A short while later, after shifting into his Jonas Ironfist persona, Cane ran a hand over the smooth sheet of honeycombed Adamantium. Dozens of microhexagonal layers had formed a lattice that was both impossibly strong and deceptively light.
But would it float?
"It should," he muttered. "Easy enough to prove. This isn't for profit. This is for the allied naval forces."
He entered the metal.
Within, the hexagonal world of silvery gold unfolded—each cell glistening with faint light, the taste of sweetness on the tongue, a distant chorus ringing through his bones. It sang with a purity that lifted the spirit, warming his core like sunlight on glacier ice.
He didn't dare alter it yet. First, he shaped it. A simple vest, pulled over the head. No clasps, no plates, just form-fitted utility. The song of metal obeyed his shaping will.
When he emerged, he found the vest resting beneath his hands. Light as smoke. Lighter than any armor he'd ever touched—far beyond the leather the sailors still wore.
"Test number one," he murmured.
He stored the vest inside his silver ring and stepped from the smithy, his boots finding the familiar narrow trail that wound toward the ocean.
Gulls shrieked overhead. He ignored them, reaching his favorite outcropping above the surf. A quick swipe across his falconer's rune, and his eyes within the mask turned amber.
The world zoomed. He saw himself through distant vision—middle-aged, masked, alone on a ledge of stone. No witnesses.
Satisfied, he let his eyes return to normal. The mask came off. The sleeveless shirt followed. Once more, he was a first-year cadet. He stepped out of his boots, pulled off his socks, and summoned the vest from the ring.
"Rigid…" he frowned, rolling his shoulders. "Widen the shoulders. Taper down to the waist. Neck's tight—maybe a v-cut, front and back."
Time for the real test.
Cane waded into the surf, water curling around his waist before he let himself fall forward.
The vest floated. It rode up slightly, the collar pressing under his chin until he pulled it down. Then he flipped to his back.
A slow smile lit his face.
He'd worn a water-repellent ring during the Twisted Snake mission—an artifact that kept you skimming like a bug, awkward for swimming. This vest was different. It countered his weight just enough to keep him buoyant, but natural—swimmable.
"Arm openings need a flare in back, better for stroke range."
He waded ashore, grinning like a fool. It had worked. The armor floated, and with a few smart changes, it could be even more sailor-friendly.
Back on dry land, he dressed again, slipped into his sleeveless shirt, and pressed the mask to his face. The transformation was seamless.
"The Hexagonal Adamantium Vest," he said aloud, heading for the forge, "passed the first test with flying colors."
"Hexagonal Adamantium Vest…" Cane muttered. "Let's just call it HAV from now on."
He tossed the HAV onto the workbench and grabbed one of the steel swords he'd sharpened and strengthened but otherwise left untouched.
"Let's see how it holds up."
With a firm grip, he brought the blade down in a powerful overhead slash.
"Looks fine so far."
He picked up a second sword and began slashing, stabbing—switching hands, testing angles. Sweat slicked his body as his lungs labored, each strike precise, deliberate, unrelenting.
When he finally returned the blades to the rack, his breath came in heaves.
He lifted the HAV.
"Gonna call this a success."
The vest was scored in several places, but a quick immersion in the metal's essence confirmed it—the hexagons beneath each strike remained perfectly intact. The damage was surface-level only.
"One last test," he said, storing the vest in his ring and removing his mask. "Then I can start reshaping it for comfort and function."
After changing into a clean shirt and canvas trousers, Cane stepped out of his room, intent on finding Brammel.
"Whoa—!"
Fergis jumped as they nearly collided outside Tower Seven. He was covered head to toe in a crust of reddish mud.
"What happened?" Cane tried not to laugh, but a chuckle escaped.
"Nos," Fergis said grimly, exhaling through clenched teeth. "I was doused with red mud the moment I stepped out of the Fire Elemental Classroom."
"That's not mud," Cane said, breaking off a chunk of the hardened coating. "That's… clay. Or maybe tile?"
Fergis nodded, resigned. "Yeah. When I panicked, I flared up defensively. Basically turned myself into a walking kiln. Baked myself into a damn sculpture."
Cane's eyes widened with delight. "No…"
"Clara and Dhalia happened by," Fergis muttered. "They had to break me open like a vase. I swear they enjoyed it more than they should've."
Cane doubled over, laughing. "What did we learn?"
Fergis raised one finger, his tone suddenly serious. "Flaming up isn't always the answer. I need to think before I react. If I'd dodged and then fired outward, I'd have created a nice red brick. Instead, I got mummified."
"Lesson learned," Cane patted him on the back. "I'm heading to see Brammel."
"He's at admin," Fergis offered, wiping dried clay from his sleeve. "Passed him on my way here."
Cane was still laughing when he arrived at the admin office. Ana smiled as he entered, and the psi-rune behind her ear lit up. A moment later, she gestured toward the door.
"You can go in, Cane."
Inside, the usual group had assembled—Selene Morva, Ignatius, Brammel, and Archmage Telamon. Telamon closed the weathered ledger in front of him, the one recovered from the Twisted Snake mission.
"You look like you're on a mission, boy," Brammel said, arms crossed, his tone expectant.
Cane swiped his ring, summoning the HAV and holding it up. "I'm working on a new armor type for the naval forces. I layered adamantium into a hexagonal lattice. I'm calling it the HAV—Hexagonal Adamantium Vest. This is the prototype."
Brammel's eyes went wide. He grabbed the vest, pressing and tugging at it with expert hands. "Hexagonal layers…"
"I wanted something light," Cane explained. "And buoyant."
"Heavens, boy!" Brammel's voice pitched upward, veins bulging in his neck. "Are you saying this thing floats?"
Cane nodded. "I tested it. I also beat the hell out of it with a sword. Slashing, stabbing, even some blunt strikes. No structural compromise."
Brammel's hands suddenly turned reverent, like he was holding a newborn. "And this is just the prototype?"
"Yeah. One more test. I was hoping to shoot it. I remember there's an old musket in the metallurgy classroom…"
At that, everyone in the room paused.
Telamon accepted the vest next, weighing it. "It's light…"
He passed it to Ignatius, who turned it over carefully, nodding with approval before handing it to Selene.
Brammel clapped his hands together, eyes shining with excitement.
"Let's shoot it."
Cane slipped the HAV onto one of the armor mannequins in the metallurgy shop and dragged it into position in front of the old stone wall.
"We have to be careful about ricochets," he said, brushing dust from the floor.
Telamon tapped his cane once. The ground flared with runes, and a shimmering barrier rose between them and the target.
"This is a one-way shield wall," Telamon explained. "You can fire through it, but nothing comes back."
Cane studied the sigils, brow furrowing as he traced the glowing lines with his eyes. "Drawbacks?"
Telamon smiled. "Single use. Very short duration."
"I got this." Brammel entered, musket in hand and eyes alight with anticipation. "Plug your ears."
Cane did as told, and a moment later the musket barked with a thunderous crack. The mannequin rocked like a drunk sailor, while the shield wall flared—catching the rebounding lead ball in mid-air before it dropped to the floor with a soft clink.
Telamon bent to retrieve it, inspecting the flattened tip. "Looks like it hit a forge wall. Hammered flat."
Brammel set the musket down and joined Cane at the mannequin. He pulled the HAV free, running his calloused fingers across the front, then slipping his hand inside.
"Mild indentation at the impact point," he said. "Absolutely nothing on the inside. Cane?"
Cane took the vest and closed his eyes, fingers brushing the armor. He entered the metal, senses slipping into the latticework of hexagons.
"Minor distortion on the first layer," he reported. "Second and third are untouched. I'd say it could take three, maybe four shots in the same place before breaching."
Telamon nodded. Brammel was already reloading the musket, humming softly to himself. The Archmage reset the shield wall rune, murmuring something under his breath.
Four shots. Same spot. The fourth one finally ruptured the first layer of hexes. The others held.
Cane stepped forward and immersed again, reaching into the metal's song. Within moments, the rupture vanished—the structure whole, clean, strong.
"I'm pleased with the test results," he said.
Brammel barked a laugh. "Pleased? Lad, it took four musket rounds in the same spot just to crack the first layer. When does anyone ever get hit four times in the same place?"
Telamon reached for the vest, fingers grazing the surface. His gaze turned inward. "The layering is perfect. Light, buoyant, resistant to both blade and shot."
He looked up.
"What's your plan for this, Cane?"
Cane squared his shoulders. "First, functional adjustments—neck, arms, flexibility. Then I start producing in batches. A few dozen vests for deployment to the Defiant."
"How long will that take?" Telamon asked.
"Not long," Cane said, his voice quiet but firm. "I understand the method now. I've reached a new understanding of adamantium—and of how it wants to move."