The throne room was crowded with knights and advisors, all gathered to witness the unveiling of the new weapon.
Duncan advanced to the center, his sword wrapped in a linen cloth. Each step echoed on the marble floor. The king, a gray-haired man with stern eyes, watched him impatiently.
"Show me the fruit of your labor, blacksmith," he ordered.
Duncan uncovered the blade. A murmur ran through those present: the sword shone with its own light, warm and golden, coming neither from torches nor windows. A living warmth, which gave the sensation of being before something sacred.
The king leaned forward from his throne, his eyes wide. "What magic is this?"
Duncan clenched his jaw. "It is not magic. It is… fire. Real fire, but of another nature."
A tense silence fell. Then, from the side of the room, a young but determined voice broke the tension.
"It is not simple fire, but Divine Fire."
Everyone turned. A young priest, brown-haired and a gaze ablaze with faith, advanced among the nobles. He wore a white robe embroidered with gold, and held a small sun-shaped seal on his chest.
The king frowned. "Father Elias, what do you mean?"
The young man bowed his head. "My lord, I study the relics of the Church. I have read of sacred blacksmiths who once forged weapons not with the fire of the earth, but with the flame that burned in the heavens. It was called Divine Fire. A gift… or a curse. He who bore it was never just any man."
Everyone stared at Duncan. The silence grew heavy.
The king rose slowly, approaching the blacksmith. He looked at the blade, touched it with a finger, and immediately withdrew it, as if the metal itself had burned him.
"This sword does not belong to a blacksmith," he said in a grave voice. "It belongs to a hero. Or a monster."
Duncan looked him in the eye without trembling. "It belongs to one who wields it with justice."
The young priest looked at him intently, almost with fear, but also with hope. Then he whispered:
"Duncan Steel… your destiny is greater than you even imagine."