The bell over the smith's door gave a tired jangle as Aurelia pushed inside, and the heat hit her like a familiar hand.
The shop smelled of coal, bright singed leather, cooling flux, and the faint sweetness of oil.
Racks of blades caught the light in a hundred dull glints, a half-finished spear leaned against the anvil, its tip still steaming.
Sebastian moved with the effortless, cautious poise of someone who had spent a life measuring distance and timing.
He set his boot on the threshold and glanced at Aurelia with that same steady, almost teasing look he always gave her. "You sure you want this?" he asked, voice low. "Ready to trade words for steel?"
Aurelia met his eyes and nodded once, chin up. "I am. I want to be more than conversations and theory. I want to be useful with a blade."
Sebastian's smile was brief and proud. Then he cocked his head. "You still keen on Aether?" he asked.
The way he phrased it carried a half-warned question, whether she intended to keep shaping currents as well as cutting through them.
She gave him a quick, confident nod. "Yes. Aether is my calling."
He scratched the back of his neck, then shrugged as if even that answer unsettled him. "My lessons about Aura... If you're all Aether, what I taught you—" he waved a hand, then softened it. "—might not be useful for now. But it'll give you balance, at least."
Sebastian reached for the worn sheath at his hip and drew his sword just enough for the Caelistra crest to catch the light. "This was forged here," he said. "Old Haldan did the work. If the blade is good enough for me, it'll put a grin on your face too."
From the far forge a voice boomed, granite and laughter.
A dwarf with a soot-smudged apron and a beard braided into three tight knots looked up, wiping his hands on a strip of leather.
"Sebastian Caelistra," the dwarf called, setting down his hammer in a practiced rhythm. "By the forges, if it isn't the boy who likes to argue with the Headmaster! How's the girl?" He leaned forward, eyes glittering with the kind of affection smiths reserve for temper and edge.
Sebastian returned the greeting with a nod. "Borin," he said. "She's served me well." He tapped the flat of his blade fondly. "Worthy."
Borin's laugh shook a couple of hanging tools. "Worthy, he says. Good to hear." He set a palm on the anvil and peered at Aurelia's hands, assessing her.
The callouses spoke for her, not from nobility, but from discipline. "Aye," Borin murmured, nodding in approval. "You've got your brother's grip, strong, but measured. You've trained."
Aurelia blinked, half-surprised he could tell so easily. "You can tell that just from my hands?"
Borin chuckled. "A swordsmith always can. The metal remembers the hand that wields it."
He straightened and beckoned them closer. "So, what brings you? New temper, repair, or do you want me to make a thing that'll make your enemies' eyes water?"
Sebastian folded his arms. "For my sister. A proper sword. She wants something to call her own."
The dwarf's expression turned careful, respectful. He stepped around the anvil and ran a searching hand along the blade racks as if they were pages of a book. "I can forge you one true," Borin said slowly. "Custom work takes time, weeks, maybe a month. Metal needs tempering, pattern-welding if you like, and I don't rush a blade meant for a name like Caelistra. Or," he brightened, "you can take a ready piece. I keep a stock polished and true for those who need a weapon this week, not next month."
Aurelia glanced at the rows of swords, some plain and practical, others worked with delicate filigree of silver, and some elegant.
Then her eyes stopped.
A single blade rested apart from the rest, dark as obsidian, its edge glinting faintly red beneath the forge light.
Her pulse quickened. It was that sword. The one from her reflection, Lucifer's sword, the bloodied one that haunted her dreams.
Aurelia's breath caught, and she felt the air around her thicken. Why is it here?
Borin noticed her hesitation, following her gaze. "Ah," he said softly. "That one. Common reaction." He crossed his arms, eyes narrowing in faint respect. "Forged by a dwarf kin from the North, true work, and then a sorcerer came through and wrapped it in…well, unusual art. Not foul, not cursed, mind you. But… different."
He stepped closer, voice lowering. "It listens. Adapts. It mirrors the heart of its wielder, light or shadow, it doesn't care which. That's why no one's touched it. Came from a merchant's chest years ago. Good steel, wrong feeling."
Aurelia's fingers trembled as she stared at the blade.
She felt the words like a surface being washed. The memory of the calm voice in the dream, the choice, the promise of a true self slid through her like a cool current.
Aurelia took a slow breath and, before doubt could take hold, reached out. Her hand closed around the hilt.
The sword's hum rippled through the air like a sigh, and the faint crimson gleam softened to silver under her touch.
"I'll take it," she said quietly, her voice steady but her heart pounding. "I'll choose my own path. Not hers."
Sebastian raised a brow but said nothing, only watched as she spun the blade once, the movement natural, the resonance immediate.
It was as if the sword had been waiting for her, recognizing her as its true wielder.
Aether coiled around the sword, forming gentle arcs of light before fading.
Borin's eyes widened. "Hells below," he breathed. "No one's ever made it sing before. Looks like it's found its hand."
Aurelia slid the blade into its scabbard. "Still," she said, glancing at him, "I'd like you to continue the commission for my personal sword. When it's finished, I'll decide which one truly belongs to me."
Borin stroked his beard, impressed. "A patient warrior. Rare kind these days."
Sebastian waited until Borin busied himself with another customer, then fell into step beside Aurelia as they left the forge.
The cool evening air hit them like a sigh after the furnace's heat.
The last rays of sunlight cut across the street, gleaming faintly on the new sword at Aurelia's hip.
He glanced at it once, then again, more carefully this time. "That blade…" he began, his tone neither disapproving nor curious, just cautious. "You felt something when you touched it, didn't you?"
Aurelia looked down, brushing her fingers along the hilt. "It felt… alive," she admitted. "Not in a bad way. Just responsive. Like it was waiting."
Sebastian nodded slowly. "Blades like that aren't made anymore. Not truly. Most swords are alive, but that one is a mirror."
She blinked. "A mirror?"
He folded his arms, eyes thoughtful. "It reflects the intent of its wielder. Strength, fear, pride, whatever's buried deep. I've only seen one or two of that kind. They can make you unstoppable. Or unrecognizable."
Aurelia's step faltered. "You think I shouldn't have taken it?"
Sebastian smiled faintly, the way he always did when trying to reassure her, but couldn't quite hide his concern. "No. If it chose you, that means something. But be careful, Aurelia. The blade won't betray you, but it will never lie to you, either."
She looked back toward the forge, where Borin's laughter echoed faintly into the twilight. "It doesn't feel evil. Just… heavy. Like it remembers too much."
He hummed. "Maybe it does. Some steel carries more than heat."
They walked in silence for a time, the sound of boots on stone the only rhythm between them.
The lanterns along the street flickered to life, scattering pale orange across their faces.
Then Sebastian broke the quiet, his tone lighter, more like the brother she'd always known. "You handled yourself well in there. You looked like you'd done that a hundred times before."
Aurelia smiled. "Maybe I have. Just not in this life."
But his eyes softened as he looked at her again, the way they always did when he saw their mother's face in hers. "Still," he murmured, "you've grown, Aurelia. You're not the same girl who used to run from wooden swords in the courtyard."
"I was eight," she said defensively.
"And I was fourteen," he replied, smirking. "And you still blamed me when you fell into the pond."
Her laughter rang against the cobblestone street, clear and bright, before fading back into a quiet smile. "Thank you," she said softly. "For today."
Sebastian tilted his head. "You're my sister. You don't need to thank me for that."
She looked down at the sword one last time—the dark blade resting easily at her side.
It no longer looked menacing, not under the sunset, but it still felt like it was watching. Waiting.
As they turned toward the academy gates, Sebastian's voice lowered again. "If you start hearing it whisper," he said, "don't listen too closely."
Aurelia frowned. "Whisper?"
"Not words," he clarified, "just intent. You'll know it when it happens."
She nodded slowly, unsure whether to be comforted or unnerved.
And as they passed beneath the lanterns, her reflection shimmered briefly in the steel, two faces overlapping, one hers, one older, darker, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.
She turned back to him, "Have you… unlocked your Aspect?"
He responded with a slow, deliberate nod, as if the weight of his words hung heavy in the air. "I have. My power centers around the act of making an oath."
Her interest piqued, she leaned closer as he continued. "The essence of my strength stems from the promises I make and my unwavering will to uphold them. When I swear an oath, my Aura intertwines with that vow, creating a bond that is both protective and empowering. It doesn't merely act as a shield, it amplifies my resolve, drawing from the sincerity of my commitment. The deeper the conviction behind the promise, the more potent the connection becomes."
He gestured toward the hilt of his sword, his fingers brushing over its surface. "But there's a cost to breaking a vow. If the thread of my promise snaps, it doesn't just diminish my strength, it inflicts a wound upon my very spirit. Each oath I take is like a line etched into my soul, a mark that signifies both my intentions and the gravity of my choices."
Aurelia watched him, trying to picture it. So that's why he's always… so steady. So dangerous. Her thoughts felt strangely reverent and a little afraid.
Sebastian let his fingers curl, breathed once, then spoke softly, "Watch." He lifted his hand and, as if answering a lived truth, a faint band of golden light unwound from his chest.
Chains of gold braided themselves around his forearm and the sword's blade, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The air tightened minutely, not a gust, more a sense that the world had bent to listen.
"It's not spectacle," he said. "It's a promise made tangible. If I tell you I will keep you safe, that vow pushes against the world on my behalf. If I break it, it drags me down. That's the bargain."
Aurelia felt her cheeks warm with admiration. So much burden for a word, she thought, astonished. He carries promises like armor.
He lowered his hand, and the light faded to a memory on his skin. "If you ever hear that whisper, the pull of another's vow or a thing trying to pry at your certainty, don't let it wedge doubt in your heart. Doubt is what snaps these lines."
Aurelia nodded, the gravity of it settling into her bones.
Sebastian's expression softened, "Why do you ask?" he said quietly.
Aurelia folded her hands in her lap, fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's this… nostalgia. Like a song I should remember but never heard. Snatches of streets I haven't walked. Faces that leave an ache because I ought to know them. Sometimes it's only a whisper, a voice I can't place, and other times it's an image that stops me cold."
Not memories, but echoes of someone…something else.
She continued, "Do you think…are these the first signs of an Aspect? Voices and pictures, could that be it?"
He considered her a moment, the way a smith tests a blade by ear. "Maybe," he said finally. "Or maybe it's something else, stress, residue from the trials, or an old wound waking up because you pushed it. Aspects don't announce themselves the same way for everyone. Sometimes they come as dreams, sudden affinities, an instinct you can't explain, or a change in how the world answers you. Other times they're quieter, a repeated image, a pull toward something you can't name."
He's careful. He doesn't leap to the worst.
Sebastian's brow furrowed slightly, the easy steadiness of his expression giving way to something more thoughtful.
"There's no practical way to acknowledge or activate it," he said finally. "An Aspect isn't something you train into existence. It's… personal. Intimate. It's tied to your soul the same way Aura is — it wakes when it's ready, when you're ready."
Aurelia looked down at her hands. The faint hum beneath her skin, the pulse she couldn't place. It felt almost alive now that he'd said that.
Personal, she echoed inwardly. Then why does it feel like someone else's memory? Someone else's life… bleeding into mine?
Sebastian crossed his arms, eyes tracing the dark horizon beyond the lantern glow. "You can try to understand it, but forcing it never works. The harder you push, the more it slips away. When your soul decides to reveal what it's holding, you'll know, and it won't be subtle."
His voice softened, carrying a quiet gravity. "But until then, don't let it consume your thoughts. These things… they have a way of showing you pieces of yourself before you're ready to see the whole."
Aurelia stayed silent, the night pressing close around them. The distant hum of the city felt muted, unreal. "So I just wait?"
"You listen," Sebastian corrected gently. "Pay attention, but don't chase it. Whatever's calling to you, it'll find a way to be heard."
She nodded faintly, gaze still distant. Voices and memories that aren't mine… and yet, they ache like something I've lost.
"Sebastian," she murmured after a pause, "what if… what if what I hear isn't me at all?"
He turned to her at that, his eyes narrowing slightly, not in suspicion, but in concern. "Then you'll tell me," he said simply. "And we'll deal with it together."
The lantern flickered between them, and for a moment, just a breath, her reflection in the metal wavered again: two faces, one bright, one shadowed, overlapping before fading back into one.
Aurelia hesitated, her gaze fixed on the dim ripple of lanternlight over Sebastian's weapon. The air between them was still, heavy with something unspoken.
"Sebastian," she began, her voice quieter now, cautious, almost afraid of the answer.
He turned slightly, brow raised. "Yeah?"
"Do you…" she paused, fingers tightening around the edge of her sleeve. "Do you know anyone called Lucifer? Or someone with the title of The Fallen?"
The name lingered in the air, waiting to be revealed, to be recognized, to be acknowledged.
Sebastian's expression shifted with uncertainty. He shook his head slowly. "Lucifer? No. Doesn't ring any bells." He gave a small laugh. "Sounds like something out of an old covenant myth. Why?"
Aurelia's eyes drifted to the ground. The pulse in her chest felt louder now, steady, deliberate, like a heartbeat echoing from a memory not her own.
Then why does that name hurt to say?
She forced a small smile. "Just… a dream, I think. It keeps showing up."
Sebastian studied her for a moment, the flicker of concern returning to his face. "Dreams can be strange like that," he said. "Sometimes they remember things we don't."
Aurelia nodded, though her gaze stayed distant, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes, I wonder if they remember more than we ever could."
The lantern between them dimmed as a breeze swept past, and for the briefest instant,
Sebastian exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as the academy bells tolled in the distance. "Well," he said, smiling faintly, "you'd better get going before the instructors start asking why their brightest mage is lingering with a tired knight."
Aurelia gave a soft laugh, small, but genuine. "You're not that tired. You just like pretending you are."
He smirked. "Keeps people guessing." Then, more sincerely, "Take care of yourself, Aurelia. Whatever those dreams are… don't let them define you."
She met his eyes and nodded. "I won't."
The gate loomed ahead, gilded iron catching the last traces of evening light.
As she stepped through it, the warmth of the world seemed to fade into something quieter, almost fragile.
Her thoughts drifted back to that name, Lucifer, and the shadowed reflection in the forge's steel.
Was it really just an illusion? she wondered, the memory of that dark, sorrowful face surfacing in her mind. Or something buried deeper, something waiting?
She shook her head, pushing the thought aside. "No," she whispered under her breath, her voice firm, resolute. "I'll never become that figure. Whoever that was, whatever that was, it isn't me."
A soft breeze brushed against her hair as she crossed the courtyard, the stars above just beginning to appear. For a moment, she felt a faint warmth in her chest, a pulse not of fear, but quiet certainty.
Because the vision of myself that the voice showed me… she thought, that's my true self, the one I'll protect.
And with that, Aurelia walked on beneath the lanterns, the echo of her resolve following her into the night.