The sound of the hammer echoed rhythmically inside Sun Luguo's workshop, a constant heartbeat that seemed to be the very heart of the place. Each strike was a note in a symphony of metal and fire, a music that Kyrian was learning to appreciate with every visit.
'Clang!'
A shower of tiny sparks leaped from the surface of the incandescent metal, scattering through the air like golden fireflies before extinguishing themselves on the stone floor.
'Clang!'
The next strike hit exactly the same spot, with the same surgical precision, creating a small deformation in the metal that spread like ripples across a lake.
'Clang!'
Again, the hammer descended with the same force, the same angle, and the same intention.
No movement was wasted. Every strike had a purpose, and every adjustment, a calculated consequence.
Kyrian remained standing a few steps from the anvil, his arms relaxed at his sides and his violet eyes completely focused on the old blacksmith's hands.
