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Chapter 62: Play

Lillia added a proper bathroom at the back of the tavern through a door that she and Zeke installed, and Arwin spent most of his time polishing the smithy up even further or planning his next armor sets.

The entire group – Zeke excluded, of course – made another dungeon run midway through the week and sold everything they’d gotten for a tidy profit. Arwin then used all the money he’d just earned to buy more metal to work with.

A good portion of that metal had gone into making two magical swords that Arwin had eaten throughout the week to keep [The Hungering Maw] at bay, but weapons weren’t currently his focus.

He made several drafts for a helmet, but none of them sat quite right with him and they were scrapped. Several of them felt like they would have turned out magical, but none of them felt right.

When he wasn’t working on figuring out how to make his helm, Arwin spent his time in the smithy forging new sets of armor to sell at the market. He was out of lizard scales for the time being, but armor was still armor.

Arwin also found himself spending far more time with Zeke than he’d initially planned. While he’d just wanted the boy to occasionally help him tidy a few things up and give some slight help while smithing, he ended up letting Zeke work the forge nearly as much as he did.

They invested in an oil barrel, and the two of them worked together on more sets of plain armor than Arwin made himself. Zeke’s snippets of memory paired with Arwin’s pushed the two further, and the boy was a fast learner on top of everything.

“You know what your helmet is missing?” Zeke asked on the night of the last day of the week.

Arwin glanced up from the half-finished helm in his hands, well aware that it was nothing like what he wanted it to be. “No. What?”

“It’s not cool enough,” Zeke said.

“Not cool enough?” Arwin’s brow furrowed. “I need an effective helm, not a cool one. I mean, cool is good too, but the most important part is that it does its job.”

“Sure, but nobody is going to be scared of you if you show up with a bunch of crystals jutting out of your heads like a weird porcupine,” Zeke said with a laugh. “I think armor is more than just what it does, you know? It’s what it looks like. It’s almost like fashion, but fashion that protects you.”

Arwin glanced down at the crystal he’d wedged into the top of the helm and cleared his throat. Zeke had a point. He tugged the crystal out and sighed, shaking his head.

“Okay, you’ve got a point. I see where you’re coming from,” Arwin said. “But I don’t know how I’m supposed to make a helmet look cool.”

I wonder what he’d think of my new Ivory Executioner armor. It’s too early to show it off, though. I need the helm at the bare minimum. It’s just an unfinished set right now.

“Horns?” Zeke offered.

“Why would I want horns? Where would I get those in the first place?”

“Not real ones. You could make ‘em,” Zeke said. “Think about it. Demons have horns. All the really big monsters have horns. They’re scary.”

“Okay, I can agree to that,” Arwin said. “But do you really think the reason none of the helms are turning out the right way is because they don’t look cool enough?”

Zeke shrugged. “It’s your magic, not mine. I dunno. I just think that if something doesn’t look the way you want it to, how can it act the way you want it to?”

“I guess appearance and ability can be two halves of the same coin when you’re talking about pure armor,” Arwin said slowly, tapping a finger against his chin. “I was just thinking that magic should make that irrelevant. As long as the helm is made properly, shouldn’t it work regardless?”

Zeke shrugged once more. He turned back to the hearth, where he had a metal ingot heating. They’d invested in some normal coal and a new bellows for Zeke so he could work while Arwin wasn’t actively working, and the hearth was currently crackling with normal flame. Using a pair of tongs that Arwin had bought him, Zeke brought the ingot over to the anvil.

“It’s magic. I don’t know how it works,” Zeke said. “But maybe it’s because you aren’t telling the magic what you want, so it’s confused?”

That’s not possible. I’m literally speaking with the metal. Stonesinger lets me communicate with magical materials as well. It knows exactly what I –

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Arwin blinked, a frown slipping across his features.

Wait. When did my mindset shift like this? I started by listening to the metal and helping it become what it wanted to be, but now I’m telling it what it should be. Shouldn’t the real answer be somewhere in the middle? I should be finding materials that actually want to be a helmet, and then I should be asking them to form into what I want, not just telling them.

“Shit,” Arwin said, looking at his helm and shaking his head. “I turned into an arrogant ass and I didn’t even realize it.”

“What? You didn’t do anything like that,” Zeke protested. “I just meant–”

“No, you’re fine,” Arwin said with a laugh. “I didn’t mean that in regard with what you were saying. You just made me realize something really important. Thanks, Zeke.”

“I did?” Zeke raised his gaze from the metal rod to find Arwin’s old hammer, then grinned. “Well, you’re welcome, I guess. I’m just a genius.”

Arwin chuckled. “Don’t get too excited. I can just be a bit nearsighted sometimes. Either way, I appreciate it.”

“You want the forge now?” Zeke asked. “I can do this later.”

“Nah. You already started working, so I won’t get in the way,” Arwin said. “It would be rude. The forge is all yours tonight. I’ll probably head back to the tavern and help Lillia on the second floor again. We’re pretty close to getting a third room functional.”

“Okay,” Zeke said. “I’ll head in later, then. And I’ll make sure to lock the smithy up, don’t worry.”

“I didn’t,” Arwin said with a chuckle. “Don’t stay up too late. That’s my thing, and I don’t like sharing. You need some rest.”

“Why?” Zeke asked. “A few hours a night is more than enough.”

“Not if you’re hunting monsters.”

“Hunting monsters? I’m not–” Zeke cut himself off, his eyes going wide with realization. “Wait. We’re going to go get a class for me? I was hoping I’d get the blacksmith one, but the Mesh hasn’t recognized anything I made yet.”

Arwin had been hoping the same thing, but Zeke had been in the forge and had helped with enough magical items by now to make it clear that smithing wasn’t necessarily his final calling.

“We are,” Arwin said with a nod. “So long as you want to, of course. I won’t force anything.”

“Are you kidding? Damn right I want to!” Zeke exclaimed, nearly dropping his tongs in his excitement. He hurriedly adjusted his grip on the hot metal, sending Arwin a sheepish look. “Sorry.”

“Just focus on your work,” Arwin said, setting the unfinished helmet on the ground at the corner of the room. “And remember what I said. Don’t stay up too late.”

Zeke nodded absently, but Arwin could tell the boy wasn’t paying attention as he headed out of the smithy and locked the door behind himself. If Arwin was honest, he couldn’t blame Zeke. There was something enrapturing about the feeling of creating something.

A small shiver of desire ran down Arwin’s spine.

I want to make my helmet. Not now, though. I’ll wait. Zeke’s already doing something, and he’s been helping me out all day. He deserves a chance to use the smithy. I’ll just occupy myself helping Lillia out and then sleep until tomorrow.

***

Arwin was ripped from his sleep by a deafening crash. He flew from his bed, his armor slamming into place around him as his hammer materialized in his hands. Visions of past battlefields flashed through his mind and tightened his chest, and he spun, searching for enemies in the shadows.

He sprinted out of his room, the last vestiges of sleep gone by the time he took the second step, and raced down the stairs. Lillia was already in the common room, swirls of darkness gathered at her back and a Minor Imp standing at her side.

The windows, which they’d still been in progress of replacing, were covered by large tarps that blocked view of the street.

“What in the Nine Underlands was that?” Lillia’s eyes darted around the room; her lips peeled back just enough to reveal fangs. Her eyes seemed to gaze into the same past that Arwin saw at the edges of his own vision.

“No damn idea,” Arwin said. His chest felt tight, but he didn’t give himself time to consider it. “It wasn’t the tavern. We’d be smoldering by now if it was.”

Light poured into the entrance of the tavern, though it didn’t make it deep into Lillia’s magical darkness. Confusion passed over Arwin’s features.

It’s the middle of the night. Why is it so damn bright?

Arwin stepped past Lillia, trying to get a look into the street – and froze as he saw where the light was coming from. Fire twisted and smoke rose into the air from the shattered remains of his smithy.

He burst into a run. Lillia yelled something behind him, but Arwin didn’t even hear it. He skidded to a stop before the broken remains of his door, burnt black by intense flame – flame far too intense to have been created by any mundane means.

Arwin’s ears rang as he charged through the flame, ignoring the heat as it burned his skin. He wasn’t resistant to this like he was to [Soul Flame], but the heat resistance from his armor was enough to let him tolerate the inferno.

He coughed as he pushed through the smoke, moving more from memory than from sight as he staggered into the smithy.

“Zeke!” Arwin roared. “Where are you?”

There was no response. Arwin’s foot hit the anvil and he cursed in pain, doubling over as a coughing fit gripped him. His head spun at the intensity of the thick smoke pouring into his lungs, but he didn’t care.

He crawled, his hands desperately searching across the ground. “Zeke! Say something!”

A form took shape near the corner of the room, just barely visible from the light of the flame in the rapidly deteriorating room. Arwin scrambled toward it, squinting as his eyes stung and watered from the acrid smoke.

“Zeke!” Arwin yelled, coughing and grabbing at the body. It was burnt black and almost unrecognizable. Metal rang out as it rolled across the ground, inadvertently pulled free of the body’s grip.

Arwin’s breathing sped up even as the world seemed to slow around him, his throat constricting as a shape took form in the shadows. A helmet, with two pieces of metal jutting out of the top. It was unfinished, but Arwin knew what they were.

Horns.

“Arwin!” Lillia’s voice rang through the darkness, muted by the roar of the flames and the thick smoke.

Clawed hands dug into Arwin’s arm as Lillia’s Lesser Imp found him and let out a screech, but he didn’t even notice. He couldn’t comprehend the scene before his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away either.

“Arwin!” Lillia yelled, choking and coughing on the smoke as she stepped out of the flames.

She froze as she saw the body, but a cracking support beam spurred her back into motion. She grabbed Arwin, yanking him to his feet. “We need to move! The building is collapsing!”

Arwin didn’t respond. Lillia grabbed him under the arms and yanked him back into the flames, dragging him toward the door. All Arwin could do was stare into the consuming fire as Lillia pulled him away and the smithy collapsed all around him, the roaring flames drawing shut like curtains on a cruel play.