The Forge of the Purple Eye had a breath of its own.
It was not like the air of the city, full of the smell of bread, stone, and people.
Here the air was heavy. It carried metal. Sparks. History.
And… expectation.
As if the very place was watching Hinokami and asking:
"Will you endure? Or will you break like unshaped iron?"
He stood before the anvil with bandaged hands and stretched, aching muscles.
The sun in his chest pulsed — not brightly, but clearly.
Valkarion stood opposite him, arms crossed, like a statue made of soot and will.
— Today, the real forging begins. — he said. — The kind that turns a boy into a smith. Or breaks him for good.
Hinokami nodded.
Kai, who had climbed up onto one of the stone benches, waved a hand:
— If you pass out again, at least fall to the side, not on the hammer. You still have to use it.
— You'll be the next one to pass out if you keep talking. — Valkarion replied without looking at him.
Kai fell silent.
The next day
Valkarion handed Hinokami a new hammer.
Heavy.
Gray.
Cold.
— This is not a tool. — the smith said. — This is a fate.
— Just that? — Hinokami tried to joke.
— And a curse. — Valkarion added. — If you don't know how to carry it.
Hinokami grabbed it.
The weight spilled into his hand like a living creature — as if the hammer was testing whether he deserved it.
"I have to… succeed."
Not just for Valkarion and Kai.
But also for the words the fire had spoken to him the night before:
"I believe in you."
He struck.
The metal hissed. Sparks flew. The impact echoed through his arms down to the bone.
He struck again.
And again.
And again.
Until his hands began to shake.
Until the bandages were soaked with sweat.
Until his chest tightened like bellows pumped to their limit.
— Harder. — Valkarion said. — I don't want to see muscle, I want to see intention.
Hinokami brought the hammer down.
He struck until the world around him began to blur.
He struck until distant sounds reached him as if through water.
In the end, he fell.
He simply… fell.
The hammer slipped from his hand and hit the stone.
Kai ran to him.
— Hey! Hey, Metal boy! That's enough for today, right? He… he's not breathing well!
Valkarion yanked him back.
— Leave him. If he can't get up on his own… then he shouldn't get up.
Hinokami pressed his palms to the ground.
It was hot, but steady.
"Get up. Get up. Get up."
The voice of the fire was quiet, but firm.
Hinokami stood — slowly, on trembling legs, but he stood.
Valkarion watched him.
— Good. — he said. — Then you're not completely hopeless.
The next morning Hinokami faced a new trial.
A piece of iron — ordinary, cold, without a spark.
— Today you won't strike anything. — Valkarion said. — You'll sit. You'll hold. And you'll listen.
— To what?
— To the mana.
To the breathing of the world inside the metal.
Every material has a pulse. If the smith doesn't hear it, the weapon will wake up wrong.
Hinokami sat in front of the furnace and took the iron in his hands.
He sat.
He listened.
The first minutes — only silence.
Then — the ringing of the fire.
Then — the sound of his own breathing.
"I don't hear anything… I don't have a gift for this? Is the fire wrong about me?"
An hour passed.
Then another.
Valkarion sat behind him like a stone sentinel and said nothing.
Lisan and Kai came shortly after midday.
Kai whispered:
— How long has he been sitting like that?
— Four hours. — Valkarion said. — And he still hasn't started.
Lisan stepped closer.
— What… is he supposed to hear?
Valkarion looked at her.
— Himself.
Hinokami tightened his grip on the iron.
"Himself…
I… am fire.
Why can't I hear metal?
Why can't I feel it?
Why… can't I be what the fire believes I can become?"
Suddenly, the iron heated in his hands — without ever touching the flames.
He gasped.
His eyes flew open.
— It's begun. — Valkarion said. — Breathe with it.
Hinokami closed his eyes again.
For a moment — only a moment — he felt something like a pulse.
Weak.
Vague.
But real.
And in that instant he understood:
He wasn't listening to the iron.
It… was listening to him.
Weeks passed.
Weeks of strikes.
Weeks of silence.
Weeks of blood and metal, of dreams and failures.
Hinokami fell.
Stood up.
Fell again.
And stood up once more.
His body ached.
His palms were raw flesh beneath the bandages.
His eyes were half glazed from exhaustion.
But inside — the sun within him was expanding.
Not outward.
Inward.
Every day — brighter.
Every day — closer.
Until one evening, after yet another series of blows on unfocused iron, his knees gave out.
Hinokami collapsed for the third time.
Kai rushed toward him.
— Enough already! You'll die at this pace!
Valkarion didn't move.
— Let him choose for himself.
Hinokami tried to get up.
He couldn't.
A second try.
Failure.
A third.
He fell onto the anvil and slid down to the floor.
The world stretched.
The furnace turned into a massive sun.
Darkness took him.
This time, the dream was not darkness.
It was light.
The inner sun rose before him — huge, clearer than ever.
And then… it spoke.
Not in impulses.
Not in symbols.
In words.
"I believe in you."
Hinokami froze.
The voice was beautiful.
Strong.
Steady.
"You will succeed in connecting with me."
The sun expanded — as if offering him a hand.
"You will understand me. Not now. But soon."
Hinokami felt warmth surge through his entire body — like bellows forcing new life into him.
"First… you must be forged."
The light faded.
He opened his eyes.
Lisan was above him.
Kai — beside him, pale as chalk.
Valkarion — still as a mountain.
— You're fine. — said the smith. — Your fire just decided to speak.
Hinokami rose slowly, with a smile he couldn't suppress.
— It told me… that it believes in me.
Kai smacked his own forehead.
— Wonderful! The spirits of fire have more faith in you than I do!
Lisan smiled softly.
Valkarion stepped forward.
— If the fire believes in you… then you have no right to give up.
Tomorrow…
the true trial begins.