Hours passed. Then days.
And the world narrowed.
The clang of hammer to metal.
The roar of the furnace.
The crackle of lightning essence fusing into the bow's bones.
Kent's body was covered in sweat, soot, and burn scars from wild sparks. His hands blistered beneath the grips. Still, he continued, shoulders rolling with exhaustion but not slowing down.
He turned the shaft, hammering both sides to shape the perfect inward curve. Every fifth strike, he paused and let the shaft rest under runes of spiritual cooling before returning to the fire.
There were no shortcuts. No spells to help.
Only sweat. Steel. And will.
On the far side of the forge, Muni Naga sat with his upper body coiled in a meditative trance, but his arms moved like water over a jade slab. He was not idle — far from it.
