded once.
"I see…" Elohan turned toward Clara. Her cheeks were flushed from the effort, her freckled face framed by strands of ginger hair. She still held the blunderbuss.
"You leveled that thing at me, knowing it would miss," Elohan mused. "Another distraction, while your fire mage placed the second rune—on the floor this time."
Clara shrugged, nose wrinkling. "Maybe."
Elohan studied her a moment longer, then turned toward Cane—who stood calmly with Starbolt in hand.
"And you… you were waiting. If I'd survived the real Balefire, you'd have been the finisher."
Feathers swirled in the air as Elohan began to clap—slow, deliberate.
"Well-played."
His eyes swept the room again. "Where's the fourth?"
"Here."
Dhalia stepped into the doorway, breathing hard. "I was at my clinic."
"I suppose I should be thankful," Elohan said, chuckling to himself before turning to Telamon. "Do you have a place?"
Telamon gave a subtle nod.
Elohan's smile was sharp and unreadable. "Then fine. I'll train them."
Telamon waved a hand, instantly clearing the room of feathers and sticky residue. Elohan stood clean once more.
"On your days off," Telamon said, "you will report to the courtyard of the Ironheart Estate in the capital. Those will be your training days."
"Don't disappoint me," Elohan said, fixing them all with an irritating smirk before leaping through the third-story window. He vanished in a blur of motion.
Cane didn't flinch at the exit. He'd seen elves move before.
"We'll take the noon rift from your office?" he asked.
Telamon shook his head. "Yours will be opened at dawn."
Then, without fanfare, he stepped through a fold in the air and was gone.
Clara collapsed backward onto the bed. "I'm so tired. I've never run that fast in my whole life."
Cane chuckled. "You really love that gun."
"Truth!" Clara sat up, brushing feathers from her lap. "Did he say dawn? What kind of craziness is that?"
Cane turned to Fergis with a grin. "You used Nos's double rune counter."
Fergis grinned back. "I just wish that old bastard was here to see it."
Cane didn't say a word. He was the only one at the Academy who knew the truth—that Nos was Telamon. The Archmage had invented the eccentric persona specifically to train Fergis, pushing him in ways only a trickster could.
Dhalia stepped into the room, letting out a long breath. "Wait… doesn't that mean our first day of training is in two days?"
Cane nodded. "Yep."
A familiar figure appeared in the doorway. Sophie.
She gave the group a soft smile. "Everyone okay?"
"Sure," Clara said, scooting over to make space. "You must've found the Archmage."
Sophie nodded as she sat. "I forgot to knock and everything. Just burst in on the senior staff shouting that you were in trouble." She covered her face. "It was mortifying."
Cane laughed. "Sounds like quite the experience."
Sophie let out a dramatic sigh. "He didn't even blink. Just nodded and said you were being tested."
Clara clapped suddenly. "I never do well on tests. I get nervous and forget everything!"
"Pretty sure you passed this one," Sophie said with a smile. "The Archmage looked pleased when he returned."
A bump against the wall drew their attention.
Thressa appeared in the doorway, pushing a small cart. She smiled shyly. "Special delivery—courtesy of the senior staff."
Clara's freckled face lit up. "Finally! I'm being rewarded for all my hard work!"
This time, Thressa took the time to serve each of them, dishing out small helpings of their favorites.
"Marge says Seven Tower is filled with amazing people," she added.
Sophie smiled, remembering her own time in the kitchens. "Are you enjoying it so far?"
Thressa nodded. "I have big shoes to fill…"
Sophie tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
Thressa sighed, half-laughing. "Every time I mess something up, they tell me, 'Sophie used to do it like this.' I heard your name so many times before I even met you."
"That must be tough," Sophie said gently. "Want to know a secret?"
Thressa leaned forward, curious. "What?"
"They said the same thing to me when I started. Only back then, it was all about Leribell. She was the best kitchen helper ever—until she finally retired and I took her place." Sophie laughed at the memory. "So just keep doing your best."
Thressa nodded, eyes bright. "Thanks… That's encouraging."