The other two blades were just as bad, but Cane worked faster now that he knew what to expect. Within the hour, all three were finished—restored from rust-riddled scrap to pristine instruments of industry.
With the sharpening complete, he turned back to the armor he'd laid out earlier. Worn, but not beyond salvage. Typical naval gear—leather reinforced with steel or bronze plating in key areas. Nothing like frontline kits. Which made sense. Wearing full steel armor on a ship was a great way to end up on the seafloor.
"I'd like to strengthen this," Cane mused, nudging one breastplate with his boot. "But maybe I can make something better. Something meant for naval forces."
He grabbed a charcoal pencil and began sketching on the steel surface of his workbench. Nothing serious—just loose doodles as ideas began to shape themselves. "Buoyancy would be ideal. But how do you get that with metal? Air pockets? Maybe two or three chambers…"
As his hand moved, his mind drifted.
He remembered wandering the woods as a boy, following the river that split his family's land. A beehive had hung over the water, high in the branches. He'd poked it—because of course he had—and been rewarded with seventeen stings and a sprinting panic that left him soaked and welted, screaming like a banshee all the way home.
Not funny at the time, but now? He chuckled.
Weeks later, he'd found that same hive washed up along the riverbank. Abandoned. He'd sliced it open—curiosity always getting the better of him—and had been stunned by the interior. Bigger than his head but nearly weightless. Inside, a perfect matrix of hexagonal structures, impossibly uniform and strong for something made by insects.
"It floated," he murmured, fingers tapping the bench. "And it was light."
The leather armor was pushed aside. Sketching again, he let the idea build momentum.
Naval Armor
Lightweight
Buoyant
Durable enough to resist blades and musket rounds
"It needs to slip on fast… maybe a vest with overlapping lapels, reinforced but not bulky. Magnetic seals could keep it tight without buckles."
He drew a simple prototype and set the charcoal down.
Something functional. Something scalable. A solution for an overlooked problem.
It wasn't just armor anymore—it was an idea.
A start.
Cane folded the sketch, slid it into his pocket, and stared at the forge. It was time to start making a difference in this war.
Cane removed a large bar of adamantium from one of the locked bins he kept under ward. Of all the metals he worked with—aside from starmetal—adamantium held the deepest allure. Its internal structure was beautiful, clean, and timeless.
"If I'm going to make something remarkable," Cane murmured, "then I want to be at my best."
He stepped gently onto the metal.
Instantly, the world shifted. The familiar silvery-gold glow of adamantium surrounded him, radiant and pure. The taste of ripened fruit filled his mouth, sweet and lingering, while a chorus of birdsong-like tones echoed across his senses. It stole his breath, as it always did.
He dove deeper.
Peeling through layers—past the crystalline veils, beyond the smooth latticework—he reached the molten soul of the metal. There, he began to shape. The first hexagon he formed was too large, imperfect. With a thought, he dissolved it. Then again, and again, until the shapes were smaller, tighter, structurally flawless.
Finally, one took.
It pulsed in harmony with the song of the adamantium.
He formed another. Then another.
The world around him glittered like a thousand tiny suns, each spinning, humming, glowing in time with his rhythm. The melody surged, fuller and clearer than ever before. As each hexagon came into existence, the metal responded, lifting the harmony to something greater than music.
"Meld."
At his will, the hexagons began to attract each other, drawn together by unseen forces. They bonded—cleanly, perfectly—forming a single, seamless sheet.
Then another.
And another.
Hours passed without notice, lost in the sacred work.
When he finally surfaced from the metallic world, Cane was breathless—but whole.
On the workbench lay four wide sheets of honeycombed adamantium sheets, gleaming like forged sunlight. Each one less than a quarter-inch thick. Incredibly strong. Incredibly light.
He picked one up, marveling at the layered hexagons within.
"Tomorrow is History of Magic," he said aloud, reluctantly setting it down. "So I can't stay up all night…"
A smile touched his lips. "Still, this is a great start."
He slid the honeycombed sheets into his silver ring, then pulled off his blacksilver mask and stepped onto the teleportation rune—vanishing back to his room in Seven Tower.
Cane woke slowly, not to noise or discomfort, but with that rare kind of natural ease that simply felt good. His body ached, but in a way that spoke of accomplishment, not strain. The work from the night before had taken its toll.
A glance toward the perch near his bed confirmed Pudding's return. He grabbed a strip of dried meat and held it up—but the falcon-owl hybrid didn't move.
"Hm?" Cane sat up, leaning in. Pudding's normally golden-brown eyes were glowing amber.
"What the…" He swiped the falcon rune on the back of his hand, expecting to see his own reflection—but instead—
He was low to the ground, muscles coiled. His quarry—a rabbit—dashed in desperation. But the distance closed. The rabbit darted into a thicket, hoping to hide, but the predator tore through the underbrush. A black paw pinned the prey.
Cane flinched, pulling back into himself.
"Was that Tazi?" he murmured, stroking Pudding's head. The bird's eyes faded back to gold.
HOOAACH.
"Did Tor teach you that?" Cane fed him the dried meat and made a mental note to visit the beast trainer after class.
A few minutes later, he rushed out of Seven Tower, heading toward Sophie's dorm. I've got time for a quick visit before class.
He knocked on the door. "It's me."
"It's open," Sophie called from inside.
He stepped into the suite and spotted her in the next room, seated at her desk, surrounded by reports and notes. She stood to meet him, accepting a kiss.
"I don't have much time," she said softly.
"I know," Cane replied. "Just thought I'd pop in."
"Thanks." She gestured to a tray stacked with fruit, cheese, and fresh bread. "I picked up too much from the dining hall. Please—help yourself."
Cane grinned and grabbed a bun without hesitation. "You are the best."
Sophie smiled. "Want to be my guest on the afternoon segment?"
"A guest announcer?" Cane raised a brow. "Can I tell jokes?"
Sophie laughed. "You're a first-year cadet, but most people are probably too intimidated by your reputation to approach you. I thought—maybe if they hear you talk like a regular person... it could help."
Cane squinted playfully. "Are you saying I don't have any friends?"
Sophie blushed. "What? No—I would never... Wait. Are you messing with me?"
Cane nodded, snatching a few pieces of fruit. "Gotta get to class."
She followed him to the door and pulled him in for a long kiss. "We should go clamming again soon."
Cane paused in the doorway, smiling at how comfortable she'd become in her new role. "We? You caught three clams."
"I know," Sophie grinned. "But weren't they the best ones?"