Tucker held onto his lumenite blade and thought of the master blacksmith who had created it for him. Thomas Hager, his friend from Stafford. The short man with black hair and gray streaks, whose charcoal eyes always seemed to be focused more on crafting than drama. From what he had been told, Thomas and his fellow blacksmiths were still in the capital, hammering away at scraps of iron.

  He stared at the sun glowing in the sky and blocked the scorching rays with his hand. It was only noon. Thomas and his colleagues should still be on their lunch break. If Tucker hurried, he could catch the middle-aged man before he went back to work. Since each master blacksmith had their own personal forges, it wasn’t difficult at all to find him.

  Tucker stepped into the forge and felt it all at once. The absence of passion that he had once seen in Stafford. The stagnant air was warm but lifeless, heavy with old smoke and stale heat that didn’t radiate from the kilns. Coal lay scattered on the hearth with dying embers barely fighting to keep their glow, unlike the triumphant hammering of a beating forge, where the flames refused to yield. He saw all the blacksmiths sitting down at their workstations, not from exhaustion, but from boredom.

  They continued to strike the blazing ends of the iron swords and tempered them to perfection. Not out of joy but for their duty. Most of their tools rested on the walls. From the thin layer of dust on the metal surface, Tucker could tell that they had seen better days.

  Clang… clang… clang.

  Each strike carried out its purpose. However, it seemed like something had sucked the souls out of them. As Tucker drew closer, a man grumbled behind a large anvil while striking a blazing piece of steel.

  “Thomas do this,” he muttered. “Thomas do that,” he repeated mockingly. The voice continued for several more moments before Tucker gave a simple wave to draw the man’s attention.

  Thomas glanced up from his workstation while raising a brow. He set the scorching metal into a bucket of water as bubbles rose along with steam to quench it. Soon, he set aside his hammer and wiped the soot on the rough fabric of his brown leather work apron.

  “My word… is that you, Commander?” Thomas asked.

  “You can just call me Tucker. I’m no longer the acting commander of Stafford,” he replied with a smile. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. And honestly, I never imagined that you would still be in the capital.”

  Thomas shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it definitely isn’t as interesting since we last spoke. But it has its perks.”

  “Do you find the work entertaining?”

  “Ha!” Thomas waved his arm at the forge. “Does it look like we find this entertaining?”

  “I didn’t think so, but you never know. Maybe I just came on an off day.”

  “Blah.” Thomas stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes. He swatted his hand in annoyance. “Ever since we’ve returned from the bastion, they’ve had us smith hundreds of blades and other nonsense. These pesky nobles keep thinking they can push us around just cause we’re blacksmiths, but I’ll have you know—if they ever stepped into this forge, I’d cave their heads in myself!”

  “It’s that bad, huh?”

  “Bad doesn’t even begin to describe the political bullshit they tried to pull over me,” Thomas added. “They’re idiots who threatened to have my smithing license revoked.”

  Tucker couldn’t help but sigh. He already knew how some of the nobility acted, but for them to pull rank on Thomas was beyond absurd. Seeing as how Thomas was still leading his forge, their efforts most likely amounted to nothing. However, that didn’t mean the bitterness disappeared.

  “In fact, I’ve been burning every letter that’s come so far if it doesn’t have the royal seal.” Thomas crossed his arms and nodded as the other blacksmiths joined in agreement.

  “Right, you’ve been burning every letter that doesn’t have the… royal… seal…” Tucker slowly tilted his head. “Eh? Every single one?”

  “Yeah, I don’t even bother reading them. I just send them straight to the kiln.”

  “Even mine?” Tucker asked.

  “Even yours?” Thomas repeated.

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  Both of them stared at each other at a loss for words. Then, without missing a beat, Thomas turned away and mumbled, “We all make mistakes in the heat of the moment. I’m sure you wrote nothing too important that you couldn’t come to say. Honestly, count this as a blessing since it reunited us.”

  Tucker’s lips drew a fine line as he listened to Thomas’s excuses. “I handcrafted that letter, you know? Wrote that with my blood, sweat, and tears.”

  Thomas exhaled slowly and averted his gaze. “My bad.”

  “Forget it.” Tucker waved his hand to dismiss the matter. “Either way, I would have had to come here anyway to see you.”

  The master blacksmith’s expression hardened. “I take it you need something crafted?”

  “Yeah, I do, and the lives of several hundred men would rest on your shoulders,” Tucker answered. “I need you to smith this for me.” He pulled out a carefully folded page from his leather pouch and gave it to Thomas. “I need at least four to five of them for this to work.”

  “This? What exactly is this?” Thomas snatched the page from Tucker’s hand. His eyes drifted across the note as he unfolded it, deepening with a grave intensity that the others had never seen before. “You… do you have any idea as to what you’re asking me to do?”

  Tucker nodded. “You’re the only one I can trust to get it done.”

  “It’s fucking insane,” Thomas snapped back. “Even if I got this done in a month, there’s no way to test if it’ll be enough to protect them, and I can’t just shove everything I have aside.”

  “You’ve already burned all the letters you received, so this should be your next order. It’ll also give you a reason to decline all the nobles and their requests,” Tucker added.

  The blacksmith quietly held the page with both of his trembling hands. “Commander, what you’re asking has never been done before. I’m not even sure if the dwarves would attempt such a thing. Hell, they’d hate you for bringing it to their doorsteps!”

  “But doesn’t that instill a sense of thrill within your soul?” Tucker asked, staring at the other blacksmiths. “You’re the renowned blacksmiths of the Everheart Kingdom. The greatest runesmiths our nation has ever seen. Isn’t this a challenge worthy of your skills?”

  “We would need not one, not two, but seven different inscriptions just for defense alone.” Thomas shook the page in one hand and tapped it with another. “If we were to consider the structural capabilities and the seats—”

  “There are no seats,” Tucker interrupted.

  “No seats? So what, they’re just gonna stand?” Thomas watched as Tucker slowly nodded. “You can’t be serious. Then how will their bodies handle the impact?”

  “They’ll have to endure with aura.”

  “Dear Lord…” Thomas snapped his fingers at his apprentice and handed him the page. “Pass this around. I want everyone to take a look, and once that’s done, we’ll have a vote, right here and now.”

  “You got it, chief,” the apprentice replied.

  Soon, the page made its rounds around the forge. Each blacksmith stationed at Thomas’s building read the note with an assortment of expressions, ranging from shocked to awed. Yet deep down, they all hid a hint of excitement. They all took the craftsmen's oath at Thomas’s guild, the Forged Fellowship, and swore to secrecy that none of the designs would ever leak from their hearts. If such a thing happened, then they would gladly lose their lives as the God of the Forge, Durus, would smite them down.

  Once the page returned to Thomas, he scanned the room. “Well, lads, what do we think?”

  They all raised their hammers in the air with a roaring cheer. Some hammered their anvils, releasing the metallic rhythm of their hearts with a loud thud, while others grabbed the bellows hidden beneath their benches. The iron nozzles of the leather frame softly creaked as they blew air into the heart of the forges.

  The coals answered with a bright glow, burning stronger than they had in the past few days. Dull red shifted to a bright golden flare. Sparks flared from the ashes like fireflies rising to the sky, and the once sleeping forge rose from its slumber with a loud metallic roar. Chains lifted, and tools were disturbed from their resting places.

  Heat thickened the once stagnant air as the scent of hot metal and burning coal took hold over the forge. Thomas watched as all the blacksmiths rushed off to work with a heavy stampede of boots striking the stone floors. He scratched the bristles of his beard with an astonished look plastered on his face.

  “Hm… maybe I’ve gotten old,” he commented. “I didn’t expect them to rise to the task.”

  “Really? I kind of expected it because they are your apprentices after all,” Tucker said. “I would be more shocked if they didn’t act that way.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Thomas grumbled.

  “Relax, I’m complimenting you.” Tucker shook his head as Thomas tried to return the page. “Keep that; it’s not like I’ll be needing it. I just need to know if it’s possible for you to create all of them in a month.”

  “With enough sleepless nights, anything is possible,” Thomas replied. “But if we’re strictly looking at deadlines, then the prototype would take about a week. You can experiment with that, and once we’re done and if it meets your expectations, then we can easily replicate a few more copies.”

  “Do you see any difficulties at a glance?”

  “A bit too late to ask that.” Thomas rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve never made anything like this before, so I can’t even get you an estimate for how much it’ll cost.”

  “We’re friends; are you really going to bill me?” Tucker jokingly asked.

  “Of course! I have some of the finest blacksmiths under my command fulfilling your request.” Thomas pointed his finger at several blacksmiths who waved back. “You think you can just come into my forge and ask for handouts?”

  “Even if the nation was in danger?”

  Thomas glared, crossing his arms, locking eyes with Tucker. After staring for several moments, he clicked his tongue and looked away. “Just this once I’ll believe you, but if I find out you’re lying to me, then mark my words, Commander… our friendship is over.”

  Tucker lightly chuckled. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, save it for when we’re done,” Thomas said, shooing Tucker’s outstretched hand away. “Besides, what are we even gonna call this contraption anyway?”

  Tucker turned toward the exit while looking over his shoulder. He waved farewell and said, “We’ll call it the iron coffin.”