Sublime.

  That is the first thought that bzes through my mind after Gofannon carefully lifts and pulls away the glistening emerald cloth, uncovering the polearm of amarium and phoenixash. It lies upon a long marble block.

  The double-bded polearm has sleek, curved bdes.

  Phoenixash. Hepatizon and amarium make an alloy: pale gray with purple-gray and dark bck lines. The captivating surface of phoenixash has a folded steel pattern to it. Long swirling bands of bck, gray, and purple shades are like wisps of smoke locked forever inside the metal. The wavy pattern is striking, with wavy lines traveling the length of the bde.

  I've read from some dusty old tome in the Great Library—I think it was old, although...the gilt letters were so crisp and nice—that the strength of the metal almost rivals that of bloodsteel.

  And as a bonus, phoenixash can heal itself. If the metal is slightly scratched or damaged, it can renew itself back into its original form. This may take months, though.

  Many believe phoenixash to be cursed. I do not.

  I gently grasp the weapon around the middle, lifting it up for closer inspection.

  It feels so light.

  I casually swing the polearm about. It is but a feather, a twig weight in my arms. Unsurprising. The shaft is forged out of amarium, metal stronger and lighter than steel; and engraved intricately with radiant patterns spreading and thinning from half-sun motifs. Fitting, for I've settled on the name Twilight.

  Masterful. The polearm looks made for Theia herself to wield. I think I forgot to breathe for a few moments.

  I focus my eyes on one of the phoenixash bdes. Searching for a fw, for scratches. There is none, there are none. My powerful eyes feast, unaccustomed to things truly fwless.

  ''Immacute,'' I whisper.

  ''I took my time with the finishing process. With proper maintenance the weapon will stay such as it is now. You will never need to sharpen the bdes. But the haft will need regur cleaning.''

  I instinctively move to create a whirlwind of bdes, stopping myself at the st moment. ''You don't mind?''

  ''Please.'' The bcksmith nods at the clearing to my right. ''I'm curious if the heft is to your liking.'' His arms are crossed and the stance of his body seems tense, guarded somehow.

  In graceful silver arcs, I spin my polearm, feeling the weight of it—a thing negligible. I ssh with vigor and slice with precision at my imaginary foes. The bdes at each end of the shaft are my fists. Again and again, I make the air cry with a swishing sound.

  My feet are water: flexible and flowing, my hands the wind: fast and unforgiving. Strange. I almost wish for Twilight to feel heavier in my hands.

  An image of hurt Zuri, lying in the sand, fshes through my mind. The old memory kills the growing urge in me: to unrein myself, to lose control.

  I finish with an elegant flourish. My hands lock, one below the other, holding the polearm vertically.

  ''The heft suits me fine,'' I note.

  Forgemaster Gofannon says nothing. He just looks at me for a few moments, eyes slightly narrowed. I was careful to hold back.

  I focus my eyes on the bde's fwless surface. You must understand, my eyes are used to seeing fws, small or big, in all things. Phoenixash is very pleasing to look at. Not the tiniest scratch is there to be found.

  After I-don't-know-how-much time passes, during which I stupidly also said nothing, the bcksmith clears his throat. ''I believe the result is satisfactory?''

  I look at him. Respect for his great skill and bor evident in my eyes. ''It is. My faith in you was well-justified.'' I hand him the robust, huge, fat sack bristling with hex. The second half of his payment. Together with the first half, it is enough money to buy about four thousand loaves of bread.

  I notice he doesn't open the sack to count the hexagonal crystal coins.

  ''Follow me, please. Our business is not yet concluded,'' Forgemaster Gofannon says.

  We enter a nearby small office with two parchments on the table. Both are identical and with exquisite calligraphy; the text framed by ornate borders depicting interlocking iron rings. The bck ink smells fresh. Each parchment has a wax seal—bearing a symbol of anvil—and the bcksmith's signature near the bottom.

  Proof of ownership. ''Proof of ownership,'' Forgemaster gives voice to my thoughts. ''Sign both. One is yours to take, the other stays with me.''

  My excitement had not yet waned and my right hand trembles slightly as it reaches for the quill. I pause to scan both texts. I trust him but I trust myself the most.

  After my caution is sated by the formality of the charter, I sign it. That's that, Twilight is legally mine.

  I firmly grasp Forgemaster Gofannon's outstretched forearm, noticing the many scattered burns on it.

  He grunts.

  Shit!

  He hides it well but I can see it in his eyes: I hurt him. In my excitement I squeezed his thick forearm a little too tightly. The bcksmith now looks at me like I just grew horns. Luckily, the surprised look is gone quickly as I praise his skill, speaking with him about this and that. I really don't wish to stay here for long, lest I might trip and break his leg or something.

  After not long I'm outside. The welcome burst of wind fpping my coat.

  I look at my right hand and smile. Knowing the dimensions in advance, my mother made a special leather sheath for the polearm.

  After throwing my eyes at the Academy facade and its giant triquetra I rush forward, feeling faster than the wind or a thrown spear. I jump across the uneven terrain with ease, avoiding the main paths. There are interior gymnasiums that are almost always deserted. With no prying eyes I will free myself, truly free myself, testing Twilight properly.

  Sands of the paestra await!