The forge roared before Kyrian.
The spiritual flames slowly enveloped the metal block he had chosen, heating it evenly.
The heat made the air ripple in visible waves, creating distortions that danced before his eyes like a translucent veil.
Tiny glowing particles escaped from the mouth of the forge like fiery fireflies, spiraling upward before fading into the afternoon sky. The crackling of the flames was constant, a deep murmur that filled the silence with its hypnotic cadence.
The entire square remained silent.
Hundreds of people watched a single young man who, only a few minutes earlier, had claimed he had never held a hammer in his life.
The more experienced blacksmiths leaned slightly forward, their eyes narrowed in evaluation.
The apprentices held their breath, unable to look away. Even the merchants passing through the area had stopped, drawn by the atmosphere of anticipation hanging over the square.
