"The finest artisans not only uplift their team but also find fulfillment in achieving unparalleled mastery alongside those they empower." – Coach Williams
Trish
“Alright, Uma, you promised to keep an open mind today,” Trish's tone was sharp, ignoring Uma's all-too-familiar lackluster stare as she stepped into the Weavers’ Den. “I said I’d bring a friend.”
Trish, Uma, and her team had been relentless in their efforts, seamlessly integrating Trish’s innovative OmniBand with the art of Weaving. The results were remarkable—what once required days of painstaking work had been condensed into mere hours. Trish’s growing mastery of embedding nodes into tools and weapons had revolutionized the process, enabling a system-driven approach to Weaving that transformed their craft.
Uma sighed heavily, waving her hand. “Just bring them in. I don’t make promises—I’m too old for that.”
Without hesitation, Trish gestured outside, and the door swung open. What followed was chaos.
“No. No. Get that old hag out of here!” Uma’s sudden outburst resounded through the Den; her face twisted in outrage.
“I told you she wouldn’t like it,” Sutt’s dry voice countered as she sauntered inside. “Some things never change, huh? Still stuck in the past.”
“Past my ass, you cheating wench!” Uma spat, her rocker creaking ominously as she nearly rose to confront Sutt.
“He’s been dead for sixty years, Uma! Get off your high horse—you’re no angel either. Everyone knows the stories.”
“Stories are stories, but I caught you, ass-naked! Get her out of my sight!” Uma shouted, glaring daggers, while Trish, Ziad, and Melra stood rooted in shock, watching the two elderly women scream at each other as if it were a tribal sport.
Trish attempted to find her voice. “Wait… This is over a man?” Her disbelief hung thick in the air as Uma’s chair threatened to flip from her heated movements.
Uma huffed. “A man? No! It was my—” But Sutt cut her off.
“Boyfriend. You weren’t married, Uma. Stop trying to play senile.”
“Regardless! He and I were set to be married. Ask Maisy—she’ll tell you.”
“Oh, Maisy doesn’t give a damn! No one does, except you. Your so-called fiancé was ravaging the town. If anything, I did you a favor!” Sutt shot back.
Before Uma’s indignation could propel her from her rocker, Trish stepped forward, her voice cutting through the rising storm. “Sixty years? No. Just no. Sixty years is three times my age, and I won’t even guess what percentage of your lifespan that covers. You’re both here now, and nobody’s leaving. If you disagree, I’ll have Ziad step in.” She gestured to Ziad, whose wide-eyed expression betrayed his silent plea for her to reconsider.
“What’s that weenie supposed to do—” Sutt began, but Trish wasn’t done.
“The tribe needs both of you. Now shut it and listen, or I’ll stop hanging out with either of you.” Trish’s unlikely ultimatum worked, silencing the room. She blinked, surprised by her success. “Wait… You both like me?”
“Get on with it!” Both women barked in unison.
“Sorry,” Trish muttered, slipping back into her usual tone. “Now, back to business. The OmniBand works. We’ve confirmed it. By connecting nodes to weapons and armor, we can merge Weaving into every crafted object, embedding affinities of our choosing. It’s groundbreaking. But,” Trish hesitated, “it still can’t match the quality of Uma’s hands-on craftsmanship.”
“Shouldn’t we be celebrating?” Ziad chimed in, earning four simultaneous glares.
“You pick now to talk? Jesus, boy, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Uma barked while Sutt hid the flicker of amusement in her eyes.
“Celebrate what? Speeding up mediocrity?” Uma continued. “Sure, it makes the trash we craft for the Northerners faster, but that’s not progress.” Uma then grabbed a knife from the ledge next to her. “Here. Scan this. Project the output again.”
Trish obeyed, her OmniBand glowing as it produced a detailed projection of the blade’s properties, guided by Nex:
Item: Hydro Blade
- Material Composition:
- Blade:
- Steel Content: 90% (Locally forged steel with traces of iron and carbon for durability and sharpness.)
- Traces of Copper: 10% (Added for slight corrosion resistance and local availability.)
- Handle:
- Treated Hardwood: 100% (Hand-carved from locally sourced timber, treated with oils for durability and grip.)
- Affinity Integration:
- Element: Water
- Bond Strength: 38% (A moderate bond allowing for fluidic energy manipulation and water-based techniques.)
- Integration Properties: Stable interactions with water energies, enabling hydromantic techniques like enhanced slicing and minor water manipulation during combat.
- Energy Resonance: Moderate (Natural materials respond adequately to energy flows.)
The group examined the scan as Sutt adopted an uncharacteristically academic tone. “Am I correct in assuming this was crafted using your OmniBand?”
Trish hesitated. “Correct…?” The optimism in her voice matched the flicker of approval in Sutt’s.
“Uma,” Sutt said firmly, “stop wasting time with insults. Improve the blade. Use your skill.”
Melra, after receiving a nod, handed the blade and a block of ice to Uma, who scoffed but nodded in silent agreement. In moments, a mist began to swirl from the ice toward the blade as Uma’s hands worked their skill. Trish watched in awe, silently lamenting her inability to see the intricate Energy Signatures like the others. Uma’s darkened eyes searched the blade’s molecular structure, adjusting flaws at the atomic level, weaving at what only years of practice could obtain.
When Uma finally relaxed back into her chair, she spoke curtly. “There. Scan again.”
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Trish projected the updated scan.
Affinity Integration:
- Element: Water
- Bond Strength: 43% (A moderate-to-strong bond enabling fluidic energy manipulation and mid-level hydromantic abilities.)
- Integration Properties: Strong interactions with water energies, granting enhanced slicing efficiency and allowing adequate water manipulation during combat.
Sutt smirked knowingly, her tone sharp and precise. “Now, Glitch, do you happen to remember my first comment about your OmniBand?”
Trish hesitated, narrowing her eyes as if sifting through her memory. “Maybe?”
“Don’t make me explain,” Sutt snapped, but Uma couldn’t resist chiming in. “Oh, just say it already. Your words didn’t have the punch you thought they did.” Uma leaned back in her rocker, her amusement barely concealed.
Sutt’s expression didn’t falter. “This device is third-cycle technology. Judging by the output, I’d wager it’s near the end of that cycle. It’s undeniably specialized—but energy-inept morons crafted it.”
Trish raised an eyebrow, but Sutt continued smoothly, her cadence shifting into the calm of an instructor. “The third cycle thrives on technology, leaving its people complacent in the development of internal energy skills. Time and again, this reliance has led to the downfall of technology in subsequent cycles. Growth comes only through learning, exploration, and pushing boundaries. Without a path forward, an objective, or creativity rooted in the things around it, technology becomes stagnant—a hollow shell of its potential.”
Trish’s eyes lit up with sudden realization, her voice gaining momentum. “Wait… you’re saying it’s that simple?”
Sutt nodded, her smile balanced between mischief and approval. Her voice softened, though the twinkle in her eyes remained. “Everything can be improved. Halted progress is the greatest threat to survival—not just for our village, but for all of us.”
Trish’s enthusiasm surged, igniting the room with her determination. At the exact moment, Uma’s gaze flickered, a silent acknowledgment of her dawning realization. Trish turned sharply to the OmniBand. “NEX! Run a diagnostic comparison between Uma’s weaving and the original weave.”
“Running!” Nex announced, with the projection shifting into a glowing display of a digital image of Nex running, accompanied by progress bars below.
Trish’s voice followed, sharper than before. “Then refine the Weaving relationship within the OmniBand, using gap analysis from the diagnostic results.”
Within moments, Nex replaced the wait screen with the completed analysis. “And… done! Growth vector: 0.2% increase in learning.”
A profound silence swept over the group. The weight of the revelation settled over them as each person processed the significance of it.
Ziad decided to break the quiet with an almost timid question. “Wait… 0.2%? Is that… good?”
As if coordinated, all four Women in the room turned to glare at him, the sharpness in their stares palpable.
Trish took a steadying breath, organizing her thoughts before speaking. “It means Sutt’s right. The potential for learning and growth is limitless—so long as I can train the OmniBand with superior weaves.”
“And it also means,” Uma added, her sly smile breaking the tension, “that you must keep growing your craft, child.”
Trish sighed, her determination undimmed but her weariness evident. Under her breath, she muttered, “Oh… yeah. That too.”
***
Frank
Frank’s body trembled with a quiet, simmering rage as he lingered near the doorway of the smithy, his usual role that of a silent observer. The Nexus Vein of ore lay surrendered against the wall, its surface faintly pulsating with diminished energy. Wisps of power still radiated, casting dark blue hues that danced along the soot-stained walls of the dimly lit room. The eerie light seemed to bow before the commanding presence of the forge’s furious flames, overshadowed by the rhythmic strike of Vix’s mallet as she worked another piece of metal drawn from the mountain. The quota loomed over them, pressing down like the weight of the ore itself. According to Vix, the Northerners would return within days to claim the vein. They intended to deliver the vein as it was, raw and unshaped—a reality that gnawed at Frank’s very core.
The magnificent beauty of the ore, so alive with potential, seemed to cry out for transformation. It was meant to become something of monumental power and historic significance, not to languish in obscurity as fertilizer for the beast beneath the mountain. The thought was an insult, a wound that deepened every time Frank looked at the vein. His mind was consumed by the inner storm of conflicting emotions, so much so that he failed to hear Vix’s voice.
“Forge?” Her sharp tone cut through the haze. “I didn’t expect to have to ask twice.”
Frank jolted, his gaze snapping to meet Vix’s piercing stare as the room quieted, all eyes now on the two of them.
“Uh, yes?” he stammered, his posture stiff as he tried to shake off the whirlwind of his thoughts.
“Are you going to stop shaking like a leaf,” Vix demanded, her voice laced with authority, “or are you going to channel all that pent-up anger into these metals?”
Something in Frank shifted. Her words pierced through the fog, igniting a spark within him. For months, he had been relegated to the background, his hands idle while his mind burned with ideas. The chance to prove himself had felt impossibly distant, but now it was here, handed to him like a lifeline. “YES! YES! Thank you!” he blurted, his eagerness propelling him forward. Realizing he was rushing, he stumbled to an awkward halt, forcing himself to approach with a semblance of composure.
Vix handed him her sledgehammer, a wry smile curling her lips. The entire room had fallen silent, workers pausing their tasks to witness this pivotal moment. “Now, Forge,” she said, her voice steady but challenging, “show me if you deserve that name. Prove you’ve learned. Strike true. Mold this metal into what it’s destined to be.”
Frank’s fingers curled around the hammer’s worn handle, its weight solid and grounding. Before him lay a piece of ore, already glowing faintly from the heat of the forge. Its semi-molten surface shimmered with potential. Frank inhaled deeply, his muscles coiled as he raised the hammer, letting the forge’s heat blur the line between hesitation and determination.
STRIKE! The hammer collided with the metal in a burst of force, the sound sharp and commanding. Months of grueling labor in the eastern mountains had transformed Frank’s body, refining his large, sturdy frame into one of undeniable strength. The precision of his strike was honed, guided by countless hours spent observing the art of smithing.
WHAM! Again, he brought the hammer down, his movements fluid and instinctive. The ore responded like a living thing, bending to his will as its vibrations and hues revealed its secrets. Frank’s focus deepened, his perception narrowing to the shifting qualities of the metal—the brittleness to be banished, the subtle glow that hinted at its future form.
SLAM! Switching to a smaller hammer, Frank worked meticulously, stretching the metal as he coaxed its essence into alignment. He shattered off imperfections, each piece falling away like shards of discarded doubt. The room filled with the rhythmic sounds of his labor, the pulse of the ore synchronizing with the beating of his heart.
BOOM! The final blow resounded like thunder, marking the culmination of Frank’s efforts. The weapon took shape—a hybrid of blade and axe, balanced with a duality that invited versatility. The handle’s modest length allowed for both single-handed and two-handed use, while the blade’s unique design transitioned from a narrow base to an imposing edge that flared outward. At its peak, the metal curved into a razor-sharp spike, embodying power and elegance.
“Hmph. It seems you’ve been paying attention,” Vix remarked, her voice pulling Frank from the trance-like focus that had gripped him. He stepped back, adrenaline surging as he handed the weapon over for inspection. His confidence wavered as he watched Vix, her critical eye taking in every detail.
“Good… good,” she muttered, her tone almost conversational as she examined the weapon. “The blade needs sharpening, and the handle could use reinforcement to counterbalance the weight, but the foundation is strong. Size—appropriate. Power—remarkable. Attunement…” She paused, her expression flickering with intrigue. “Strong.”
Her gaze shifted to Frank, softened by a hint of approval. “There’s room for improvement, but dare I say—good work.”
Frank’s breath caught his chest swelling with pride. “Thank… thank you!” he managed, his voice unsteady.
< Level Up! Frank is now a Level 10 Creator >
< Frank has Ascended to D Class >
Vix handed the weapon back, her grip firm yet respectful. “Welcome to the smithy family, Forge. This blade is yours now. Treat it with the same respect you give yourself—it will be your legacy. All that’s left is to name it.”
Frank stared at his creation, its craftsmanship a reflection of his growth and determination. His lips parted into a grin, wide and unrestrained, as the name burst forth with uncontainable joy. “BERTHA!”