The training ground was a patch of hard-packed, rain-slicked dirt behind the inn. Jim leaned against a wooden post, his arms crossed, watching with a mixture of annoyance and dark amusement.
Nadia was currently struggling to lift Anvil, a broadsword that was less of a weapon and more of a slab of iron. As she heaved, her feet slid in the mud, the blade tip digging a trench into the earth. She tried to swing, but the weight pulled her off-balance, sending her sprawling face-first into the grime.
Jim let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Look at you," he goaded, his gaze lingering on her form with that made no pretense of being professional. "You're not training; you're digging a grave for yourself. You're simply too small for that piece of junk. Look at it—it's half your size."
Nadia scrambled to her feet, her saffron petals trembling with a mix of exhaustion and indignation. "It is not junk," she hissed, her voice tight. "You promised to teach me, Jim. You haven't taught me anything but how to fall."
"I'm teaching you reality," Jim retorted, stepping forward. He drew his own blade, Ignis, a sleek, balanced masterpiece of steel. "This is a sword. It bites. Yours is a brick. You need a weapon that fits your hands, maybe a dagger or a short-sword like a normal person."
He reached out to grab Anvil, intending to toss it aside, but she gripped the hilt with both hands, refusing to let go.
"It was his," she shouted, the intensity of her voice startling him. "My father's. He died for this village. I am going to use this to avenge him."
Jim blinked, looking at the massive blade, then back at her. He realized with a jolt that her father must have been a monster of a man—a giant to wield such steel. The absurdity of it vanished, replaced by a sudden, volatile curiosity.
"Your father was a madman," Jim murmured.
He stepped in, forcing the duel to resume. He made no effort to hold back, his own blade moving with a lethal grace that forced her to pivot and shove under the weight of Anvil. He beat her back, his movements precise and relentless, until he finally knocked her legs out from under her, pinning her into the dirt with his body.
The air between them changed. The mockery in his eyes darkened into something hungrier. He pressed his weight against her, silencing her protests with a series of hard, aggressive kisses. What began as a brutal exercise in combat collapsed into a desperate, tangled mess of skin and impulse, the cold mud of the training ground forgotten in the heat of the moment.
Later, in the quiet of his room, the remnants of the passion hung in the air.
Nadia sat on the edge of the bed, tracing the patterns of her own skin. " when you think i will be ready jim ? " she whispered, her voice heavy with doubt.
You're never truly "ready" for the kind of hell waiting in those tunnels, Nadia. You just stop fighting the weight of that blade and let it become an extension of you. If you show up at that gate without doubt in your eyes, you'll be as ready as you're ever going to be.
"But I feel like I'm already out of time. There's so much to learn, and the mines... they aren't for people like me."
Jim watched her, his own reflection in the mirror showing a man who was becoming as hard as the coal he hunted. "You're fine," he said, though his voice was rough. "You don't need a heavy sword to kill monsters. You need a new one. A better one."
with out Anvil in my hand is going to be meaningless
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. "I came here to tell you something else. We're heading back to the mines in two days. I want you to join us."
Nadia froze, looking at him in shock. "Do you think I'm ready? What about your party? The Guild? Do they even know you're bringing me?"
"Just wait for me in the morning near the mine gate in two days," Jim said, cutting off her questions. He leaned in, placing a final, lingering kiss on her forehead. "Make your preparations. That's all you need to do."
He left her there, sitting in the silence of the room, stunned. Jim stepped out into the cool morning air, his mind already on the dark tunnels ahead. It was the first step toward her revenge, and for the first time, Jim felt like he might actually be leading someone into the fire.
The tavern was thick with the smell of stale ale and burnt cedar. Jim sat in the back corner, his mood as dark as the shadows clinging to the rafters. He had spent the entire day scouring the local shops, but every lead had turned to ash.
"I've spent the better part of this day walking from one side of this gods-forsaken town to the other," Jim muttered, slamming his tankard down. "There's pathetic smith in town, you know what they told me? They look at it and say they lack the knowledge, the tools, or even the basic curiosity to understand what it is. They all refused to work with it. They don't have the expertise for specialized material, and they certainly don't have anything that could actually hold an edge against the threats we hunt."
"You're really bringing her?" Edward asked, his heavy armor clanking as he shifted in his seat. "The girl with the oversize slab of iron? She's going to be a liability, especially if you can't even get that material shaped into something useful."
"She's capable," Jim snapped, though his own doubts were gnawing at him. "But she needs better equipment. Her current blade is… impractical."
"Then find her something else," Izêm (ee-ZEM) shrugged, tossing a copper coin on the table. "Plenty of shops in town."
Jim glared at him. "I told you, I tried. They're all useless." I went into every weapon shop in the colony looking for something that could actually handle a fight, but all they sell is basic, store-bought garbage. Either the prices are a joke, or the steel is just cheap scrap metal that would snap the second it touched a real monster. It's not built for what we're going to face out there."
"Then you're out of options, Jim," Izêm (ee-ZEM) said, his voice firm.
Just then, Edward nudged Jim, nodding toward a table across the room. "Look. There's Galya. She's been around—seen more of the world than anyone in this dive. Let's ask her if she knows someone who can handle that material."
Jim glanced over, his eyes narrowing. "You only want to ask her because she's pretty."
"Don't be an idiot," the party member replied, waving her over. "She's an old friend, and she knows the craft better than most."
Jim scoffed, but as Galya stood up and made her way toward them, he fell silent.
She was an elf of impossible beauty, her long, silver-white hair cascading down her back like liquid moonlight. Her emerald-green eyes glowed faintly, as if lit from within, and her skin held a soft, golden radiance. She wore a flowing, elegant dress that seemed to shift like mist and leaves, the hem embroidered with delicate golden vines. A belt woven from fine silver threads cinched her slender frame, and her every movement was defined by a quiet, ethereal grace.
The party greeted her with the warmth of long-time companions. She approached their table, her presence settling the air around them. "You look like you are searching for an answer you cannot find in these streets, Jim."
Jim looked up, struck by her sudden presence. "We need someone who can work with rare, biological materials. Every smith I've spoken to is a fool."
Galya offered a faint, enigmatic smile. "If you seek a master of such things, you should speak to Gunter. The Dwarf."
Alistair perked up. "Gunter? I thought he retired years ago. He was a beast with an axe."
"He did," Galya said softly. "But he and Taron, the Overseer of the Guild, are old friends. Gunter stopped adventuring to dedicate his life to the forge, specifically to harvest and shape the rare remains of the creatures he once fought. If anyone can understand the material you carry, it is him."
"Taron's friend, eh?" Edward leaned back, a grim smile forming. "I remember him. If he's still got the touch, he might be the only one crazy enough to take on a project like this."
The tension in the room began to dissipate, replaced by a surge of renewed purpose. They spent the rest of the night drinking, the conversation flowing as easily as the ale. They traded stories of past hunts and discussed the upcoming mission, the prospect of finding a weapon capable of dealing with the threats ahead giving them a much-needed sense of confidence.
As the torches burned low, Jim finally felt a weight lift. He had a lead, a team, and a plan for the morning. They were ready.