I stood in the forge, looking down at the table where the bow’s parts had been carefully arranged. The morning’s breakfast was still warm in my stomach.

  Pa yawned next to me, his jaw cracking and he winced, cursed under his breath, and let out a deep sigh. He took a deep sip of a tea so dark-red it was nearly black and shook his head.

  The work table had been transformed into something between Ma’s product displays and Doctor Ridley’s surgical trays.

  A riser block from one of Arclight’s thigh bones lay at the center. Beside it lay limb blanks—spine slats stacked in precise layers, a mat of sinew stretched across them, and a thin veneer of steelhusk providing structural integrity.

  Most eye-catching was one of the apple-sized Lightning Globules. It had been placed on one of the foot pads, which seemed to ground out the lightning. Next to it lay the last two remaining Woodweaver leg-tips, each one with a hole for mounting.

  “I can’t believe this is going to be mine,” Eryn said and looked up at me with a grin. “I feel like it’s calling out to me already. Is that weird? No, don’t tell me. You think it’s weird. Right? No? I think it’s weird so--”

  “Not half as weird as most of the stuff going on around here,” I said, giving her a gentle kiss. “I can’t wait to see you wield this thing and save our bacon.”

  The forge’s smell mingled with tea and the faint scent of Arclight’s carcass. It reminded me of thunderstorms and battle, but also the calm before a storm.

  In the corner, not far from the coals, the master bowyer lay curled up on a cot, a pillow placed under his head and a blanket pulled over him. His snoring was so thunderous it sounded like a Platemaw with nasal issues had taken up residence in the smithy.

  Knut leaned close to me, nodding toward the sleeping craftsman.

  “Self-defense for travelling alone," he whispered, his beard twitching with amusement. “What dare get close to snoring monster?”

  "Truly a magnificent deterrent," Roq said. "Even I, the great destroyer of worlds to be, would think twice before disturbing it. My third thought would be to kill it, but you have to admit that me thinking twice before acting is quite unique, no?”

  I chuckled at Roq's observation, and Knut grinned, clearly thinking I was laughing at his joke.

  “You and Lysander really stayed up all night?" Eryn asked, trailing a hand across the components.

  Pa nodded. I could see the dark circles under his eyes.

  "Lysander did. I had to give in a few hours after midnight.” Pa yawned again before smacking his lips. “I'm not built for those types of hours anymore. But joining an old friend in an almost all-nighter? That was good for my soul, if not the body.” He showed me a tired smile, but it was also a content one. “I presented Platemaw's Fury to him, you know. Even let him hold it for a moment. You should have seen his face! He admitted it was far superior to any hammer he had ever owned or even seen. Asked what it would take to separate me from it.”

  “What did you tell him?” Eryn asked.

  “That I might have a limp, but I’d still beat him in a fight,” Pa said and burst into laughter.

  A swell of satisfaction warmed my chest. To him, receiving validation from a peer, especially one he clearly respected, meant more than any praise from a customer ever could.

  "Sounds like it went better than you though it would? Did you learn anything from him?” Eryn teased.

  Pa harrumphed.

  "Too much," he grumbled, though he could barely suppress a smile. "I've learned plenty these last years, but by the cracked anvil if this crafty old Willow didn’t manage to teach me a thing or two last night.”

  "What next?" Knut asked. "Want to see final result."

  “Just need to prepare a few more things and then we can start the assembly," Pa said and drained his cup. "But we'll let Lysander get some more rest. He’s exhausted, and in all honesty, so am I. Even after getting a few hours of sleep in."

  "I doubt it will be spectacular," Roq commented dryly. "Considering the poor materials. I mean, Arclight's carcass? Please."

  "If they were such poor materials, why did you struggle to slay him in your true form? Wouldn't that rather prove the material was good? Great, even?"

  I paused for dramatic effect.

  “And since you ultimately won, that should be proof enough of your outstandingness, would it not? And considering you still live, while Arclight does not..."

  "You make an excellent point," Roq conceded after a moment. "I suppose it will be a magnificent bow after all. It might even be worthy of supporting my wielder in battle."

  "That's a better attitude.”

  Just then, the bowyer jolted awake with a snort, blinking rapidly as he looked around the forge.

  "Sleep well?" Nabeeh asked with a smile. She was seated near the furnace and playing with flames.

  Lysander waved the question away dismissively.

  “Not sleeping, merely planning. A true artisan never rests until the work is complete."

  "That's a load of monster crap," Pa said. "You were sawing logs loud enough to shake the rafters. I'm surprised the whole town didn't come running thinking we were under attack."

  "The Bear mistakes meditation for slumber," Lysander replied with too much dignity, gratefully accepting a cup of tea as Ma brought one in. "The body may rest, but the mind shapes the bow even in stillness!"

  "Is that what you call it?" Pa laughed. “Your stretching of the truth reminds me of that time in Milltown when you made the ‘ghost’ bow.”

  "Ah, the one that ‘whispered’? How could I forget,” Lysander chuckled.

  “Fooled half the town! They even sent for a guild official to exorcise it!” Pa said.

  “Magic?” Knut asked.

  “Correct;” Lysander said. “The magic of belief. All it took was a bit of Windwhisper reed glued inside the grip.”

  "And then you charged extra for the 'spirit-bound' craftsmanship!" Pa laughed again. “Might have lynched you if I didn’t prove the bow could shoot hard enough to crack stone.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "The Bear always had my back," Lysander said, nodding. He sipped some more of his tea, and let out a content breath. "Even when I did not deserve it."

  “The folly of youth,” Pa said as they shared a smile and handed their empty cups to Ma.

  "Enough reminiscing,” Lysander said. “Time is moving. You have all been included in the plan for the assembly, ensuring it goes perfectly."

  The bowyer stretched his limbs, and his spine cracked. For a moment, I panicked just a little bit. Then he chuckled, seeing the fear on my face.

  “Don’t worry. I am fine, youngster.”

  He walked over to the work table and prepared for crafting. Pa and Lysander performed a brief ritual before they touched any of the parts, the bowyer placing his palms on the riser, silently nodding at Pa, who recited his forging prayer.

  "By the First Forge and Final Flame. Let our work echo through the ages."

  My heart felt full, watching the two artisans syncing before work, like dancers finding their rhythm before a performance.

  Then they began.

  Pa carefully shaped the grip contours with Stormcutter, respecting the unfamiliar material as he made it to fit Eryn’s hand.

  Lysander observed and instructed, hands folded behind his back.

  "Patience, Bear. The grain in this runs counter to its look. Carve with it, not through."

  His voice was calm, but his eyes tracked every stroke.

  Pa grunted, adjusting his angle.

  "Like this, you old willow?"

  "Better," Lysander muttered. "Now—feel the tension in the layers. They will tell you where to stop."

  Nabeeh was in charge of heating the resin, but when she stirred too vigorously, Lysander's hand snapped out to still her wrist.

  "No haste. Heat must be even, like dawn spreading across desert sands. Stir thus."

  He guided her hand in slow, rhythmic circles.

  I watched Knut twisting Arclight’s sinew cords on the stretching frame. He wasn ‘t spared from Lysander’s sharp tongue, either.

  "Northern shield,” he said, “Your strength is your weakness here. Think of weaving a child's hair, not wringing a neck."

  Knut growled but gentled his touch.

  “Maybe you are right, but if cord snaps so easy, I eat it."

  "Then we shall all dine on failure," Lysander said dryly.

  "Why curve the limbs backward before binding?" Eryn asked, following the bowyer closely.

  Lysander's stern expression softened at the question.

  "Ahh. She is no simpleton. That is good. The question of an archer, not a spectator." He lifted one of the bow’s limbs. "Wood remembers. Bend it too far, too fast, and it rebels—splinters. But coax it, and it will hold the shape of its destiny." He glanced at Pa. "Much like some smiths I know."

  Pa snorted but didn't argue.

  Once the pieces were done, Lysander inlaid crystals from a Resonant Weaver, one of the Crystalkin we’d killed what felt like ages ago.

  Nabeeh leaned in, eyeing the crystals.

  "Won't these dull the lightning's bite?"

  "A storm ungrounded burns the hand that channels it," Lysander said. "These are not shackles, but guides. Like a riverbed for the current." He held a crystal closer to the lightning globule and tapped it with his fine blade. "Hear that? They are singing together already."

  When Pa positioned the first Woodweaver spike, Lysander’s breath hitched.

  "Wait." He adjusted the angle by a hair's breadth. "The leg tip's edge must align with the rune channel or the energy will scatter like startled birds."

  "I still say it is beneath me to be used this way," Roq said. “Like balls on a sow or horns on a horse.”

  “Have you been studying animals again?”

  “I know you are keeping pies from me.”

  “What’s this got to do with the bow?”

  “That spike could be used for my future upgrades!”

  “Do you not want Eryn to have the best possible weapon?”

  “Second best, because, let’s be realistic, but yes.”

  “And what better way of ensuring that than by including some even more superior material than Arclight?”

  Roq sighed theatrically.

  “Fine. You make an excellent point. Having a genius in your head must really be rubbing off. You are very much welcome, by the way.”

  I sighed inwardly as the two master crafters continued with their work, and came to the last piece:the Lightning Globule.

  Lysander hesitated, palms hovering over the socket.

  "Once placed, the bond is irreversible. Are we certain?"

  Pa wiped his brow.

  "You're the one who said it had to be whole, not sharded."

  "And you agreed," Lysander shot back. Then he sighed and turned to Eryn. “What does the archer think? The bow, as is, will be an epic creation. Of that I am sure, even with a lesser power socketed.”

  “But will Arclight’s globule give it an ability?” Eryn asked.

  “Possibly,” Lysander said. “Or it could backfire and ruin the piece.”

  “Legends are born of risk, not certainty,” Eryn said. “And I’ve been dreaming of the shot I made that day ever since. My luckiest, or best. This feels right. Do it.”

  Lysander took a deep breath, then looked between Pa and me.

  “Is the bear sure he wants the cub to hammer the last piece?”

  “I trust my son. He’s got this.”

  “And will you grant him the use of your legendary hammer?” Lysander asked.

  “No,” Pa laughed as he ran a hand across Platemaw’s Fury where it hung on his belt. “He’s got his own hammer.”

  Lysander looked skeptical, but he must really have known Pa for a long time, because he didn’t object, and merely nodded for me to proceed.

  I put the piece on top of the socket and covered it with the leather buffer.

  "Ready?"

  “Make it scream as we beat it into submission. Not that it can, but imagine that it could. Hard! Wait, just imagine it is Benedict!”

  The first tap was tentative, but the Globule didn't seat properly.

  “Harder,” Roq said, but quickly added, “But only a bit. Remember how overwhelming my power is. Just…a tiny bit or that thing could explode in our faces!.”

  "Firmness, not force," Lysander urged. "Let the materials speak to one another."

  The second tap landed true, and the Globule slid home.

  Orange light raced down the limbs, etching the runes into glowing lines and the Woodweaver spikes flared purple at the ends where they met Arclight’s sinew.

  "Legendary," Pa said in reaction to the orange light. “Impossible.”

  “By rift’s hairy arsehole!” Knut cursed.

  Lysander's hands trembled as he reached for the bow.

  "It is... perfect,” he whispered, lifting it and handing it to Eryn with solemn reverence. "Stormstrider. May it carry your arrows true, and your enemies' souls to the abyss."

  “It’s gorgeous,” Eryn said, running a hand along its limb. “Thank you, everyone.” She turned and gave a bow to Lysander and then one to Pa, before handing the bow to me. “Look at it!”

  “Fine. That is a proper bow,” Roq said. “It will be a fine addition to setting up kills for us.”

  The celebration was premature. A heartbeat after she handed me the bow, it began sparking wildly, and lightning shot up my arm. I yelped and dropped the bow, stepping back.

  “Fire’s fury,” Nabeeh hissed. “Damn thing bites even after being carved into pieces. What a monster.”

  The composite bow crackled on the ground. It was beautiful. A recurve design with elegant, flowing lines. The Arclight scutes looked like polished gold against the darker steelhusk veneer, and the silver runes resembled the veins on a living monster, full of energy.

  “A temperamental masterpiece," Lysander said, keeping a respectful distance to avoid being zapped.

  “How in the rift am I supposed to use this if it keeps shocking everyone?” Eryn asked, a hint of despair creeping into her voice.

  "Let me," Knut said, reaching down to pick up the bow. The moment his fingers touched the weapon, electricity surged up his arm and he grunted in pain. He grimaced and managed to lift it a few inches before dropping it with a grunt.

  “Felt that in beard!” he spat, shaking his hand. “Good. Pain means power. Power fits team. Little bird need to endure pain for us.”

  Eryn shot him a mock glare as Nabeeh pushed past her.

  "Perhaps it responds differently to magical affinity?" She reached out, only to stumble back with a yelp when the bow shocked her, landing hard on her rump. “Nope!” she yelped, shaking her fingers. “Definitely not! At least not fire affinity.”

  Pa tried next, using a leather glove. It didn't help either. Next, he tried to touch it with Stormcutter, but even that failed with the electricity jumping straight to him. "Stubborn little beast,” he grumbled.

  Desperate to find a way for Eryn to handle the bow, I wrapped my hand in several layers of cloth, and made another attempt. It didn’t help.

  Lysander eyed us all with apparent fascination but made no move to touch it himself.

  "Extraordinary. It seems this bow will choose its wielder, and has found us all wanting.”

  “But it's so beautiful," Eryn said. "I can feel it... how it would sound to release the string. It wants to be used. But… not by my hands?”

  Lysander placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  "Do not worry, young archer. I will craft another bow for you. It was a worthy attempt, and we have learned much of what does and doesn't work. We'll simply skip the globule next time."

  "I want this bow," Eryn muttered, staring at it longingly. "It's perfect. It's calling out to me."

  Pa stroked his beard thoughtfully.

  "Maybe I can forge you a set of armor with lightning resistance? Something to protect you from the shocks?"

  I pulled Eryn close, feeling her disappointment as if it were my own.

  "It'll be fine. It is an amazing bow, but I’m sure the next one will be even better.”

  “Not better than this. Shame its made with the rude and crude and brash materials of such an impulsive and hard to like cat. I told you it wouldn’t work, didn’t I? But no! Who listens to the genius? I am under-appreciated, I tell you. Severely so.”

  I swiped Roq from my belt into my storage, unable to listen to him. We would find a way.