The headache announced itself before Elias was fully awake, a persistent throb behind his temples that immediately brought back memories of the previous evening's celebration. He lay motionless for several minutes, eyes still closed, wondering when exactly he'd transitioned from someone who could drink half the night and wake up refreshed to someone who paid for every pint with morning misery.
"I'm too old for this anymore," he muttered to the empty apartment, his voice rough with sleep and dehydration. The irony wasn't lost on him—here he was discovering supernatural abilities that made him feel more capable than he'd been in years, yet a simple night at the pub left him feeling ancient.
The bathroom mirror confirmed his suspicions about the previous evening's excess. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin had a grayish pallor, and his carefully trimmed beard looked somehow defeated. As he brushed his teeth with methodical determination, working past the taste of stale beer and poor decisions, a thought occurred to him that felt oddly significant.
Maybe he should do something to strengthen his body.
Not just recover from this particular hangover, but actually improve his physical condition. His work was becoming increasingly demanding, requiring hours of precise manual labor that left his back aching and his hands cramped. If he was going to push the boundaries of what was possible with enhanced tools, shouldn't he also push the boundaries of what was possible with the person wielding them?
The idea percolated in the back of his mind as he made coffee, measuring grounds with the careful attention of someone whose head couldn't tolerate imprecision this morning. The rich aroma helped clear some of the fog from his thoughts, and by the time he'd taken his first sip, he was already considering what kind of exercise routine might complement his workshop activities.
The phone's ring cut through his contemplation like a blade through soft metal.
"Elias Thorn," he answered, then immediately regretted speaking so loudly. His own voice seemed to echo inside his skull.
"Mr. Thorn? This is Marcus Webb. I'm calling about the kukri I commissioned from you several weeks ago."
The name hit him like cold water. Marcus Webb. The Marine. The kukri with the bone-dissolving inscription that had been sitting finished in his workshop for... how long? Days? A week? Elias had been so absorbed in his research on Hephaestus and the creation of the enhanced burin that he'd completely forgotten about his first paying customer.
"Yes, of course," he managed, hoping his voice didn't betray the sudden panic he felt. "I was just... putting the finishing touches on it. Beautiful piece of work."
"I'm glad to hear that. I was wondering if we could arrange a time for me to collect it. I know you mentioned it might take a while, but it's been nearly three weeks now."
Three weeks. Elias closed his eyes and fought back a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with his hangover. He'd left a paying customer waiting for three weeks while he pursued his own experimental interests. It was exactly the kind of unprofessional behavior that had contributed to the failure of his marriage and several business relationships over the years.
"Tomorrow," he said quickly. "Let's meet tomorrow. Do you know Riverside Park, the one with the duck pond? There's a bench near the main path, under the old oak tree. Would noon work for you?"
"Perfect. I'll see you there at noon, Mr. Thorn. And thank you for your patience with my questions about the inscription. I'm looking forward to seeing how it turned out."
After Webb hung up, Elias sat staring at his phone, coffee growing cold in his hands. The bone-dissolving kukri was finished, wrapped in cloth, sitting on his workbench exactly where he'd left it after its successful test. But he couldn't deliver a weapon capable of dissolving bone to a Marine without some very careful consideration of the implications.
Pulling on his jacket to head to the workshop. He'd forge a second kukri. A normal one, without any supernatural enhancements, inscribed with the same Nepali phrase but carrying no actual power beyond what excellent craftsmanship could provide. Webb would get a beautiful, functional weapon that would serve him well in whatever capacity he needed it, and Elias would keep the enhanced version for his own research.
It wasn't dishonesty, exactly. It was... prudent product management.
The workshop felt welcoming after his night away, the familiar smells of metal and oil helping to clear the last traces of his hangover. He had materials in stock—good steel, properly seasoned wood for the handle, even a spare brass fitting that would work perfectly for the pommel. Under normal circumstances, forging a kukri from scratch would take several days of careful work.
But he had the enhanced burin now.
The blade took shape under his hammer with satisfying predictability. The steel was honest and responsive, forming the characteristic curve of the kukri with the kind of precision that came from years of experience. The heat treatment went smoothly, the quench giving him the hardness he needed while the tempering brought it back to the perfect balance of edge retention and durability.
By late afternoon, he was ready for the inscription work that would transform a simple blade into a masterpiece of engraving.
He clamped the kukri in his vise and positioned the enhanced burin for the first letter. "ह" - the initial character of "हड्डी भाँच्ने" felt familiar under his tool now, the Devanagari script flowing with the kind of natural grace that suggested deep understanding rather than mere technical skill.
But this time, as he cut each letter, Elias was careful not to invest any intention into the meaning. He spoke no words aloud, focused on no deeper significance than the visual beauty of the script itself. The enhanced burin made the work effortless, carving through the steel with supernatural ease, but he kept his mind carefully neutral about what the words might do if imbued with power.
The inscription that emerged was the most perfect engraving he'd ever created. Each letter was flawlessly formed, the depth absolutely consistent, the spacing mathematical in its precision. The enhanced burin had eliminated every trace of the small imperfections that marked even excellent hand engraving, creating something that looked almost machine-made in its perfection.
Yet it remained entirely ordinary. Beautiful, but ordinary.
Elias held the completed kukri up to the workshop's bright lights, examining his work with professional satisfaction. It was exactly what a Marine would want—a weapon that combined traditional form with contemporary craftsmanship, inscribed with text that honored the blade's cultural heritage while remaining purely decorative.
He wrapped it carefully in soft cloth and set it aside for tomorrow's delivery, then spent the remaining evening hours cleaning his workshop and organizing tools. The routine work helped settle his mind after the intensity of the past few days, reminding him that even supernatural craftsmanship still required attention to basic details.
The next morning dawned clear and cool, with the kind of crisp autumn air that made walking a pleasure rather than a chore. Elias arrived at Riverside Park early, settling onto the bench under the old oak tree with fifteen minutes to spare. The duck pond reflected the blue sky like polished metal, and a few early ducks were already paddling around in search of breadcrumbs from morning joggers.
The peaceful scene was exactly what his still-recovering system needed. He watched a pair of mallards conduct some kind of complex negotiation over territorial rights to a particularly promising section of pond, their interactions following patterns that seemed both entirely random and perfectly logical.
"Mr. Thorn?"
Elias looked up to see a man approaching along the main path—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with the kind of controlled precision that suggested military training. Marcus Webb was younger than his voice had suggested over the phone, probably mid-thirties, with close-cropped hair and the kind of direct gaze that missed very little.
"Marcus Webb," the Marine said, extending his hand. "Thank you for meeting me here."
"My pleasure," Elias replied, rising to shake hands. Webb's grip was firm without being aggressive, the handshake of someone accustomed to making quick assessments of character. "I hope you'll be pleased with the work."
He unwrapped the kukri carefully, letting the cloth fall away to reveal the blade in the morning sunlight. Webb's reaction was immediate and gratifying—his eyes widened slightly, and he leaned forward to examine the inscription with obvious appreciation.
"This is... remarkable," Webb said quietly. "May I?"
Elias handed over the kukri, watching as the Marine examined it with the methodical attention of someone who understood weapons. Webb tested the balance, checked the edge geometry, ran his thumb along the flawless inscription.
"The engraving work is extraordinary," Webb said finally. "I've seen a lot of custom knives over the years, but nothing quite like this. The precision is almost supernatural."
The word choice made Elias suppress a smile. "I recently upgraded my engraving tools. It makes quite a difference in what's possible."
Webb continued his examination for several more minutes, clearly impressed by both the blade's functional qualities and its artistic merit. When he finally looked up, his expression was thoughtful.
"Mr. Thorn, do you work with materials other than steel? Precious metals, for instance?"
"I'm not a goldsmith by training," Elias replied carefully, "but I have some experience with jewelry work. Basic techniques, mostly. Why do you ask?"
Webb carefully rewrapped the kukri before answering. "My daughter is getting married next month. She's been looking for wedding rings, but everything she's found has been either too plain or too gaudy. Nothing that really captures what she and her fiancé are looking for."
He paused, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "After seeing this level of craftsmanship, I'm wondering if you might be able to create something custom. A pair of rings with some kind of inscription work, maybe something meaningful to them personally."
Elias considered the request. Jewelry work was indeed outside his primary expertise, but rings were relatively simple projects—especially with the enhanced burin available for any inscription work. And after keeping a customer waiting for three weeks, accepting additional work from the same person might help repair his professional reputation.
"What kind of timeline are we talking about?" he asked.
"The wedding is in five weeks. I know that's not much notice, but I'd be willing to pay appropriately for the rush work. Say, two thousand eight hundred dollars for the pair?"
Two thousand eight hundred dollars. For two rings, even with custom inscription work, that was generous compensation. Especially considering how much easier the enhanced burin would make the detailed engraving that justified such pricing.
"I think I can manage that," Elias said. "I'll need to know their ring sizes, what kind what carat of gold they prefer, 14k or 18k, and whether they have any specific ideas about inscriptions or design elements."
Webb smiled, the expression transforming his serious face into something much more approachable. "I'll get those details to you by the end of the week. And Mr. Thorn? Thank you. Both for this beautiful weapon and for being willing to take on the jewelry work. It means a lot to be able to give my daughter something this special."
They shook hands again, Webb tucking the wrapped kukri under his arm with obvious satisfaction. As Elias watched the Marine walk away along the park path, he found himself thinking about weddings and commitments, about the kind of promises people made to each other and the symbols they used to represent those promises.
His own marriage had ended badly, dissolved in arguments about priorities and attention, about the way his workshop consumed time and energy that should have been devoted to human relationships. Sarah had accused him of loving his tools more than he loved her, and in the bitter honesty of their final fight, he'd been unable to deny it completely.
But that was years ago now, and dwelling on old failures wouldn't help him create something beautiful for Webb's daughter. If anything, the opportunity to make rings for a young couple starting their life together felt like a chance to channel his abilities toward something constructive rather than merely experimental.
The walk home took him through the city center, past shop windows displaying the kind of mass-produced jewelry that Webb's daughter had apparently rejected. Looking at the displays with fresh eyes, Elias could understand her frustration. Everything was either boringly conventional or aggressively trendy, designed to appeal to the broadest possible market rather than express anything personal or meaningful.
With the enhanced burin, he could create something entirely different. Something that combined traditional craftsmanship with the kind of precision that made even simple designs look extraordinary.
By the time he reached his apartment, Elias was already sketching ring designs in his mind, considering how different carat of gold might respond to various inscription techniques, planning the careful work that would transform raw materials into symbols of commitment and hope.
The ducks would have to wait for their next feeding. He had rings to design.