The forge was quiet that morning.
Too quiet.
Eryndor Vale could hear everything now — the sound of the bellows, the subtle creak of cooling metal, even the faint thrum of his own heartbeat against the walls.
Resonance.
It hadn't stopped since the storm.
Every breath hummed with faint electricity. The world felt sharper — sound carried meaning, heat carried rhythm, and silence itself had weight.
But it wasn't peace.
It was pressure.
Something deep within his chest wanted to move, to expand outward, as if the lightning he'd absorbed still searched for somewhere to go.
He could hold it — barely.
Hadrik entered from the back room, muttering curses. The old man had aged overnight; the lines under his eyes were darker, his shoulders heavier.
He didn't look at Eryndor at first.
He just went straight to the anvil and began to hammer.
Tang.
The sound was wrong.
Eryndor winced. "You're forcing the heel again."
"Don't start," Hadrik snapped. "Not today."
Eryndor didn't argue. He just leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the blade sing itself out of tune.
Hadrik finally stopped, setting the hammer down. "You've been out since dawn again."
"Listening," Eryndor said simply.
"To what?"
"The world."
The blacksmith rubbed his temples. "You've been different since that night."
Eryndor's gaze flicked to the blue-edged blade resting on the table. "Because that night was different."
The door burst open.
A temple runner stood panting in the doorway, clothes soaked from rain. His eyes darted from Eryndor to the weapon.
"Eryndor Vale?"
"Yes."
"The assessor summons you. Now."
Hadrik cursed under his breath. "Of course he does."
Eryndor's brows furrowed. "What for?"
The boy swallowed. "Orders from Aurenvale. He's not alone."
They met in the square — the same place where the stone had once refused him.
Only this time, the crowd was smaller and quieter. Word had spread.
The assessor stood at the center again, his grey hair gleaming wet under the mist. But beside him were two figures in polished steel — Aurenvale knights, their armor engraved with runes that pulsed faintly.
The assessor gestured for Eryndor to step closer.
"So," he said softly. "It seems you decided not to wait for your Core to awaken on its own."
Eryndor didn't answer.
The man studied him for a moment. "Lightning. Unstable. Dangerous." He paused. "And yet… contained."
He turned to the knights. "You see the problem. The boy's Resonance bypassed the threshold. No channeling, no ritual. It chose him."
"Which means it's divine," one knight muttered. "Or cursed."
"Perhaps both."
The assessor stepped closer, his tone sharpening. "Do you have any idea what you've done, Eryndor Vale?"
Eryndor met his gaze. "Forged a sword."
The man's mouth twitched. "That's not what Aurenvale believes."
He gestured to the blade on Eryndor's back.
"Hand it over."
Eryndor blinked. "No."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
The knight to the right stepped forward. "That's an order from the capital."
Eryndor's fingers twitched. He didn't move for his weapon — not yet — but the air around him began to hum. Faint blue sparks flickered under his skin.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
"Because unlicensed Resonance is a threat," the assessor said. "You are to be taken to Aurenvale for evaluation. If you resist…" He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
Eryndor exhaled slowly.
He wasn't angry.
Just… curious.
"Evaluation," he repeated. "Do they study storms too?"
The knights stiffened. The assessor's expression darkened.
"Enough. Take him."
The first knight moved faster than Eryndor expected — trained speed, practiced intent. His hand reached for Eryndor's shoulder.
The moment contact came—
—blue light erupted.
A sharp crack split the air as lightning burst from Eryndor's skin, hurling the knight back several meters. The crowd screamed. Sparks danced across the cobblestones, crawling like living veins.
The second knight drew his blade. It hummed with golden Resonance — light against thunder.
Eryndor's hand brushed the hilt of his sword. The forged metal answered him instantly, humming in unison with his heartbeat.
"Stop!" the assessor barked. "Enough!"
But neither of them stopped.
Steel met thunder.
The first clash was blinding — blue and gold colliding in a storm of raw energy. The force threw dust and rain into the air, cracking the cobblestones beneath them.
Eryndor's strike wasn't refined; it was instinct.
But it carried weight — the kind of weight only someone who had heard lightning could wield.
The knight stumbled back, armor smoking where the thunder had kissed it.
The assessor raised his hand, Resonance flaring outward in a wave that silenced the air.
"Enough!"
The sound vanished.
Even the rain froze midfall for a heartbeat.
Eryndor's blade hummed once, then quieted.
The assessor's eyes were cold. "You're coming with me."
Eryndor looked down at the knight gasping for breath on the ground.
Then at the blade in his hand.
The hum was faint — almost like a question.
He sheathed it slowly. "Fine," he said. "But I'm not your prisoner."
"No," the assessor said softly. "You're something far more troublesome."
That night, as they left Rynvale under guard, the storm returned.
And though Eryndor didn't look back, the forge behind him hummed one last time — the echo of a life he'd already outgrown.