The street swallowed them.
Hinokami and Kai left the narrow lane for a wider boulevard where the city was loud and alive again.
The crowd moved like one large organism—merchants, guards, children, mechans, old women with baskets, young men with swords at their hips.
For a moment, Hinokami felt how different the air above was.
Below the ground there had been echo and memories.
Here there was the present.
"These people have no idea what lies under their feet… and how easily everything could crack," he thought.
Sparks in his blood stirred, but his inner sun remained calm. It was not time for a storm.
"Your head is still down there," Kai nudged him lightly with an elbow. "But your feet are already up here. Careful not to trip over some reality."
Hinokami smiled slightly.
"I think…" he began, "the more I understand, the less I want to burn."
"For a mage with fire in his soul, that sounds almost indecent," Kai grinned.
"I don't want to make weapons that kill without need," Hinokami said quietly.
"If I ever truly start forging… I want to create swords that refuse to cut when the strike comes from hatred, not necessity."
Kai looked at him, surprised.
"Swords that refuse…
That's not just magic. That's character."
"Armor that falls apart at the slightest seed of betrayal," Hinokami went on, as if he had thought of this long before saying it.
"If a man sets out to sell his comrades, the armor itself should leave him naked before the world."
"And enemies," Kai added dryly.
"And necklaces," Hinokami finished. "Not for power.
For hope. For faith. For love of life itself, of the eternal flame that doesn't burn, but gives meaning to go on.
To wear them and remember why you live, not only what you fight for."
Kai walked silently a few steps.
"You know…" he said at last, "if there's ever a world where such weapons are normal… I'd like to see it.
Here they prefer steel that cuts everything, and armor that protects traitors as long as they pay well."
"Maybe that's exactly why this world needs such weapons… precisely because it doesn't want them," Hinokami thought.
The inner warmth in him rose slightly like a quiet fire in a hearth.
"Doesn't matter," he smiled. "Someone has to start making them."
"And someone has to write all this madness down in the archives," Kai added.
"Looks like we're both doomed."
They turned down a quieter street. The noise behind them faded.
A softer twilight settled between the buildings.
And then a voice was heard:
"You really talk like a smith.
Not like a mage, not like a hero… like someone who understands the responsibility of the hammer."
VALKARION
The figure leaned against the stone wall as if it had always been there.
A gray cloak, slightly open at the front. Under it—a leather apron stained with metal dust and soot.
His hands—strong, veined, scarred from years of forging.
His face—chiseled from the same stone he leaned on: rough, but steady.
His eyes—deep, like molten metal frozen into a new shape.
"The Grey Watcher…" Kai whispered.
The man raised an eyebrow slightly.
"That's what those who don't know better call me," he said calmly.
"My real name is Valkarion."
The name rang in Hinokami like a hammer blow on an anvil.
Heavy, clear, inevitable.
"Smith of Smiths," Kai added.
"The one legends blame for speaking to metal before he had the right to speak to people."
"Legends always exaggerate," Valkarion smiled faintly.
"I simply listened carefully."
His gaze moved to Hinokami.
"I heard you," he went on. "Out loud and… not so out loud.
Swords that refuse to strike needlessly.
Armor that won't tolerate betrayal.
Necklaces that bear hope, faith, and love for the eternal flame."
He pushed off the wall and stepped forward.
"These aren't a child's dreams. They're a smith's decisions.
Your problem is that you don't control the flames you want to weave into these things."
"So my choice is already not only mine. Someone heard it. Someone who knows more than me."
Sparks in Hinokami's blood stirred slightly.
"What do you want from us?" he asked.
"From you—a choice," Valkarion replied.
"From him—a strong stomach."
"So I'll be throwing up from fear and he'll be watching," Kai laughed nervously.
"Great."
Valkarion raised his hand.
In his palm appeared a flame—not bright, but dense and deep, as if part of the stone itself had decided to burn.
"I'll teach you to control your flames at least a little," he said, looking Hinokami straight in the eyes.
"Not because I know little or can little…
but because they are limitless."
The last word sounded heavy, as if the air itself remembered it.
"Limitless fire in the hands of a man without direction is a curse, not a gift.
I will not allow this city to be burned down by someone's ignorance—even if that ignorance has a good heart."
The flame in his palm expanded.
The world around them blurred.
Hinokami felt his inner sun "pull" toward that flame, as if the two fires had swapped places.
The crowd, the streets, the noise—everything turned into smudged outlines.
Then the fire went out—and they were no longer in the city.
IN THE HEART OF THE EYE
Stone. Metal. Silence.
They stood in a huge underground hall, different from that of the exiles.
Here everything was created for one purpose—crafting.
The vaults of the ceiling were studded with purple crystals glowing softly.
On the walls—circles of runes woven into metal rings.
On the floor—burned traces of old magic circles.
In the center burned a forge whose flames were neither purely red nor purely orange, but tinted by the purple light of the crystals.
"The Forge of the Purple Eye…" Kai whispered. "Real."
"It was never just a legend," Valkarion replied.
"People just prefer to call dangerous truths 'fairy tales'."
He turned to Hinokami.
"From here on there are two paths," he said.
"You can remain a mage with a fire gift who keeps his head down and hopes no one notices how different he is.
Or you can become a smith who accepts that what he forges may change the very course of this world."
"If I choose the first… I'll lie to the fire in me that I fear it.
If I choose the second… I must admit I'm ready to bear the consequences."
The warmth in his chest condensed, like the core of a small sun.
"We'll forge," Hinokami said.
Kai sighed heavily.
"Of course," he muttered.
"Who wants a normal life when you can enter legend at the risk of dying like an idiot?"
"You'll come from time to time," Valkarion pointed at him.
"You'll bring supplies. You'll listen. You'll remember.
Fire needs witnesses, not just metal."
"So I'm officially 'bread deliverer for future cataclysms'," Kai nodded.
"Got it."
DAYS FORGED IN EXHAUSTION
In the forge, time was measured not by sunrises, but by hammer blows.
Hinokami struck.
The metal vibrated.
His flame tried to enter the steel, but stopped each time at the last moment—not from lack of strength, but because of something else.
Fear.
"Harder," Valkarion's voice echoed behind him.
"Not in the muscle. In the intent."
Hinokami tightened his grip on the hammer.
"I can't allow myself to make swords that will cut people without reason," he said.
"Every time I try to give a blade a soul, I see someone raising it against the innocent."
"Wrong," Valkarion answered.
"You're only seeing the worst scenario. And giving it all the power.
Don't forget: you're not forging their will. You're forging the will of the weapon."
The hammer fell. Sparks scattered.
"If I give it no mission, it will become whatever the world tells it to be.
If I give it a mission, at least a part of it will know it can refuse."
His inner sun pulsed in rhythm with the strikes.
For days he failed.
Blades he couldn't "awaken".
Armor that remained just metal.
Necklaces that bore nothing but weight.
Sometimes Kai came, bringing bread and dried meat, sitting on one of the stone blocks and watching the training.
"You'll tear your arms off," he said once.
"If I have to, I'll forge myself new ones," Hinokami replied, almost out of breath.
Kai smiled faintly, but there was worry in his eyes.
"Just don't forget to leave something of yourself besides metal."
GIVING THE BLADE A MISSION
At last Valkarion raised his hand.
"That's enough," he said. "Put the hammer down."
Hinokami stopped, his fingers trembling slightly.
Sweat on his brow, metal dust and soot on his hands.
The warmth in his chest wasn't a storm, but a stubborn, small fire.
"You can't give a soul to a single sword," the smith said.
"Do you know why?"
"Because I'm afraid of how they'll be used," Hinokami answered without trying to lie.
"No," Valkarion shook his head.
"You're trying to give them a guarantee. And no weapon can give you that.
There is no certainty. There never was."
He placed a metal blank on the anvil.
"When your fire enters the steel, you mustn't think: 'Let it not kill the innocent.'
That is fear, not direction.
You must give it a mission. Clear, simple, with no dodging."
Hinokami watched tensely.
"What mission?"
Valkarion leaned closer to the metal as if speaking to a living creature.
"You will protect those who cannot defend themselves," he said calmly.
"You will cut down the hand raised in betrayal.
You will refuse a strike that comes from whim, hatred, or fear—not from need."
He straightened.
"Weapons don't fulfill their mission immediately," he continued.
"They will be scattered. They'll change owners.
They'll be forgotten and rediscovered.
But the day they carry out the task placed in them… then they'll gather."
"In one place," Hinokami whispered.
"Yes," Valkarion's eyes gleamed.
"And then this world will be forced to face the truth of how it's used fire.
It will either be healed… or burn."
"I can't control everyone. But I can leave traces of fire that will return to me when they're ready."
His inner sun seemed, for a moment, to expand without leaving his chest.
"Are you ready to forge things that one day may judge even you?" Valkarion asked.
"Even if you don't like their verdict?"
"Yes," Hinokami answered.
"Otherwise it makes no sense to forge at all."
"Then lift the hammer again," the smith said.
"And this time don't pour fear into the blade. Pour a task."
This time, as his inner flame entered the metal, Hinokami didn't think of wrong hands.
He thought of a child who would live because the sword would refuse to fall.
Of a friend who would not betray because his armor would crumble when betrayal was born in him.
Of a person who would stand up because a necklace around their neck would remind them of something greater than fear.
The metal shuddered. Not from the strike—from within.
"Did you feel it?" Valkarion asked quietly.
"Yes," Hinokami whispered.
"That's your first true weapon," the smith said.
"Not for war. For choice."
THE VEIL OF SECRECY
It wasn't long before the walls began to "listen."
One day the runic circles woven into the stone trembled.
Valkarion lifted his head.
"They're coming," he said.
"Guards—or worse."
Kai, who had just brought bread and water, turned pale.
"Can't we just… put everything out?" he whispered.
"True fire doesn't go out like that," the smith replied.
"But we can hide it."
He turned to Hinokami.
"Time to learn something more important," he said.
"Not how to forge weapons—but how to hide their souls."
"Like with the Wooden badges?" Hinokami recalled.
"Magic that conceals true depth?"
"Exactly," Valkarion nodded.
"We'll make seals—veils—around the weapons, armor, necklaces.
If a mage or rune inspector tries to 'read' them, they'll see only the surface: an ordinary sword, standard armor, an item without special charge.
The true mission will sleep deeper."
He took Hinokami's hand and placed it on one of the newly forged blades.
"Send your fire not inside, but around the steel. Create a second layer. A mask behind which truth can breathe in peace."
Hinokami closed his eyes.
The warmth in him split in two:
—one part, a thin veil wrapping around the blade;
—the other, a core remaining hidden.
"It feels…" he whispered, "like the coins. The seal that returns them to the treasury after time.
It's the same feeling."
"Of course," Valkarion smiled as if it were obvious.
"Who do you think forged the magic of the currency?"
Hinokami stared.
"You?…"
Valkarion straightened, his voice ringing in the hall, firm and deep:
"Everything that is forged and has its own life is thanks to the Flame.
Money, badges, weapons, seals on the walls…
The Flame gives life not only to fire, but to everything the world calls 'value'."
"So the flame isn't only magic. It's foundation.
And this man has tied half the world to it."
Sparks in Hinokami's blood scattered within him like quiet, connected points.
The sound of steps approached. Someone kicked the door hard.
BEFORE THE GUARDS
Four guards entered the forge—armor with runes of loyalty, cloaks bearing the city's symbol, faces used to suspicion.
"Valkarion," the tallest said.
"We're sensing unstable magical pulses from this sector.
Suspected forbidden fire."
When his gaze fell on Hinokami, it narrowed.
"Is this boy the source?"
"He's a mage with a fire affinity," Valkarion said calmly.
"I'm using him to keep the forge burning. Nothing more."
"Convenient," the guard sneered.
"If I wanted to hide something, I wouldn't keep it in the center of the forge," the smith replied dryly.
He grabbed an ordinary-looking blank and placed it on the anvil.
"Hinokami," he said. "Show them what you can do."
"Now… either I reveal myself, or I let this role protect me."
His inner sun shrank, but did not go out.
He stretched his palm.
The fire that appeared was simple—controlled heat that warmed the metal without changing it from within.
No whisper, no will, no hint of consciousness.
The guard watched closely.
One of his companions uttered a brief spell and looked over the weapons on the walls—the veil held.
Everything appeared… normal.
"I see only standard forging magic," the mage said.
"Structure reinforcement, stabilization. Nothing forbidden."
"Told you," Valkarion growled.
"The boy's obsessed with forging, not destruction.
More dangerous to his own joints than to the city."
The guard studied him another moment, then nodded.
"We'll report no forbidden magic here," he said.
"But if we sense pulses again…"
"Come back with a whole order," the smith interrupted.
"My anvil doesn't fear the number of eyes."
The guards withdrew. The door closed with a heavy sound.
Hinokami exhaled slowly.
"I didn't lie to them completely. I showed them a real part of myself.
I just didn't show everything."
The warmth inside him stabilized.
"From today on…" Valkarion said,
"to the world you're just a kid obsessed with forging.
Remember that. Sometimes the safest fortress is the one that seems unworthy of taking."
Kai grinned.
"So you're officially 'the anvil weirdo.' Congrats, Metal."
LISAN AND THE PROMISE
After a few days, when the noise around the "magical pulses" died down, Hinokami spent more time in a "normal" forge, connected by runes to the Forge of the Purple Eye.
Here, on the surface, he forged horseshoes, knives, sometimes simple swords.
Nothing special. Nothing dangerous.
Or so it appeared.
Inside, his warmth simply breathed calmly.
One evening, when the sun had already sunk behind the walls and the forge's fire was the only light, the door creaked.
"Closed," he called by habit.
"Unless you bring bread or a good reason."
"I brought… both," a familiar voice replied.
He turned.
Lisan stood at the door.
Without the guild mask, without her receptionist role.
Just herself—with her black silky hair and eyes that this time weren't shielded behind a professional smile.
"Lisan," he said quietly.
"I found you by rumor," she smiled lightly.
"'That mage who never leaves the forges.' Wasn't hard."
"Came to check if I'm a threat?" he asked calmly.
She shook her head.
"I came to apologize."
He fell silent. That wasn't a word this city used often.
"When I saw the memories in your Wooden Badge…" she began,
"I saw pain. I saw choices I don't understand.
And still I said nothing. I left you to bear the whispers alone.
I should've been the first to stand beside you."
"She's here not for the guild. For me."
His inner sun spread a softer warmth.
"I don't owe you forgiveness," Hinokami said.
"Everyone has fears."
"And I owe you at least truth," Lisan replied.
"I believe you, Hinokami.
Not because you're perfect…
but because you fear your strength instead of worshipping it.
That, to me, weighs more than any oath."
She stepped closer.
"If one day this city turns against you…" she said quietly,
"I won't be among the first to throw stones.
I'll be among those who stand between you and the stones.
I can't promise I'll save you.
I promise I won't betray you."
"I'm not alone. Neither above nor below."
Sparks in Hinokami's blood aligned with his heartbeat.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"More than words can say."
Lisan smiled faintly.
"And… one more thing," she added.
"If we ever decide to write rules for a new guild…
we might include one: 'All with an inner sun are entitled to one extra break per day.'"
Hinokami laughed.
"Only if the rules also say: 'In need of a hammer—seek Valkarion.'"
"Deal," she smiled.
When she left, the forge was again just him and the fire.
He lifted the hammer.
The metal beneath it was no longer merely steel.
Somewhere in the world, the first weapons with a mission had already set out on their path.
And above them, high in the sky, the three moons watched silently.
One of them—purple—seemed to flicker for a moment.
"When the day comes that all these weapons gather…
either this world will remember why it deserves to live,
or admit it has condemned itself."
Hinokami's inner sun burned quietly.
And that was enough. For now.