The Five Realms

Chapter 55: Steven XI

Chapter 55: The Heartsmith's Encounter

The crucible spat sparks like angry fireflies.
Steven flinched as a stray ember caught his wrist, adding to the latticework of small burns and blisters that now laced both hands. His palms were raw, layered in soot and old salve, and every joint ached like it had been rung out by gods.

Thirteen days.

Twenty-four attempts.

And still no Bondsteel.

He leaned against the forge wall of House 50's upper annex, the heat pressing into his skin like a silent dare. Somewhere above, Ares snorted from his rooftop perch, a puff of steam curling over the edge like a lazy smoke signal. Steven smiled faintly at the sound, even as his shoulders sagged.

The molten glow of the central forge licked the air with gold-orange light, and down in the main chamber, May crouched beside the crucible console, her hands moving in sharp arcs as she adjusted the runic flow. Connor was holding the casting channel steady with a magitek stabilizer clamped to his gauntlet. Johnson knelt over the alloy controls, murmuring adjustments to the pressure valves like a priest coaxing penance from a machine.

The chamber felt like a cathedral made of flame and stone. Humming kinetic runes etched the floor in slow spirals, like a giant's fingerprint pressed into the foundation of Dragon City itself. The forge breathed—it inhaled heat, exhaled magic—and each time it did, Steven felt a shiver in his ribs, like the world remembering it once had a heartbeat.

He'd almost given up yesterday.

All of them had. Joey, Chyna, Fate—they didn't say it aloud, but the silence had curled tighter with every failed pour. Each iteration cracked. Each spellbound infusion rejected. Brightsteel alone wasn't enough. Not even with dragonfire from Rohan, Serethiel, Goldenia, and Skarnyx all synchronized. Not even with the twins' blood.

That was when Steven had remembered something.

No... not remembered. More like recognized.

A whisper from his dwarven lineage. Not a memory, but a magnetic pull in his marrow.

Brightsteel resists. It channels. But it doesn't bond. Not truly.

Valyrian steel... sings. It remembers its forge. Its wielder. Its purpose. It resonates.

That thought had cracked open something inside him—an old echo in his bones, a pulse in the edunari shard that rested in his watch. And suddenly, it wasn't just metallurgy. It was music. Harmony. He wasn't inventing something new.

He was becoming the key to remembering something ancient.

From the lower gallery, May's voice floated up, calm and precise.

"Stabilizers holding," she said. "Connor, lock the eastern valve. Johnson, reduce mana bleed by two degrees."

"I know what I'm doing," Johnson muttered.

"You always say that right before something explodes," Connor replied cheerfully.

Steven snorted. "He's not wrong."

May rolled her eyes. "You three are the reason I need stress charms."

Then, casually—almost offhand—she added, "You know, if we had a clean blood resonance pulse timed to the pour, we might actually get a different result. Something more... responsive."

Steven blinked. "Wait, say that again?"

"Blood resonance," May repeated, flipping her braid back. "A drop timed to the final flow arc. Just before the alloy sets. It can imprint signature frequency. Old spellsmith trick. Didn't Ana tell you that?"