Chapter 10
Two days after their tests, the official summons arrived.
A simple, cream-colored envelope, sealed with the red wax insignia of the Artisan’s Guild. Harren found it tucked neatly into the morning delivery, right between the coal order and a new commission request.
He broke the seal carefully.
Inside: two invitations.
One for himself, listing him formally as the “Head Craftsman and Manager of Harren’s Forge.”
And one for Elias.
“In recognition of successful evaluation, you are hereby invited to the Induction Ceremony of the Artisan’s Guild of Riverfell.
The ceremony was scheduled for tomorrow evening at the guild’s central hall—a rare formal event where newly acknowledged smiths and crafters would be officially registered, sworn in, and allowed to accept commissions independently under guild law.
Harren whistled low.
“Big day, lad,” he said, handing Elias the second envelope. “You’ve earned it.”
Elias turned the invitation over in his hands, frowning slightly.
Formality made him itch. He preferred the rhythmic certainty of hammer and flame.
Still. This was a step forward. Recognition.
He nodded once.
“I’ll be there,” he said simply.
___________
The Craftsmen’s Guild Hall had been scrubbed clean for the occasion.
Bright lanterns lined the entrance, casting soft golden light across the polished stone steps.
Inside, the great hall was filled with the steady murmur of voices—old masters, newly accepted journeymen, merchants, and even a few minor nobles eager to spot fresh talent for their own commissions.
Elias shifted slightly under the formal gray smith’s tunic Harren had loaned him. It felt stiff and wrong, but he endured it.
At least Harren looked just as uncomfortable, adjusting his sleeves every few minutes.
They stood in a neat row along with about twenty others—new blood ready to be formally announced.
The Guildmaster, an older woman with iron-gray hair and arms thick with muscle, stood atop a raised dais.
She called names one by one.
Each new craftsman or craftswoman stepped forward, accepted a stamped certificate and a guild crest pin, then offered a simple oath:
“To craft with honesty. To build with care. To serve the trade and honor the forge.”
When Elias’s name was called—just Elias, no surname attached, since he’d registered himself independently—he stepped forward without hesitation.
He accepted the crest—a small pin shaped like an anvil wreathed with laurels—and spoke the words without stumbling.
For a moment, standing there under the heavy gaze of the gathered crowd, he felt something stir inside him.
A small, stubborn flame.
Not pride exactly.
Something quieter. Steadier.
Belonging.
He stepped down again, slipping back into the crowd as the next name was called.
Afterward, there was a light reception—drinks, some mild celebrations.
Harren clapped him on the back hard enough to rattle his bones.
“Welcome to the guild, lad,” Harren said, smiling.
Elias offered a rare, small smile in return.
“Thanks,” he said.
Tomorrow would come with new work, new struggles.
But tonight, for once, he allowed himself a breath.
He had made it.
Not by luck.
Not by cheat.
By steel.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
By fire.
By his own two hands.
_______
The next morning, the forge felt quieter somehow.
Harren leaned back in his chair near the cooling hearth, a battered mug of tea in hand. Elias sat across from him, absentmindedly polishing a hammer he wasn’t even using.
For a while, they just sat in the comfortable silence of working men with nowhere urgent to be.
Finally, Harren spoke.
“You’re official now. Guild-stamped, name recorded, rates protected. You could take independent commissions if you wanted.”
Elias glanced up, expression unreadable.
“I’m fine here,” he said simply.
Harren chuckled lowly.
“Didn’t figure you for a wanderer anyway.”
He took a long sip, considering.
“You’ve got good hands, Elias. Better than mine for sure, truth be told. At least when it comes to mundane metals. Your basics—your feel for iron and steel—are damn near perfect.”
Elias didn’t say anything, just kept running the cloth over the hammer’s head with slow, even strokes.
“But…” Harren continued, voice a bit rougher, “you’re green as spring grass with magic-forged materials- not that I’m any good but still.”
“I know,” Elias said, setting the hammer down. “I’ll fix it.”
Harren grunted approvingly.
“You’ll need to. Good iron can earn you bread, but magic work? That’s where the real doors open. Especially now you’re guilded.”
He stood, stretching his back with a groan.
“Anyway. No rush. You’ve got time. You’ve earned a bit of breathing room.”
Just then, the bell over the door jingled sharply.
A young guild runner stood there, a folded parchment in hand.
“Message for Journeyman Elias,” the boy piped.
Elias took it with a nod. The runner dashed off immediately, already onto his next delivery.
Harren raised a brow.
“Already pulling orders, are we? Open it, lad.”
Elias unfolded the parchment.
Request for Commission:
“Decorative Short Sword for Apprentice Ceremony. Commissioned by Guildmember Valen. Requirements: visually striking, durable but not necessarily battle-grade. Emphasis on craftsmanship and presentation.”
Harren laughed.
“First custom order. Not a bad start. Ceremony blades are mostly for show—you don’t need to forge a masterpiece of death.”
Elias skimmed the rest. He’d have three days to complete it. Materials supplied: standard carbon steel, choice of surface treatment allowed.
He tapped the parchment thoughtfully against his leg.
This wasn’t just about making something functional. It had to look good.
Show craftsmanship.
He already had an idea forming.
________
Elias laid out the materials on his workbench: bars of clean, plain steel, some decorative copper wire, and a few small rods of nickel.
First step: decide on the construction.
Instead of using a single piece of steel, he chose to layer thin strips of steel and nickel together—creating a subtle but elegant pattern-welded blade- kind of like a simpler cousin of Damascus.
Not only would it catch the light better, it would hint at greater complexity without being overly difficult to maintain.
He explained it out loud, mostly for his own clarity:
“Layering steels creates micro-patterns. Nickel adds contrast. Quenching properly preserves the brightness. Etching afterward brings it out sharper.”
He heated the metals carefully, stacking the layers like a sandwich.
When they glowed orange-hot, he hammered them gently, welding the pieces into a solid bar without crushing the fine layers.
Strike after strike, fold after fold.
It was slow work—but rhythmic. Calming.
After a few folds, he shaped the billet into the rough form of a short sword—broad near the base, tapering cleanly to a slight point.
Once it cooled, he ground the blade smooth, careful not to grind too deep and ruin the pattern underneath.
A final etching in a mild acid bath he had bought just for this order brought the layered lines out—silver and gray waves running the length of the blade.
For the hilt, he had one of the apprentices wrap carved wood with twisted copper wire, simple but eye-catching, and polished the guard to a mirror sheen.
After cooling,
the blade gleamed under the forge
Harren examined it with a low whistle.
“Well, lad. If this is your first real commission… the Guild’s gonna be talkin’.”
Elias just wiped his hands on a cloth, expression unreadable- but inside shining with content.
___________________
Elias had been cleaning the metal scraps off his work table when when the knock came.
Three firm raps on the forge’s outer door.
Harren glanced up from the ledger he was balancing.
“Go on. It’s for you.”
Elias wiped his hands and stepped outside.
Standing there, arms crossed and cloak dusted with road grit, was Lee—the guild grader who had evaluated him days ago.
The man had a weathered face, dark hair threaded with silver at the temples, and eyes sharp enough to peel bark from a tree.
“Journeyman Elias” Lee said briskly, giving him a once-over. “Got some time?”
Elias nodded.
“Good. Bring your tools. I don’t believe in theory without practice.”
Without waiting for a reply, Lee turned on his heel and started down the road.
Elias shot a quick glance at Harren, who just gave him a lopsided grin and a wave.
He grabbed his belt pouch, strapped a hammer to his side, and jogged to catch up.
They arrived at a small annex behind the guild hall — smaller than Harren’s forge, but packed with odd equipment: multiple forges, different colored flames, strange metals cooling in carefully marked molds.
Lee gestured for Elias to sit.
“I didn’t offer you this chance lightly,” he said, voice even. “You’ve got talent with mundane metals.
But magical materials?” He shook his head slightly. “You’re still swinging blind.”
Elias didn’t argue.
Lee pulled a small lockbox from a heavy shelf and set it between them.
He opened it.
Inside were a dozen small ingots, each labeled neatly: Aetheriron. Spirit Silver. Thornsteel. Deepcopper.
“Magic metals aren’t just tougher or prettier,” Lee said. “They change when heated. They have… moods. Behaviors. If you treat them like plain steel, they’ll crack, warp, or worse—backlash.”
Elias leaned forward slightly, studying the ingots.
“Today, you’ll learn the first lesson,” Lee continued. “Recognizing how magic metals flow under heat.”
He handed Elias a pair of heavy gloves.
“And don’t worry,” Lee said dryly. “I picked the cheap stuff for you to ruin.”
_________
Lee set a bar of Deepcopper on the anvil — a reddish metal with a soft internal glow.
“First mistake new smiths make: trying to use normal flame.”
He adjusted the forge until the flame turned a strange, pale green.
“Deepcopper needs low, steady heat. It absorbs mana while it warms. If you rush it—”
He flicked a finger, and a nearby ruined blade crumbled into green dust.
“—it becomes brittle and worthless.”
Elias watched closely.
Step by step, Lee walked him through it: how to heat it gently, how to watch for the faint shimmer that meant it was ready, how to strike it with intention, not just brute force.
Elias tried.
His first attempt cracked halfway through shaping.
Lee didn’t even blink.
“Again.”
And so they worked.
Hours slipped past, the forge hissing and popping.
They then took a small break and Lee pulled a small folded parchment from his coat and tossed it over.
Request for Commission:
"Decorative Gauntlet, ceremonial but functional. Light magic compatibility preferred. Commissioned by Guildmember Valen for a personal project. Completion time: one week."
Lee watched Elias closely.
"Big step up, lad. You up for it?"
Elias folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into his pouch.
"I’ll do it."
Lee’s smirk widened just a hair nd he muttered . “You might just be ready to succeed him after all,”
