“And this one?” Ma asked, turning over one of the platemaw pieces in her hands, the armor gleaming in the shop's morning light. None of us could still believe how it all turned out, and even Pa was visibly impressed, constantly mumbling something to himself and nodding.

  “Adventuring party supplied us with rare materials,” Pa said, repeating the story we'd practiced for the twentieth time. “We forged it, now we sell it and split the profits. Simple arrangement that benefits everyone. They prefer mind gems straight out, but we can accept gold too, at a higher rate.”

  “And totally not suspicious at all for a frontier smithy to suddenly have this much monster gear to sell,” I muttered, earning a sharp look from Ma.

  “People won't question good fortune too closely,” she said, carefully arranging the display pieces. “Not when they're eager to buy, and let me tell you something, Ash,” she continued, “You have no idea how many adventurers have asked if we could provide them with some better gear over the last two weeks. I've written it all down, just in case, and now? Now we have all that and even more. If only we had one or two more smiths to work for us, but that’s a project for another day.”

  “They should be grateful to even look upon our creations!” Roq declared in my mind. “Though I still say we should have added more spikes. And flames. Definitely could use some extra flames.”

  “We've been over this. We're trying to sell these, not scare people away.”

  “Fifty gold,” Pa said, rubbing his chin. “Should be easily doable with this haul. The enchanted scuttler plate alone should fetch twenty if not thirty. It all depends on how eager they are to get their hands on this kind of adventuring gear.”

  My hand drifted to the rare breastplate. Part of me still wanted to keep it, but we needed the money way more. Getting to level ten had to come first. The warrior's class gem felt like it was burning a hole in our hidden floor compartment, waiting to be used and abused to finally gain my class.

  “Hand me those,” Ma said, pulling me from my thoughts.

  I handed her the armor reinforcement panels I'd made. Ten identical pieces, perfectly sized to strap onto existing gear. They stacked neatly in her spatial storage, followed by the sets of Blightpede tooth knives.

  I ran my fingers across the beetle scale mail one last time, too, before Ma added it to her inventory. The ring beetle claws had worked perfectly with the thick leather backing, creating flexible armor that wouldn't slow the wearer down but would provide more than decent protection. The only downside to wearing monster gear was that not everyone knew how to repair or, and some couldn’t even be fixed.

  Pa lifted the two sets of magical platemaw armor and I couldn't help but admire them. We'd managed to use its natural curves, which should let blows slide off to the sides more easily, while reinforcing weak points around the shoulders, hip, and neck, creating armor that could probably stop a charging bull's horn. Everything about them screamed “tank”. It was exactly the kind of protection I'd grown up dreaming of having. Or something adjacent as I didn’t plan to stand in front of a charging bull.

  But something held me back from arguing to keep one. Maybe it was knowing we needed the money. Maybe it was remembering how the platemaw had nearly crushed me despite my shield. Or maybe it was just that I'd learned to value mobility over pure defense. More and more I envisioned myself as a mobile melee damage dealer and not a damage sponge.

  “Now remember,” Pa said for the tenth time, “No testing new recipes while we're gone. No experimental forging. And absolutely no—”

  “Setting the house on fire,” Eryn and I finished in unison, sharing a grin.

  Ma pulled Eryn into a tight hug.

  “Keep him out of trouble, alright? He's a good kid, but a bit too eager in more ways than one.”

  “Ma!” I protested. “You're supposed to be on my side.”

  “I'll do my best,” Eryn promised, squeezing Ma back and shooting me a grin.

  “Don't break my anvil,” Pa said gruffly, but his eyes twinkled.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “That was one time! And it was Roq's fault as much as mine.”

  “Which is why we'll be reminding you still in twenty years,” Ma shot back with a wink.

  “Just go,” I groaned, shooing them toward the door. “Go make us rich or something. Use that charm of yours to sell all the gear.”

  “We'll be back tomorrow morning,” Pa said as they stepped outside.

  “Unless your Pa gets so drunk at the post-auction party he needs to sleep it off in the common room,” Ma said, laughing.

  I closed the door behind them, then turned to find Eryn smiling at me in a way that made my heart skip.

  “Oh no,” Roq's voice held mock horror. “I know that look! Quick, put me in storage! I refuse to be present for your disgusting displays of affection!”

  I laughed and swiped him away, cutting off his theatrical gagging sounds. Then I stepped toward Eryn, and the rest of the world fell away as we shared a sweet kiss, finally home alone.

  * * *

  The smell of grilled pork made my mouth water. Ma had prepared us a feast in the storage. It was probably to give us an excuse to spend more time together while they were away.

  Not that we needed much encouragement.

  “Pass the bread?” Eryn said, already reaching for it with a smile that lit up her whole face. She was so damn beautiful, and doubly so when she smiled.

  We'd made out for a while, and it was just what the doctor had prescribed. I was careful not to push too far. We'd agreed to take it slow, and I enjoyed spending time with her way too much to risk screwing it all up.

  I slid the bread basket closer, our fingers brushing. We'd claimed Ma's favorite table by the shop window, staring out at the people walking by. Something about seeing Eryn here, in my home, sharing a meal...it just felt right. Like a glimpse of what could be, if we were smart and patient.

  “What?” she asked, catching me staring.

  “Nothing.” I tried to hide my grin behind my mug. “Just thinking.”

  “About?” She raised an eyebrow, tearing off a piece of bread.

  “How natural you look here, with me. Like you belong.”

  A blush crept across her cheeks, but her smile widened.

  “You've all made it nice in such a short time. Cozy.” She glanced around the shop. “I can see why you love it here.”

  “Ma and Pa's been my home for a long time now,” I said without thinking. “Well, second home anyway.”

  “Second home?” Her head tilted. “Oh! That's right. I noticed on your soul chart. Your surname is Aldrich, but your parents are the Tharens...” She trailed off, suddenly uncertain. “I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry.”

  “No, it's fine.” I set down my mug. “They're as much my parents as my birth parents were. Are? More in some ways, since I've lived with them longer now.” I smiled, remembering. “Pa - Thomas - and my birth father were best friends and neighbors when the rifts first opened.”

  “Really?” Eryn leaned forward.

  “Yeah. I practically lived in Pa's old smithy. Samuel - their son - was my best friend.” An old ache squeezed my chest, but time had dulled its edges. “When the first monster surge hit... Samuel didn't make it. Pa got hurt trying to save him. That's why his leg's bad. He hasn't been his cheerful self ever since, but it seems like he's opening back up nowadays and getting more excited about every new thing we make together.”

  Eryn's hand found mine across the table.

  “I'm so sorry. I never knew, and you never said anything, so—”

  “It was a long time ago. But after... well, my birth parents were struggling. Four kids, not enough work in town and the farm yield was poor. I was practically apprenticing in the smithy already, and Ma and Pa had room...” I shrugged. “It just made sense. They needed a son. I needed a trade. My parents needed one less mouth to feed.”

  “Do you still see them? Your birth family?” she asked weakly and looked away. It was a hard topic for her, too, having lost her family to monsters.

  “Sometimes. Though it's been a few years now. They moved further inland where the farming's better and it's easier to feed my three siblings.” I smiled. “We used to visit more, but with the old smithy burning down... Anyway, I would love for you to meet them someday. Ma says family's too precious to lose touch with.”

  “She's right.” Eryn's voice went soft, her eyes distant. “After my parents... well, you know. Healer Dorn took me in. He wasn't a bad man. Just broken. Blamed himself for surviving when so many others didn't. And you know what survivor's guilt can do to a man in this world. It's not pretty.”

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  I waited, letting her find the words.

  “He drank. A lot. Never hurt me, never even raised his voice. But some days he'd just... sit there. Staring at nothing. Like he was seeing the caravan burning all over again.” She gave a weak smile. “I learned the art of medicine from him between bottles. How to set bones, stitch wounds, identify herbs. But I also learned how guilt can eat you alive if you let it.”

  “Is that why you came here? To get away?”

  “Partly.” She picked at her bread. “I want... I need to know I can save people. That I won't freeze up when it matters.” She swallowed hard. “That I won't just hide and watch people die. Again. Not if I can help it, and to do that, I must grow stronger. Alongside you.”

  “Eryn...” I started to rise, to go to her, but she shook her head.

  “It's okay. Really. I've made my peace with it. Well, mostly. I was little. There was nothing I could have done but die with them.” She sighed and then managed a real smile. “Besides, I found something here I wasn't even looking for.”

  “Oh?” I settled back, trying to keep my voice light. “What's that?”

  Her eyes sparkled.

  “A young, foolish man who makes my heart beat fast, who doesn't shirk from danger, and who's absolutely terrible at being subtle.”

  I laughed, the heavy moment broken.

  “Do I know him?”

  “Maybe.”

  I chuckled again and winked at her.

  “I never claimed to be subtle,” I said.

  “Good thing, too.” She popped a piece of bread in her mouth. “You'd be terrible at it.”

  “Fair lady, you wound me!”

  “You'll live.” Her foot found mine under the table. “Though I suppose I could kiss it better.”

  Heat rushed to my face even as my heart soared. Gods, I loved when she got playful like that. Loved imagining mornings sharing breakfast, evenings curled together by a fire. Loved picturing a future where this was just... normal.

  “If you're about to start making googly eyes at each other again,” Roq said from where he sat on the table. He was alright being in the storage when we were making out or doing things he disliked, but other than that, I tried to keep him outside. “I demand to be put in storage! There are limits to what a weapon of mass destruction should have to witness!”

  “Roq's complaining again, isn't he?” Eryn asked.

  “Always,” I muttered. “He's worse than Pa about public displays of affection. If anything, I think he'd hammer it all away. Destroy all love in this world.”

  “Totally! Oh, and I heard that!”

  “He says he heard that,” I said.

  Eryn laughed, the sound filling the shop like music.

  “Poor Roq. Maybe we should spare him.”

  “Maybe.” I caught her hand again. “Or maybe not.”

  “Definitely not,” she said, her smile turning wicked.

  “Wait! Show me the Woodweaver! I just had a brilliant idea! Something I've been thinking about for days now and it's killing me.”

  I stopped mid-swipe on the way to store Roq.

  “What?” Eryn asked.

  “Roq says he's got an idea.”

  “He wants to see it?” Eryn's eyebrows shot up after I relayed Roq's request. He'd been adamant about not having the woodweaver in my spatial storage together with him in case I got hurt or needed to use his abilities, forcing him to consume part of the carcass, calling it self-cannibalism.

  “Exactly!”

  “What kind of idea?” Eryn asked.

  I relayed Roq's response.

  “We're going to make a cloak. A magical cloak worthy of my wielder!”

  “A cloak?” I couldn't keep the skepticism from my voice. “From the woodweaver? How would we even—and more importantly, why? There's a reason people don't use cloaks in battle, Roq. They tend to get in the way.”

  “Trust me! I understand its makeup better than anyone possibly could. Think about it. The bark-like skin, the powerful legs, its essence filled with magic? We can make something far better than the pitiful scuttler breastplate! And besides, no one ever had anything like it, so how do you know?”

  “It will be better than your masterpiece?” I said.

  “That breastplate won't even be fit to use as a hanger for the cloak! That's a promise.”

  Eryn and I exchanged glances. A slow smile spread across her face, matching the one I felt tugging at my own lips.

  “Pa did specifically say no experimental forging while they're gone,” I said carefully.

  “He was very clear about that,” Eryn agreed. “Which means—”

  “We absolutely have to do it!” I said.

  “That's the spirit!” Roq said cheerfully. “Now, whip that carcass out and let's make something incredible!”

  The next few minutes were a flurry of activity as we locked down the smithy. I checked every window, every door, making sure no one could peek in and see what we were about to do. Eryn made her way to the back of the smithy, entered the cold storage, retrieved the weaver carcass into her storage, walked back out, and then dropped it back out on a workbench while I stoked the forge back to life.

  “We'll need to carve the skin off its back,” Roq said as we laid out the carcass on the workbench. “And five of the legs.”

  I retrieved Pa's dissecting knife from its designated drawer. It was the tool he used for the most delicate work. The blade was impossibly sharp, able to part monster hide like butter. I placed Roq on a stool next to the table so he had a good view of what we were doing, and then carefully cut away the bark-like skin from the woodweaver's back, following Roq's mental directions. I could even see what he was telling me to do, as if thin red lines had appeared out of nowhere to guide me.

  “Hold that part up, please,” I said to Eryn, who did so and pressed down on the carcass to keep it from shifting.

  “Careful now,” Roq cautioned as I separated the last bit of skin. “Perfect! Or, well, good enough for a beginner. Now for the legs.”

  “I’ve been crafting since before you were forged,” I muttered as we moved the selected limbs to the anvil one at a time. The sound of Roq smashing through them echoed through the workshop, making me wince and glance nervously at the windows.

  “You know,” Roq mused as we worked, “While I find the thought of devouring a part of this carcass repulsive, there is a certain satisfaction in beating your own meat.”

  “Please don't say that,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Just... don't. It's wrong on so many levels that I can't even start to explain.”

  “Fine.”

  Eryn eyed me curiously, but fortunately she didn't ask me to explain.

  Next, Roq had us treat the piece of hide with alcohol, and to my amazement, the bark-like covering softened, turning leather-like beneath my fingers.

  “Now what?” I asked, laying out the treated skin.

  “Place the legs on top, one by one. Then hammer them flat.”

  “Hammer them flat?”

  “No questions!”

  I exchanged dubious looks with Eryn, but did as instructed. Hit by hit, the legs melted into the skin as I hammered, like two pieces of clay melding together. It was one of the most absurd things I'd ever seen in smithing, well, all my life.

  “Now!” Roq's voice held urgent excitement. “Quick, before it dries - we need the mind gem!”

  “What?” I nearly dropped him. “No one said anything about using a mind gem!”

  “What's he on about?” Eryn asked.

  “There's no time to argue! The skin will dry too much. We need the gem’s power now! Just do it!”

  I told Eryn about his demand and eyed her for a moment. It was either do or die, as the old people liked to say.

  We could always get more mind gems, but we wouldn't get a second chance at crafting with these materials. I pulled out my last mind gem, its blue-white patterns swirling.

  “What do I do?” I asked.

  “Place it on the center of the cloak. HURRY!”

  Roq guided my hand in a gentle rhythm, tapping the hammer on the cloak in a circle around the gem. As I did, the crystal melted and spread across the cloak's surface, making it seem to come alive.

  “It's beautiful,” Eryn said, right before everything went dead wrong.

  The cloak surged upward like a living thing, wrapping around Eryn's face before either of us could react. With a muffled scream she stumbled backward, hands clawing at the material.

  “Eryn!” I lunged, grabbing a handful of the cloak and tried to pull it away, but it fought back, writhing around my arms and went straight for my throat.

  “Beat it into SUBMISSION!” Roq roared in my mind. “Show it who’s in charge! Abuse my POWER!”

  I heaved backward, muscles straining against the writhing cloak and Eryn both. The material felt wrong under my fingers. It was not quite like leather, but also not like wood. It simply felt... evil, constricting around Eryn's face and my neck. Her muffled screams tore at me, but I couldn't get enough leverage to pry it loose.

  “Hold on!” The words burst from me as I planted my feet. One good yank might get enough slack to—

  The cloak twisted, and yanking me forward instead. My hip slammed into the workbench, sending tools clattering across the floor. Eryn stumbled backward, nails clawing at the cloak. Her boot caught the edge of a fallen hammer and she pitched sideways, dragging me with her.

  “THE ANVIL!” Roq thundered in my mind. “Get it to THE ANVIL!”

  That was easy for him to say when he didn't have to fight a damn sentient monster cloak!

  The cloak moved like a snake-birthed octopus, and Eryn's desperate thrashing only made it worse. Every time I managed to gain a few inches toward the anvil, she'd jerk in another direction, the cloak stretching between us like some nightmarish tug of war rope.

  “Eryn!” I shouted. “Try to move toward the—”

  The rest vanished in a grunt as she stumbled forwards, crashing into me. We went down, hard, my elbow cracking against the floor. The cloak seized the opportunity, constricting tighter. Eryn's struggles grew weaker as she was almost left without air.

  Fear shot through me. How long had it been since she'd breathed?

  “Stop being USELESS and CLOBBER IT!” Roq's voice filled my head.

  “Working on it, shithead! You and your damned ideas!” I snarled, dragging Eryn toward the anvil. The cloak fought us for every inch, and we knocked over a barrel of tools in a deafening crash.

  Eryn's movements grew even more sluggish.

  The sight sent ice through my veins, and I threw everything I had into one massive heave, dragging both Eryn and the cloak toward the anvil. My boots slipped on scattered tools, but I kept pulling, kept fighting. Her body slid across the floor, now mostly limp.

  “Come on, come on, come on!”

  The words turned into a roar as I finally reached the anvil. Bracing one knee against the base, I managed to slam a portion of the writhing cloak onto the metal surface.

  “Strike!” Roq said. “Before I lose myself!”

  I brought him down with everything I had. The impact rang through the workshop like a thunderclap. The cloak went rigid, its material hardening beneath my fingers.

  “AGAIN!”

  Another strike. The cloth shuddered under the blow.

  “HARDER! Make it SUBMIT!”

  My arms burned as I raised Roq high, but Eryn's still body drove me on. The hammer fell like judgment. Again. And again. Each impact was accompanied by Roq's battle cry echoing in my skull, and it lessened the hold the cape had on us.

  “You dare challenge me? You dare think you best me? I am ROQ! I am POWER INCARNATE!”

  Air exploded from the cloak, launching me back, sliding across the floor. I blinked my eyes clear and immediately got to my feet, staring as the cloak straightened, releasing Eryn who heaved for a breath, and then it spun in the air like a disc. Purple light pulsed from within as it slowly rolled itself together, before dropping to the floor with a thud.

  I ignored it, rushing to Eryn and pulled her into my arms. She gasped and cried as I held her tight. Two wet streaks ran down the sides of her eyes as I brushed the hair from her face.

  “Portal piss, that was close,” I whispered as she whimpered into my chest. “Too close.”

  “I may have underestimated the residual consciousness,” Roq admitted quietly. “The voice was back, Ash... and I nearly lost myself to it. We should be more careful with soul weapon crafting until we better understand what, or who it is.”

  “Pa's knife!”

  The words burst from me as I spotted the blade lying among the forge's coals, knocked there during our struggle. I gently lowered Eryn before grabbing a set of tongs and snatching it out, but the damage was already done. The perfectly tempered steel had warped in the heat.

  “He's going to kill me,” I groaned.

  “We'll figure something out,” Eryn said, her voice rough.

  “At least it was worth it!” Roq said.

  “Worth it?” I snapped. “How the hell can you say that, Roq? We nearly got Eryn killed, destroyed Pa's best knife, and—monster balls. Ma's going to kill me 'cause I hurt Eryn, and Pa's going to kill me over his knife. Then they'll pry you from my cold fingers and sell you or something. Damn you, Roq. I'm too young to die.”

  “Drama queen. Shut up and check the cloak,” Roq said smugly. “Look at the wonder we have brought into this world.”