Duncan stared at the blue crystal glowing in his hands. It was cold to the touch, yet it vibrated as if alive.
That shard could make a weapon not only perfect... but unique.
"Don't smile too much," Kael warned, crossing his arms. "No one leaves the Circle of Ashes without paying."
He was right. The sharp-eyed merchant approached, like a vulture swooping on its prey.
"One hand washes the other, stranger. You take our gifts, and we will ask favors of you. Not great ones, yet. Small ones... but useful."
Duncan's jaw tightened. "And what favors do you want?"
The merchant shook his head. "Not me. Them."
As if on cue, three figures emerged from the shadows:
a woman, her face covered by a scarlet veil, speaking in a mellifluous voice;
A huge, tattooed man with an axe resting on his shoulder;
and a young, shrewd-eyed thief, already rummaging through Kael's pockets with a wry smile.
"Each of us," said the veiled woman, "has a simple task for you."
The thief was the first to speak:
"Your hands are quicker than mine, old man. I have a broken dagger. Fix it, and I'll be in your debt."
The giant slammed his axe on the makeshift anvil.
"My weapon is chipped. No blacksmith in the city dares repair it; they say it brings bad luck. If you are truly what they say, sharpen it again."
Finally, the woman leaned toward him, her dark eyes burning with secrets.
"I don't want weapons. I want silence. In the castle, you will hear voices, secrets, names. You won't have to repeat everything to your king. Some words… you will have to keep for me."
Kael stiffened. "Duncan, this is a dangerous game. You must not accept—"
"I have already accepted it," Duncan interrupted, his voice firm as steel.
"A blacksmith knows that every metal has a price. And I will pay mine. As long as my hammer never runs out of iron to strike."
The three figures smiled, satisfied.
And so Duncan discovered that, in this world, even the most brilliant blade could be forged only in the shadow of unspoken favors.