The metal shattered in his hand. It was a dry, crisp sound—*karan*. As if the metal itself was telling him: *you can't do this*. Kael stared at the fragments scattered across the workbench. Black hair clung to his forehead with sweat. His leather apron bore the marks of soot he'd wiped away countless times today. His amber eyes traced each piece slowly, deliberately. It was the third one. --- The city began with the sound of hammers. Fostalen. An industrial city built along the middle reaches of the Tora River, on the western side of the Caldora Federation. Population: roughly sixty-five thousand. From every corner of the city, the sound of metal being struck echoed with the dawn. *Kan-kan, gan-gan, chi-chi-chi*—as if the entire city were one massive workshop. A steam locomotive's whistle pierced the air. The morning's first train was sliding into Fostalen Station. White vapor erupted from the smokestack and dissolved into the morning sky. Along the city's electric poles, lines for magical communication ran in every direction. At their base, a man stood reading the posted bulletin. The headline read: "Border Tensions with Levinor Kingdom Continue." Kael glanced at it as he passed. A crowd had already gathered in front of the Hammalaat headquarters. Hammalaat—the trade guild where blacksmiths held membership. Fostalen housed its main branch. A three-story stone building. Heavy, thick wooden doors. Beside the first-floor entrance, a list of those who'd passed the certification exam was posted. Apprentices clustered around it. Young people Kael's age or slightly older. Everyone stretched on their toes, trying to peer at the list. "Found it, found it!" A well-built boy shouted. Marek. An apprentice under the same master as Kael, sixteen years old like him. The type who handled everything smoothly and effortlessly. He'd found his name third on the list and was pumping his fist at the crowd around him. Kael approached the list. He read from the top. First line. Second line. Third line. All the way to the end. His name wasn't there. He checked again, just to be sure. It still wasn't there. Kael quietly stepped away from the crowd. --- Master Yorn's workshop was known as "Garm Furnace." A mid-sized workshop in Fostalen's eastern district with three furnaces, always radiating heat. Flames were lit each morning and never extinguished until evening. Yorn was fifty-five. Short black hair streaked with white, a leather apron stained with soot, thick hands darkened by the sun. His voice was low and calm, sharpening only when he scolded. In his youth, he'd been known as a skilled blacksmith, but now he spent his time training apprentices. The forging magic training began. Forging magic wasn't activated by incantation. It was a technique of channeling the aether within one's body into metal through the rhythm of hammer strikes and breathing. With each blow, you exhaled. You listened to the metal's ring. You pushed the aether flowing inside your body toward the blade's edge, toward the edge. You couldn't rush. You couldn't force it with brute strength. Aether was something that flowed. If you fought against the current, it would clog. The metal would fracture. He understood. Intellectually, he understood. Kael stood before the furnace, hammer raised. Heat washed across his face. Sweat poured out. A deep breath. First strike. The metal rang. He focused on the aether. That invisible flow of energy within his body. Slowly, toward the blade's tip— It wouldn't work. There was a catch somewhere. The flow wouldn't stabilize. He panicked. The panic made him tense. The tension made the aether scatter. Second strike. Third strike. With a *karan*, the blade shattered. Yorn passed by without saying anything. That silence was heavier than any words. Across the workshop, Marek continued his work steadily. Each strike was stable, light gathering in the blade. "Only about three percent of Astra's population can actually manipulate aether," Yorn explained to another apprentice. His voice drifted over. "Fifteen percent can sense it. But sensing and manipulation are different things. Among the three percent who can manipulate it, only a handful ever master it. Forging magic uses an especially unique activation method. So it's natural it takes time." Kael swept the fragments aside and placed another piece of metal in the furnace. The second blade shattered. The third blade shattered. --- Evening. After the other apprentices had left, Yorn called Kael over. The workshop was quiet with just the two of them. The furnace fire had burned low. Distant sounds of the city drifted in. Someone laughing. A steam locomotive's whistle. The sound of hammers had nearly ceased. "You shattered three blades today." Yorn spoke in his low voice. Standing with his arms crossed, looking directly at Kael. "Your mind is scattered." "[sad]…Yes, sir." "Aether isn't something you force in with strength. The more you panic, the more the metal senses it." "[sad]I understand." "Understanding and doing are different things." That was all. With the words "Put down the hammer for today," Yorn withdrew to the back room. Kael left the workshop. --- He sat down on the stone pavement of an alley. A narrow alley behind Garm Furnace. No one came here. He leaned his back against the wall and hugged his knees. From somewhere distant, Marek's laughter drifted over. The apprentices' room was on the second floor of the neighboring workshop. Among the voices he heard, none called his name. Well, of course. They weren't close. Kael was an orphan. He didn't know his parents' faces. He had no relatives, no old friends. Four years ago, he'd come to live and work at Yorn's workshop. Since then, he'd aimed for only one thing: becoming a blacksmith. Because there was nothing else. If he passed the Hammalaat certification exam, he could become an independent blacksmith. Work under his own name. Support himself. That was the only future an orphan like Kael could envision. Yet today, three blades shattered. A sigh escaped him. At that moment, his stomach growled loudly. *Guuuu*—an awkward sound echoing through the quiet alley. "[sad]…I haven't eaten." After muttering that, something loosened slightly inside him. He couldn't laugh, but he wanted to. He was at rock bottom, yet his stomach was honest. Well, fine. There was somewhere he could go tonight. --- Fostalen at night was quiet. The daytime hammer sounds and steam noises had ceased. Only the gaslight on the magical communication poles illuminated the stone pavement. Kael wove through alley after alley, heading toward the city's edge. Tireno Ruins. About twenty-five kilometers northeast of Fostalen, deep in the forest of hilly terrain. Ancient ruins of the Zolfa Empire, with only collapsed stone pillars and wall remnants visible above ground. According to the Caldora Federation's Ruins Management Ordinance, unauthorized entry into ancient ruins carried a maximum sentence of ten years imprisonment. Removing artifacts was, of course, an even graver crime. He knew. He came anyway. On nights when his spirits sank, he came here. His own place, where no one would find him. Collapsed stone pillars and moss-covered ancient walls. Perhaps because the aether concentration was high, the air seemed to shimmer slightly at night, carrying a strange heaviness. Yet it was quiet here. Quiet, solitary, and just right. Kael proceeded down the passage leading underground with familiar steps. He carried a torch. He'd been here many times—he knew the way. The first underground level had been explored; there was nothing there. The second level was slightly more interesting. Beyond collapsed walls, interesting-shaped stones occasionally lay scattered. Tonight, for some reason, he wanted to go deeper. For no particular reason. He just felt like it. He ventured further into the collapsed passage than usual. The torch's light had its limits. He advanced carefully, watching his footing. Stones lay scattered. Walls were cracked. The weight of aether seemed to increase the deeper he went. The air felt dense. The air entering his lungs felt heavier than normal air. The floor beneath his feet tilted. It happened in an instant. Kael plummeted into darkness. --- *Dosun*—impact. His shoulder and ankle screamed simultaneously. The torch fell from his hand and extinguished seconds later. Complete darkness. Absolute blackness. He couldn't see anything. He couldn't even tell if his eyes were open or closed. "[scared]…Ugh, it hurts." His voice emerged. It echoed off the stone walls, distorted and strange. He moved slowly. His shoulder throbbed, but he didn't think the bone was broken. Same with his ankle. It hurt, but it moved. He felt along the wall with his hands and pushed himself up. In the darkness, the weight of aether pressed down. He must be near the third underground level. A place with abnormally high concentration. The air felt viscous. With each breath, something seemed to enter his body. He began crawling, searching for a way out. His hands traced the rubble as he moved. Centimeter by centimeter, confirming each step. He didn't know which direction to go. He just moved away from where he'd come. Then he saw light. A faint glow. A reddish luminescence. He strained his eyes. It came from between the rubble. Something small was emitting a red light. Metal. The intuition was certain. He drew closer. When he moved the debris aside, it appeared. A small hammer made of black iron. About thirty centimeters long. Ancient characters—indecipherable—were carved into the handle. The striking face was smooth, unmarred by rust despite centuries passing. The characters on the handle glowed with a faint reddish light. Kael held his breath. This was— He reached out. Carefully. Hesitantly. His fingertips touched the hammer's handle. --- The world vanished in an instant. A searing heat exploded from the depths of his being. From beneath his skin, from within his bones, from somewhere unknown—heat surged upward. His vision turned white. Something crackled in his ears. His consciousness felt like it was being blown away. Terrifying. This was terrifying. He wanted to scream. But he couldn't scream. No voice came. His body wouldn't move. He simply stood in white light. And then he saw it. A single sword. Wreathed in flames. Red, orange, and a white so bright it burned the eyes. The entire blade was burning. Heat radiated from it, reaching him even from a distance. Next, another sword. Frozen. Pale blue light. Ice crystals bloomed across the blade. A cold that would snap fingers on contact. The opposite of the flaming sword's silence. Finally, a third blade. Crackling with lightning. Yellow-white light raced around the edge. Stationary yet trembling microscopically. The air smelled scorched. The three swords crossed in midair. In that instant—for just a moment—he glimpsed something beyond them. Something vast. A shape that wasn't quite a shape. Before he could discern what it was, his vision collapsed. A torrent of energy tore through his entire body. Kael wanted to scream. It was terror. Terror without reason. But simultaneously—a sensation that made every cell in his body tremble. A sensation he'd never felt before in his life. The sensation of being chosen. For something. The aether torrent subsided. White vision returned to darkness. Kael sat on the rubble. The hammer was in his right hand. Still gripping it. The ancient characters on the handle no longer glowed. What happened. His breathing was ragged. His hands trembled. His entire body was drenched in sweat. What just happened, what was that. Questions spiraled in his mind, but no answers came. Kael simply sat in the darkness for a long time. --- He didn't know how much time had passed. Once his body responded to his commands, he searched for the exit. This time, he'd grown so