The detail was astonishing. Since Cane was attuned to Neri, creating her likeness came as naturally as sketching his own face. Even Jonas paused, silently taking in the finished piece.
The azure crystal waves shimmered with life. The silver of the mermaid's tail gleamed like it had been caught mid-movement, curling just above the crest.
Cane turned to the hooded girl. "I know a few mermaids. This one's named Neri—so if you don't mind, we'll call it Neri's Dance."
She nodded, her hood slipping back just enough to reveal her striking dark features. "You should take it with you."
Cane shook his head. "It's not mine. You can either sell it or put it on display."
"We could place it in the main hall's display case," the middle-aged man offered.
Rolon and Moris both nodded eagerly, beaming like they'd uncovered a priceless treasure.
Jonas raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything until they stepped away. "So... what's your relationship with Neri?"
Cane kept his eyes ahead. "Friends."
Jonas snorted. "And you created her likeness from memory that easily? I'll recognize her the moment we meet." He wagged his brows. "It's a wonder you get any smithing done."
Cane rolled his eyes. "After we escaped, Neri healed me. She passed on an attunement—gives me a special connection to water."
The rest of the tour passed quickly. Neri's Dance arrived on the first floor before they did, already set inside the central glass case where visitors gathered to admire it.
Rolon presented Jonas with his Craftsman badge and offered a Journeyman badge for Cane. However, tradition dictated that a master should do the honors.
Jonas took it solemnly. After adjusting his own badge, he turned to Cane. "Having trained you in the basics and advanced methods of blacksmithing and metalwork, I, Jonas Ironfist, do hereby promote you to the rank of Journeyman."
The small crowd watching burst into applause. Cane grinned, broad and bright.
The ride back to the estate was quiet—both men satisfied, having finally achieved what they set out to do months ago when they left Loramo Harbor.
It was still early morning when they returned, but something felt off. Cane scanned the yard. "Where's Spud?"
The war hound always checked incoming carriages, circling, sniffing, never missing a detail. A quick scan revealed a figure standing near the garden—Spud sitting calmly at her side.
Moriwynn.
Jonas followed his gaze. "Friend of yours?"
Cane hesitated. "Almost. She's the Elven Commander of Gryphon Company... and Elohan's sister."
"Right. I remember you mentioned him." Jonas gave a nod. "I'll be at the smithy."
"Okay." Cane stepped down. "Might as well say hello."
Moriwynn felt a smile tug at her lips, unbidden. Her usual icy calm softened slightly at the sight of the young human approaching. She had made efforts to befriend Cane despite the gulf between a human blacksmith and an elfen healer. It was still a work in progress. But something about him—his spirit, perhaps—refused to stay confined by boundaries.
Though only weeks had passed since their last meeting, his gait now carried the weight of confidence, and his posture held the quiet strength of someone who'd faced dangers and survived them.
"Welcome, Mori." Cane smiled warmly.
The smile tugging at her mouth finally surfaced. She stepped forward and took his hands in her own.
"I can barely walk a few steps without hearing your name these days," she said. But as their hands touched, something rippled between them—formidable, unnamed. A trace of something deeper. She frowned slightly. "Is everything alright?"
Cane nodded, gently releasing her hands. "Let's sit in the garden."
She followed him to a low stone bench nestled among leafy stalks and newly sprouted vines.
"The snowpeas are growing nicely," she noted.
Cane's eyes swept over the garden and lingered for a moment. "A reminder of home," he murmured. Then, glancing at her, "I've been hearing about you, too. Gryphon Company has been a thorn in the side of the Zuni Empire since you formed it."
Moriwynn laughed softly—a sound that rarely made its way to the human realm. "Maybe so, but you've done far more damage with far fewer people." Her sky-blue eyes studied him. "Killing Terror, destroying the Zuni Command Center… that wasn't a skirmish, Cane. That was a crippling blow. Who knew you'd come so far, so fast."
Cane hesitated, then told her of his recent return to Hybacus—the village where he was born—and the empty graves. He didn't mention the spirals of Cold Iron embedded in every corpse, nor the preservation they'd enabled. Even elves revered Cold Iron, though few admitted it aloud.
"I know where the bodies were taken," Cane said simply. "It's imperative I recover them."
Mori didn't ask why. She only nodded. "I will help."
"Come with me, then." Cane placed a hand on her shoulder—and with a shimmer of light and a sudden hush—they were pulled into the ringworld.
"What?" Mori's eyes widened as she took in the vibrant air, the altered gravity, the timeless hush. "A spatial construction? Is this… yours?"
Cane nodded. "Still small. But it's growing with me."
Mori's gaze drifted to the sapling trees. "Those are Living Wood…"
"They're starting to take root," Cane said. "My friends use this as a training ground. They've been adding their own touches. The trees were Clara's idea."
Mori bent to brush a hand over the grass, her voice quiet. "That feeling when I touched your hand… it was time dilation." Her fingers curled into the earth. "Cane… this place is woven with Origin energy. This is creation at its most basic."
Cane closed his eyes and focused. "During the First Rise of Man, this kind of thing was child's play for a metallurgist."
His thoughts reached out.
Grandfather.
The call reverberated in the ringworld, echoing outward—and then, with a ripple of energy, a man appeared. Unlike Cane, whose form was hazy and semi-translucent, Philas was solid and formidable.
Moriwynn drew back slightly, surprised by his sudden arrival.
Philas's eyes fixed on her. "One of Spiradoon's descendants?" He tilted his head. "No… no metallurgy ability at all. A shame. He was quite good. And an anomaly."
Moriwynn took a step back, startled. "Spiradoon? How do you know that name?"
Philas chuckled softly. "How wouldn't I? The only metallurgist your kind ever produced. Gone now, of course. Vanished, no trace."
"Grandpa," Cane said, stepping in. "This is Moriwynn, a noble of the Sunset Forest. Mori, my grandfather—Philas Ironheart, metallurgist of the First Rise of Man."
"You're from the First Rise?" Moriwynn asked, bowing her head—something she never did, especially not for humans.
"Barely," Philas admitted. "I was a child when they sent me away. The world was already coming apart."
Cane noticed Philas sidestepped the truth—how his parents had submerged him in Cold Iron to preserve him.
"I need an update on the villagers," Cane said.
Philas raised his hands. A great metallic tome unfolded in midair—the Book of Iron. Pages turned themselves, revealing a living map of the Realm.
"They haven't moved," Philas confirmed.
Mori's eyes widened as she studied the atlas. "Impressive. The Zuni Empire once had something similar… before your team leveled the Command Center."
She hesitated. "May I ask you something, sir?"
Philas gave a nod.
"Life is for the living. Are you truly risking Cane's life… for a group of corpses?"
Philas's voice remained even. "Those villagers underwent a special rite at birth. Recovering their bodies means they can be revived. Not in the human realm, of course, but in a space like this—only fully realized."
Moriwynn shook her head slowly. "You don't understand how important Cane is."
"I do," Philas said, his voice steady. "But these aren't just bodies. They are our kin. Cane's legacy is intertwined with them. And mine."