The forge at night felt different.
Gryan's rented workspace was in one of the industrial districts, wedged between a blacksmith and a small manufactory that made clockwork components. During the day, the whole area was loud, hammers on anvils, furnaces roaring, constant production noise. But at night, after workers had gone home and fires had banked low, it became peaceful.
Almost.
The air was still thick with residual heat and the smell of coal smoke mixed with machine oil. Alucent could taste it when he breathed. Metallic, slightly acrid. The workspace itself was cramped, barely ten meters square, filled with the debris of Gryan's work. Spare pistons stacked in corners, tools hung on walls with obsessive organization, fittings scattered across workbench.
The only light came from the forge-room embers, glowing low and orange in the corner, and a single steam lantern that hissed softly as pressure built and released. The light was uneven, creating shadows that moved whenever the lantern cycled. A familiar sight that was beginning to imprint itself onto Alucent.
Alucent sat at the main workbench, the Reed-Pattern Caster chassis was partially assembled in front of him. Gryan had done incredible work. The frame was sleek brass with dark wood grips, the barrel perfectly machined, the trigger mechanism smooth and precise. It looked like a weapon. It looked like something that could hurt people, at least that's what Raya looked at it as.
Across the room, Tavin was asleep in the corner, wrapped in his traveling cloak. He wanted to follow them on the mission but Sir Vorn had stated for him to stay back with him at the Tower. His Runetoken, worn on a cord around his neck, it glowed softly in time with his breathing. Steady pulse of cyan light. Apparently Sir Vorn and the rest had figured that Tavin was a Thread 1 Scribeling in the Fate Threadweave. However, how he etched the first ritual was still unclear, but even in his sleep, it was active.
Gryan was at the main forge, working on some component with his back turned. The rhythmic tap of hammer on metal was soothing, predictable, controlled and purposeful. Each strike was precisely measured.
Raya sat nearby, the Weavefiber lining spread out on a clean section of workbench. She was preparing it, cutting it to size, treating the edges with solution to prevent fraying. Her movements were precise, methodical, almost meditative. This was her comfort zone. Technical preparation where everything had clear rules.
Alucent looked down at the brass casing in his hand. One of the six would hold the glyphs that made the weapon work. It was already line with Weavefiber, which was Raya's work. Perfectly executed, the silver threading catching the forge light.
He'd been trying to Etch the kenetic Glyph for days. The Thread 2 Glyph that would convert Runeforce into directional force. And every time, he'd failed. The lines would waver, the Glyph would destabilize. Corruption. His guilt made manifest.
Raya's words from previous conversation in the forge room echoed; "The Weave knows, it can feel your conflict"
Was that it? Was his internal resistance, his doubt, or his guilt about all the people he'd failed. Literally interfering with his ability to weave? It made sense in a horrible way. Threadweaving required will, confidence, clarity. You had to believe in what you were creating. If you approached a Glyph uncertain whether it should exist, the Weave would reflect that uncertainty back.
But he couldn't just decide to believe in the Rune-Gun. Couldn't force himself to accept something fundamentally wrong.
So... Different approach.
Alucent set down the brass casing, reaching instead for his Runequill. The tool every Scribe carried, a pen that channeled Runeforce through a metal tip, his was old, the brass casing worn smooth. The amber ink inside swirled with that characteristic glow.
He took a copper core, a small disc that would sit at the heart of the casing and placed it flat on the workbench.
Forget the kenetic glyph. Forget the weapon, you just have to create something true, something real that the Weave can't reject.
He closed his eyes, trying to center himself. Breathing in, holding, breathing out. Finding that still point where will and Weave met. He thought about Sir Vorn's Rune-lamp, the one in the office that glowed with such steady light. Pure illumination. No violence, no corruption. Just light.
Could he create that? Just one simple, true thing?
Alucent opened his eyes, brought the Runequill to the copper and began to trace.
A Thread 2 for etch for light. The simplest pattern, a circle with three internal lines in specific configuration. Each line representing a different aspect; source, diffusion, persistence. The foundational glyph that all at Thread 2 Coppermark knew.
His hand moved with deliberate calm. Not rushing, not forcing. Each stroke measured and intentional. He wasn't fighting himself anymore. He was just created order. Making something that worked.
He moved his Runequill across the copper, leaving glowing cyan trails. The Runeforce energy through him via his Weave Anchor ring. It pulsed in an amber light, helping him to channel Runeforce efficiently. He could feel it now, that moment when a glyph started to take hold. When the pattern began to mean something to the Weave itself.
The lines were straight. The circle was perfect. The configuration was exact, and Raya was looking at him with something that looked like relief.
When he lifted the Runequill away, the glyph flared with bright, stable cyan light that filled the space around the workbench. It was just there. Constant. Real. Working exactly as intended.
A Thread 2 Coppermark glyph of light. Perfectly executed.
Alucent stared at it, feeling something unfamiliar settle in his chest. Not pride exactly, it was just a basic glyph after all. But confirmation maybe. Proof that he could still do this, that he could still create something true that worked.
It wasn't the Thread 2 kinetic glyph he needed. But it was a single, perfect spark of order he'd created amidst his own chaos.
Ah, finally. I did this without one single emotional interference. I've forgotten how this felt.
"Raya," he said quietly.
She looked up, her green eyes moving to the glowing copper core. For a long moment she just stared at it, her expression was unreadable, neutral.
Then she gave a single, almost imperceptible nod.
It wasn't even approval of the Rune-Gun. Of course, it wasn't also acceptance of what they were building. But it was the acknowledgement. Recognition that he'd done the work correctly, that he'd respected the craft.
That wasn't enough though. But for now, it was.
---
It was dawn again now. They had spent the entire night at the forge before heading back to their various Steamcottages to prepare for their departure, also safely delivered Tavin to Sir Vorn.
They stood at the gate, it felt like standing at the edge of the world.
The three of them stood in the broad plaza before Eryndral's southern gate. The Verdant Gate. The gates themselves were massive, twenty feet tall, ironwood reinforced with brass fittings and Runeforce enhanced locks. During the day they stood open but at night they are sealed shut, and the guards looked increasingly nervous as weeks passed.
Alucent adjusted his pack, feeling the weight of supplies. Three weeks of rations, water, medical supplies rope. The Reed-Pattern caster was wrapped and secured in Gryan's larger pack, they'd finished assembly last night.
The sky was just beginning to lighten. The strange pre-dawn gray that made everything look flat and unreal. The Turquoise Moon setting in the west, its cyan glowing painting the mist in surreal shades of blue and purple.
Beautiful and unsettling.
Gryan stood ahead, talking quietly with the gate guard. Some administrative detail about their expedition permit. The guard looked tired, dark circles could be seen under his eyes.
Raya was silent, her face set in that neutral mask she wore, her scar slightly visible.
The gates began to groan open, wood and metal and mechanism echoing across the plaza. Beyond them the forest of Verdant Vale stretched into the mist and shadow. The trees were massive, ancient growth, their trunks wider than houses.
The mist between them was thick, painted in those strange mix of cyan and purple hues by the setting moon.
It was again, beautiful. But it was also wrong somehow, as if looking at something that shouldn't exist but did anyway.
"So, it's time I guess," Alucemt muttered.
"Last chance to back out," Gryan said, returning from the guards. His tone was light but his eyes were serious.
Alucent looked at the forest at the mist, at the impossible colors. He thought about the Rune-Gun in Gryan's pack, about the weird six-armed Shadebinder, about Sir Vorn's warnings. About all the anomalies they were heading toward.
"No backing out, once we leave this gate and step forward, we'll be walking into the uncertain, the unknown, I hope we are all ready for that?" Alucent said.
They exchanged a final look, Three people who were about to step into the unknown, carrying a weapon that might violate fundamental laws, hunting for answers that might not exist.
Then they stepped through the gates. The mist closed around them almost immediately, the cyan-purple light making everything look like someone else's dream. The air was cold and quiet, no bird sounds, no animals, just wind through ancient trees.
The hunt had begun.