Once the forge was lit, Jack could feel it. The tingling at his finger tips, the warmth in his body. He glanced between the forge and his hand for a few moments, visualising the sword he wanted to create. 

Jack undid the new sword belt he had around his waist and then placed it at the wall. He looked to a rod nearby and picked it up with his hand, feeling the weight of it. He grabbed a set of tongs and then clamped the rod with it, picked up a hammer, and then walked to the forge. He stopped after a single step.

Smith Kanders had told him to always check the sparks of the rods to see what materials were used. He looked to the grindstone and spun it, feeling the heaviness for the first turn before it became so much easier. Once it was spinning quickly enough, he pressed the rod against it and then checked the sparks which flickered off. He stared at it intently as he checked the amount of sparks and then how many blue sparks appeared. 

This rod was only two percent cobalt! Had he not checked, he would have ruined the rod and he would have definitely failed the test. He looked to the older smith and then back to the rod, furrowing his brows. Smith Kanders usually used ten percent cobalt, though sometimes it reached twenty percent.

Terry smiled. “You’re no longer in Bloodwall, boy,” he said sarcastically. “I own a small forge, so I can’t put ten percent of cobalt in all my swords. If a noble swings by, maybe I’ll consider it, but it’s not worth all the effort and the price of materials. My clients are all your typical warrior types, those who want a decent blade to use daily, not those who want a runesmith to craft a greater blade.” He shrugged his shoulders. “They say the smith at Bloodwall uses ten percent, even twenty percent.” Terry pointed to Jack’s sword. “Was that made by Smith Kanders?”

Jack nodded. “It was. Father sent for someone to smith runes into the hilt.” One could place many different runes in different places, but it was much more expensive to get multiple runes. 

“I’d like to see your sword,” Terry said, reaching out a hand. 

Jack grabbed his sword and then handed it over to Terry, who eyed it up. He checked the hilt first to see the faint runes, then unsheathed the sword. He eyed the blade up, seeing the colour and the sheen of it, before then rubbing his palm along it. He swung it twice and then placed it back into the sheath and rest the sword against the wall beside himself. 

“Twenty percent cobalt, you really are the Chief’s son. An Uncommon set of runes on the hilt, your father must really love you. I hear that he has infused with an Epic Beast Core too.”

“I don’t really know,” Jack replied back, flustered from the topic. “I think it’s at least Legendary.” 

Terry nodded and then motioned his head. “Alright, enough distractions. I want to see you smith.”

Jack picked up the rod again and then paused to think. Since it was only two percent cobalt he’d need to strike a little harder than usual, otherwise it’d take a while. He warmed up the rod in the fire, keeping an eye on the colour. Once it was just yellow enough, he pulled the rod out and then started to shape the rod into the rough shape of a sword, hammering away at it. Heat up the rod, strike with hammer, shape sword, repeat. He tapered both sides of the blade, entirely focused on the rod. He could feel every strike vibrate through his body, tickling his bones. The yellow of the glow was so mesmerising, and he lost himself like a moth to a flame. 

Terry watched the young man for some time, eventually noting the look in Jack’s eyes. He could see the spark, the glow, and the glaze over them. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Jack hammer away, the rhythmic pounding always the same, never changing. 

Merri eventually noticed the look from her father to the boy. “I didn’t know he was your type,” she joked, smiling at her father, only to notice him watch the young man intently. She turned to look at Jack too, watching how he stared at the rod as though it was the only thing in the world.

Terry remained with his arms crossed, leaning in as he watched the young man’s every move. The way that he struck the rod, the way he turned his body to warm up the metal, the way he moved like a dancer. That was exactly what the smithing was, a dance with a hammer and a searing hot rod. 

Jack’s eyes remained glazed over, but his lips were in the loosest of smiles. His eyes were slightly narrowed as though he was content with his work. Terry could feel his own fingers twitch, envious of the young man and his talent. He had no doubt that Jack had no idea how talented he really was. 

The hours passed as Jack worked the metal, shaping the rod until it was finally in the shape of the sword, and then working to taper off one end so he could slit the sword into the guard of the blade, and then he worked the pommel into the end too. It was only then could he polish the sword before it could finally be finished. However, before he could start the process, Terry forced Jack awake. He bolted upright and looked to the older smith, his heart throbbing wildly. He hadn’t even noticed the man walk up to him, or that the smith had been watching him for hours. 

“You’ve done enough,” he said. “I want the two of you to leave. I’ll finish your swords, you two just… do whatever you want.” 

Jack looked up at the older man, seeing his eyes glued to the two swords which had only been shaped. He turned to look at Merri, who shrugged her shoulders and walked out. “Don’t burn yourself, you damn geezer.” She puffed out her cheeks. How could he ask her to make two swords and then just leave it there? Annoying!

Jack remained a little confused, unsure of whether or not if he passed the test, but he understood that the smith wanted to be left alone. He grabbed his sword belt and strapped it around his waist, turned, and then left. 

He found Mark waiting for him outside, surprised to see the young man walking out so soon. It was reaching evening, but he had expected that the test would last another few hours. “How did it go?” Mark asked.

“I don’t know,” Jack replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I did fine? He told us both to leave. I don’t think I did bad at least.” Jack was pretty sure he hadn’t made a mistake. 

“Why don’t we go get some food?” Mark asked, smiling. “Then we can talk about your day and how it’s gone.”

They heard the sound of Terry working on metal as they left. The smith had grabbed a smaller rod and had begun to work it into a dagger. It would take him hours, probably long into the night, but the tingling at his finger tips were forcing him to continue. 

He had watched the little Bloodwall smith for hours and with each passing moment he could feel the need to smith overcome him. He had seen the way that Jack enjoyed smithing, probably without realising how much fun he was having. 

Jack was someone who had accidentally slipped into Absolute Focus. Absolute Focus was when someone would work, but the time passed by quickly, engrossed completely within the activity. There were those who achieved Absolute Focus in sparring or battle, easily slaying hundreds of warriors without realising how quickly they had done so. For painters, they could create an entire painting over days, thinking only hours had passed by the time they were done. 

For smiths, this was something one could only hope to achieve during their work on masterpieces. Even Terry, who had been smithing for decades, had only achieved Absolute Focus every few years, and only for moments at a time. Jack had been in the state for hours. Merri had no idea what fortune had fallen onto their doorstep, though the smith was unsure of whether this was a good sign. He struck the dagger he was forming, but accidentally struck too hard and it bent awkwardly. He stared down at it and sighed. No, he couldn’t think so negatively, or this dagger wouldn’t take its proper form. 

Jack would become a smith, that was for certain. It wouldn’t take the boy long either, he would graduate around the same time as his own daughter. His thoughts fell on what would happen to Jack after he became a smith. 

Hours passed and eventually the dagger was made. It was a dagger made of ten percent cobalt, so quite a powerful little thing. He had engraved the sigil of his workshop into the base of the pommel, and then the rank of Smith onto both sides of the blade. This dagger would be worn by Jack when he’d become Smith Jack. He locked it into the the vault and then withdrew, sitting down in the workshop. He had heard Merri long go to bed.

He sighed and walked to his room above and then dropped to his knees and reached for the plank under his bed. He peeled it back to reveal a small lock box and then opened it with the key he kept around his neck. It opened up to reveal a small book, a few sketches of his parents, a painting of his wife, a pouch of coins and gems, and a small locket. He opened the locket to reveal a family of four. There was he, his wife, his newborn daughter, and then a boy he hadn’t seen in a long while. He stared at the locket for some time, the only item which proved the boy’s existence. 

He sighed and locked it away again. He hadn’t felt the need to smith this badly ever since that day. He looked at his rough hands for a moment and then decided to finish his day, going to bathe and then sleep. 

He didn't even ask about the broken sword...