The Solaryn Kingdom woke with the sound of hammers.

  In the southern quarter of the capital—an industrial district known as Emberline Ward—the air was always thick with soot and heat. Stone streets were stained dark by years of runoff from forges, and banners dyed gold and white fluttered lazily above iron bridges that crossed narrow canals used to cool molten steel. The scent of coal, oil, and scorched metal clung to everything.

  Nestled between a tannery and an armor shop stood a modest but respected blacksmith.

  Varkun Feldrane’s Forge.

  It wasn’t flashy. No decorative statues, no noble crests carved into the stone. Just a wide-open front, iron racks lining the walls, and the constant rhythm of labor.

  Clang.

  Hiss.

  Clang.

  Akitsu Shouga stood beside the anvil, sleeves rolled up, forearms marked with faint scars both old and new. His hands moved with practiced precision as he held a blade steady while the master blacksmith hammered the glowing steel.

  “Angle it a little more,” Varkun said without looking up.

  Akitsu adjusted immediately. “Like this?”

  “Mm. Good. You’ve learned faster than most.”

  Varkun Feldrane was a broad man with ash-gray hair tied back in a rough knot, his beard braided once and left loose. Burn scars traced his arms like maps of past mistakes. His eyes, however, were sharp—always watching, always measuring.

  Two years.

  Two years since Akitsu had come to Solaryn with nothing but borrowed clothes and too many memories. Two years of heat, discipline, and silence broken only by steel.

  The forge doors creaked open.

  Akitsu felt it before he heard them.

  Boots—too heavy.

  Steps—too careless.

  A group of five men entered, their clothes rough but not poor, belts heavy with coin and attitude. Scarred knuckles. Lazy eyes. The kind of people who didn’t come to buy—they came to take.

  Varkun exhaled slowly. “Akitsu.”

  “Yes, master?”

  “Handle the customers,” he said calmly. “I’ll finish the swords.”

  Akitsu nodded and wiped his hands on a cloth as he stepped forward.

  The men spread slightly, blocking the doorway behind them.

  Akitsu smiled politely.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, voice calm and even. “Welcome to Feldrane Forge. How can I help you?”

  One of the men—a thick-necked brute with a crooked nose—snorted. “That depends.”

  He reached into his coat and slammed a sword down onto the counter.

  The blade was bent—not badly, but noticeably warped near the midpoint.

  “You sold us junk,” the man said. “Bent after one fight.”

  Akitsu leaned closer, inspecting it carefully. He ran two fingers along the metal, expression thoughtful.

  “This wasn’t bent in one fight,” he said gently. “This blade was twisted by lateral force. You struck something hard from the side.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “You calling me a liar?”

  Akitsu shook his head. “Not at all. I’m saying the blade did its job.”

  He straightened. “Would you like me to repair it?”

  The group murmured. The leader sneered.

  “No,” he said. “I want a full refund. And another sword. Or I complain to the master blacksmith.”

  Akitsu tilted his head slightly.

  “A refund is possible,” he replied. “But I can’t give out swords for free.”

  The man stepped forward and slammed his hand down on the counter hard enough to rattle the tools.

  “Do you know who you’re messing with?” he growled. “I know Feldrane personally.”

  Akitsu met his gaze—and smiled again.

  “That’s unfortunate,” he said politely. “Because if you truly knew him, you’d know he doesn’t tolerate idiots who break good steel and blame the forge.”

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  The room went dead silent.

  One of the men sucked in a breath. “You little—”

  The leader’s face turned red. “Say that again.”

  Akitsu leaned forward slightly. “With respect,” he added kindly, “your technique is worse than your manners.”

  That did it.

  The man swung.

  Akitsu moved.

  In a single fluid motion, he vaulted over the counter, his foot planting against the wood for leverage. He landed chest-first into the man, his arm snapping around the brute’s neck from behind.

  Akitsu dropped his weight.

  Hard.

  The man choked, hands clawing uselessly at Akitsu’s arm as his knees buckled.

  “Sleep,” Akitsu whispered.

  The others rushed in.

  Bad decision.

  Akitsu released the first man—who collapsed gasping to the floor—and pivoted.

  The second attacker threw a wild punch.

  Akitsu slipped inside the arc and drove two fingers into the man’s throat—not crushing, just enough to steal his breath. He followed with a knee to the stomach, folding him in half.

  A third man came in with a dagger.

  Akitsu caught the wrist mid-strike, twisted sharply, and snapped it sideways. The dagger clattered to the ground as the man screamed.

  Akitsu didn’t waste motion.

  Elbow to the jaw.

  Heel to the knee.

  Down.

  The fourth tried to flee.

  Akitsu grabbed him by the collar and slammed him face-first into the counter.

  The fifth hesitated.

  Akitsu looked at him calmly. “Leave.”

  The man didn’t argue.

  The others followed—dragging, limping, coughing—as they stumbled out into the street.

  Silence returned.

  Varkun set his hammer down and walked out from behind the anvil, surveying the mess.

  “…Clean work,” he said.

  Akitsu shrugged. “They were weak.”

  Varkun chuckled. “Still. Thank you for teaching them a lesson.”

  The forge door opened again.

  This time, the air felt different.

  “Yo.”

  Akitsu turned.

  Rhen Calder stood in the doorway, long coat dusted with travel grime, sword at his side. Lemon perched on his shoulder, tail flicking lazily.

  “You look busy,” Rhen said.

  “Done now,” Akitsu replied.

  Rhen nodded. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

  Akitsu didn’t hesitate. “Alright.”

  Varkun raised an eyebrow. “Leaving where?”

  Lemon leaned forward proudly. “Back to Fiester Kingdom.”

  Varkun hummed. “Shame. Was nice having you around to scare off trash.”

  Akitsu bowed slightly. “This will be my last day working here.”

  Varkun disappeared into the back—and returned holding two daggers.

  “Well-balanced. Reinforced hilts,” he said, handing them over. “A goodbye gift.”

  Akitsu accepted them carefully. “…Thank you. For the two years of kindness.”

  Varkun clapped him on the shoulder. “Stay safe out there.”

  That evening, in their rented apartment—

  Akitsu sat on the edge of the bed as Rhen leaned against the wall.

  “Mission done?” Akitsu asked.

  Rhen nodded. “Yeah. Easier than expected.”

  “Two years isn’t easy.”

  Rhen smirked. “Cult didn’t know how to hide.”

  Akitsu looked away. “Thinking about Fiester brings back memories.”

  “Not good ones,” Rhen finished quietly.

  Morning came.

  Two horses waited at the gate.

  Rhen spoke briefly to the guards. Papers changed hands. Authority pressed down like weight.

  The gates opened.

  They passed through.

  And Fiester awaited.