HOOAACH
Pudding's unique call woke Cane from a deep slumber. His two days off had been filled with excitement: the capture of the Twisted Snake, the Auction House, and the purchase of the Forson estate.
"I needed the time off," Cane muttered, tossing Pudding a bit of dried meat from his pack and scratching the bird's head fondly before getting dressed.
Two days earlier, he had managed to sing a sheet of tungsten together with titanium, creating a pure and remarkable metal he dubbed *Tungtanium*. The fusion resulted in a few members of Selene Morva's class becoming enlightened and breaking through in their elemental studies. Selene had asked Cane to wait until class to demonstrate, since the singing process was a perfect example of elemental attuning and immersion.
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Dhalia was waiting by the gate as he exited Seven Tower, and the two walked together toward the Academy's hidden harbor.
She held up the copper storage ring Fergis had bought for her. "This is so awesome... I'm just throwing all sorts of things inside," she laughed at herself. "Even stuff I don't need."
"I was the same way," Cane admitted, taking the lead on the narrow path winding down to the ocean cove. "How did things go at the clinic?"
Dhalia's pale face lit up. "I'm really learning a lot. Even though I'm sorry to have missed the auction."
"It was a good time, but opening your own clinic in town—that's more important. And completely amazing," Cane said with a grin.
"Clara said you bought a mansion?"
"It's an estate," Cane corrected, since the word felt a little less pretentious. "She picked out her own room."
"She told me," Dhalia replied dryly. "She even said she picked one for me."
Cane laughed, glancing over his shoulder. "Right across from hers."
Dhalia sighed heavily. "Of course."'
Cane lay flat on his stomach, hands pressed to the overlapping sheets of tungsten and titanium as he submerged himself into the world of metal. He had already discovered that all of his senses responded to this immersion—except sound. But now, in a breakthrough, the metallic world no longer lay mute. The symphony was vivid. Every shift, every meld, every purification rang with sound as he pushed out imperfections, stray elements, and impurities.
He stood at the center, arms raised like a maestro conducting a chorus of metallic instruments. They danced, twisted, and compressed to his every movement until the song wasn't just music—it was will.
When he finally exited the metallurgic trance, he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the blue sky. It was easier now. Faster. But he'd taken his time for one reason—the sheer joy of mastery.
Selene handed him a snack, smiling as she gestured to several of her students, who sat in stunned stillness. A few were even glowing faintly, having achieved enlightenment through witnessing Cane's communion. "I never tire of watching it," she said. "The sounds were different this time. More in sync."
"Sounded great, boy," Brammel called from beside the rotating gun platform they'd been building. "We installed the shock absorption system and filled the tubes with oil like you suggested."
Cane stood, a bit unsteady after forging half a dozen sheets of Tungtanium. "Are we ready for testing?"
Brammel rubbed his hands together with anticipation. "I'll load her up. You get in the gunner seat. Everyone else—behind the metal stack. Healers, stand by."
"Maybe next time, leave that last part out," Cane deadpanned.
Selene stepped forward, pressing a soft, clay-like substance into his hands. "For your ears. I'm guessing this will be loud."
Cane broke it in half and pressed the pieces into his ears. The world dulled, a sound dampener taking over. "Let's start with three shots," he said, voice louder than necessary.
Brammel hoisted a meter-long projectile into the breech, shoved it forward, then yanked his hand out as it slammed shut. "Round loaded!"
Cane gripped the cranks and rotated the barrel toward the rocky coastline. Several outcroppings stood like ancient teeth in the surf. "Here we go!"
The weapon fired with a concussive blast far stronger than any cannon. In the distance—nearly four hundred meters away—the top of a rocky spire exploded.
"Woah! Nice shot!" Brammel clapped and opened the breech, ejecting the smoking shell.
"Would you guess that's about four hundred?" Cane asked.
"Yeah, close enough."
Cane scratched a mark on the vertical sight with a metal scribe. "Let's try the next one. I'm raising elevation."
Brammel squinted. "Looks like a thousand meters out. You think we've got the reach?"
"We're about to find out." Cane took the second shot. The shell skipped across the water twice before striking the rock. "Let's call that first bounce eight hundred."
Brammel nodded. Cane adjusted again.
This time the shell struck clean. The outcropping exploded outward, debris showering down across the waves.
"That one was spot on," Brammel said. "We'll need measured targets to fine-tune it."
"Agreed." Cane jumped down from the seat and frowned. "Looks like one of the absorbers is leaking."
"Blazes," Brammel muttered, inspecting the base. "Two more on this side. Only one's leaking, but still."
"Six absorbers with three-inch tubes," Cane said, examining the damage. "Simple fix. We increase the diameter, or we add more tubes."
Brammel gave a thumbs up. "I'm going with both. Next time—real targets."
After class, Cane returned to his room, pulled on a sleeveless shirt, and activated the rune that led to the forge.
Feed me… Hungry…
Chimi's voice echoed in his mind the moment he stepped into the smithy. With a practiced motion, he slipped on the blacksilver mask and began shoveling coke into the forge.
"I should repurpose that armor from the Twisted Snake crew," Cane muttered, inspecting the pile. Two dozen breastplates, some reinforced arm guards. All leather, compacted to deflect a saber—but that was it. A musket ball or a proper blade would punch right through.
A voice called out through the window—one-way from the inside thanks to Telamon's clever rune work.
"Jonas?"
Cane stepped toward the door and peeked out. Mira Brenner stood there—granddaughter to old man Brenner and Sophie's best friend. She wore patched blue pants and a button-down shirt, clearly her work clothes.
Cane stepped out with a wave, voice smooth behind the mask. "Miss Brenner. Always a pleasure."
"I've got the mill blades in the back of the wagon," she said, her tone all business. "Grandpa used to sharpen them by hand, but his eyesight's shot now. Ends up slicing his fingers half the time."
"I can sharpen them." Cane nodded.
"Thanks," Mira smiled, suddenly younger. "He said I should negotiate a price. Whatever you think is fair."
"Ten silver for the lot."
Mira's eyes lit up—Gramps had given her fifty silver and said she could keep the change. "Deal! When can you have them done?"
"Two days," Cane said. "Got a couple things ahead of it."
He waved as she drove off, then carried the stack of blades inside and set them gently on the workbench.
"I'll do these before the armor," he said, running a hand along the top blade—and immediately frowned.
"This thing's a death trap." Dozens of imperfections sat just beneath the surface. "I'm surprised it hasn't flown apart yet."
He grabbed a bar of high-carbon steel and placed it alongside the first blade, then slipped into the metal.
The transition was jarring. What was usually a symphony of harmony and light was now dark, chaotic. The metal was corroded, sour—its taste bitter, its music like a hoarse man screaming off-key.
Cane winced but grinned. "This world belongs to me."
He pressed deeper, pushing out the corruption, mending cracks, infusing the dying blade with the steel's resilience. The sickly song faded. Slowly, a pleasant hum took its place, swelling until it rang with clarity.
He shaped the blade's edge with his senses, tempered its bite with whispered will, and brought the entire piece to life with precision. Then he withdrew, gasping slightly.
The blade gleamed. Razor-edged, perfectly balanced. So sharp it couldn't be safely lifted without reinforced gloves.
"One down," Cane whispered, already reaching for the next.