CHAPTER 56
Azra'il - POV
I spent a good part of the previous night staring fixedly at the oak beam ceiling of my room, which was, for someone with my history of biologically efficient sleep, a rare enough event to deserve a detailed record of insomnia.
The problem with choosing a name for a blade doesn't lie in a scarcity of options, but rather in the historical density each word carries once you've lived long enough to see entire concepts born and die.
〈Chìyá〉, I considered initially. Crimson Fang. I discarded the idea as quickly as one rejects an outrageous diplomatic proposal. It was too obvious an allusion to Eris's red hair and untamed ferocity. The kind of name any tavern mercenary would guess in three seconds just from glancing at her across the room. I wanted something that demanded actually knowing her, not just seeing her.
〈Hóngshī〉. Crimson Lion. It came close to convincing me for a few minutes. It sounded like the kind of designation that, decades later, would turn up in military history volumes accompanied by a fairly concerning amount of blood in the footnotes, which, given Eris Boreas's natural trajectory, wasn't in the least statistically improbable. However, it carried a weight of solemn grandeur I considered unsuitable for a weapon that needed to walk alongside its owner, not merely impress the local nobility.
〈Tiānhuǒ〉. Celestial Fire. I rejected that one too, though with a more palpable reluctance. The indirect connection to the Tiāngōng Spirit Steel's foundation held a hermetic elegance I quite liked, but the terminology was too pompous for a tenth-birthday present. It might age well, perhaps, twenty years from now. But not today.
〈Tóngxíng〉. Companion of the Path. This one made me pause my reasoning for a considerable while. It captured, with surgical precision, the philosophy I'd adopted throughout the whole forging process: the sword shouldn't fight in Eris's place; it should walk with her. However, spoken aloud, it sounded too gentle. It was the kind of name that would easily get lost in the noise of real battle, and Eris needed something that could also be shouted in the middle of chaos.
〈Gòngmíng〉. Resonance. Elegant, technically precise from the standpoint of the mana flow and Touki the blade would learn to conduct. But it sounded more like the cold description of an alchemical mechanism in a laboratory manual than the name of a sword someone would carry with pride to the end of their days.
〈Eos, what's the current count of useless designations I've discarded these past few hours?〉
[Twelve linguistic designations, counting only those you verbalised as structured thought. I estimate subconscious processing has rejected approximately forty-seven additional name variants.]
〈That's mildly humiliating for someone with my track record.〉
[It's perfectly consistent with your obsessive history of naming objects of personal significance. In your seven-hundredth life, you spent three consecutive weeks deciding the nomenclature of a hunting dagger.]
〈That dagger held immense geopolitical significance, Eos.〉
[You used it to cut an apple exactly once before accidentally dropping it while crossing a river.]
I ignored the reminder with the calloused dignity of someone already accustomed to Eos's mockery, and carried on refining the possibilities. Each name seemed promising for a few seconds, only to reveal, under deeper analysis, that it lacked some essential element of the girl's character.
It was only in the depths of the night, when physical exhaustion finally began to loosen the analytical rigidity of my seven-year-old brain, that two characters settled into my mind with a fluidity none of the previous attempts had shown.
Lièxīn.
Burning Heart.
Not for the colour of her hair. Not for the explosive temperament and impulsive decisions she tended to make at a frequency that challenged the sanity of any tutor. It was about intensity. About the fact that Eris never did anything by halves. She hated wholly, learned wholly, once she'd finally accepted that knowledge wasn't a conspiracy against her freedom, and trusted with an absolute integrity I'd rarely found in other existences.
I stopped the flow of thought there, deliberately, before the introspection turned into useless sentimentality, and finally fell asleep for a few hours.
I got up before the first sign of sunlight touched the manor's windows. With that mental clarity typical of someone who's resolved a structural problem in their sleep, I walked back to the workshop in the woods, taking with me only the certainty of the name and the finest engraving needle from my toolset.
I took the sword out of my dimensional inventory and set it down on the oak bench. Only the signature remained.
I leant over the metal guard.
烈心.
Two traditional Eastern characters, carved with the geometric precision of someone who'd traced those same symbols across dozens of distant existences. Just below them, using this world's standard calligraphy, I engraved the corresponding phonetic pronunciation: Lièxīn.
Those runic characters would mean absolutely nothing to the inhabitants of this plane of existence. It was a dead language, from a universe that would never cross paths with this one. But I engraved them anyway. Some things don't need to be understood by a crowd to have the right to exist.
烈心 - Lièxīn, Burning Heart.
I turned the blade and, on the opposite side of the guard, engraved my personal blacksmith's mark: the minimalist design of a stylised wolf in seven precise lines. It was an economical stroke, but one that could never be mistaken for any other creature. Between the snout and the curve of the left ear, I hid the runic initial of my own name, nearly invisible to anyone who didn't know exactly where to look.
It was the mark I'd been using for a very long time.
[First confirmed application of said maker's mark: one thousand, eight hundred and seventy-three lives ago.]
〈I didn't need the exact historical figure, Eos.〉
[I considered that the numerical record would add the appropriate weight to your morning nostalgia.]
I let out a contained sigh and put away the engraving needle. I tested the finished sword's balance through a few basic sword drills in the air. I applied no Touki or high-density mana; the blade was still a virgin receptacle, a blank page that needed to get used to Eris's specific energy flow before it could respond with full efficiency. The physical response was clean, with no unwanted vibration or structural resistance.
It was ready.
The morning was already well advanced when I finished the last polishing touches. Around lunchtime, my ears registered footsteps approaching along the path connecting the clearing to the main yard. They were quick footsteps, without the heavy cadence of fatigue or worry.
Rudeus emerged from between the trees holding an object I hadn't expected him to finish so soon: a dark wooden wand, polished carefully enough that the natural grain was visible, but without him having tried to erase the material's small organic irregularities.
It wasn't perfect.
It was better. It was his.
"I've finished the basic grip structure," he announced, holding the wand out to me with that childlike pride he only showed when he'd made a notable magical breakthrough. "All that's left is fixing the core in place."
I took the piece and examined it in the sunlight, turning it between my fingers. The grip was slightly thicker than the rest of the wooden body, sized with precision for hands that would still change and grow over the coming years. It was an ergonomic detail I doubted he'd designed consciously, but that revealed his craftsman's instinct was working correctly.
"This is good quality work," I remarked, with no need to inflate the compliment, but also without sparing the technical recognition.
"Really?"
"Really. But where's the crystal core?"
His expression changed at once. The pride gave way to that typical financial frustration of someone who'd just collided with this world's commercial reality.
"I don't have one yet."
"And what would the reason be?"
"I went to Roa's central market to check the prices of mid-grade magic crystals a few days ago," he explained, sitting on the edge of the bench with the dejection of someone who'd suffered a recent budgetary defeat. "The simplest, lowest-conductivity crystal was costing the trifling sum of eight gold coins."
"That's structurally offensive."
"That's exactly what I argued with the shopkeeper."
"I'm not referring merely to the inflated price, Rudeus. I'm referring to the mineral's actual value. A mid-grade crystal with impurities isn't worth even half that amount in terms of magical efficiency."
"The seller assured me it was mined from the deep southern mines and had high affinity."
"Sellers also tend to assure you that old, lame horses are simply extremely experienced and prudent animals."
Rudeus let out a short laugh, nodding in agreement.
"Because of that, I decided to try synthesising the crystallisation manually," he said. "Roxy made our childhood wands using that method. If she was capable of synthesising the core herself, there's no reason I couldn't do the same."
"That's an ambitious undertaking."
"I took a few tomes from the Boreas library on metallurgy and synthetic mana crystallisation. I managed to produce some practical results through continuous compression." He reached into his leather side pouch and poured four small minerals onto the wooden bench. Each one showed a distinct colouring and light refraction level. "My only problem is I don't know which of them would be ideal for Eris's structure."
I examined the first crystal. It was translucent, with a faint bluish sheen and a highly stable crystalline structure.
"Neutral core," I identified, touching the surface. "Good mana conductivity, but no specific elemental inclination."
"I thought that would be the safest option."
"It's the most generic option. Caution and lack of magical personality don't always belong on the same strategic plane."
I picked up the second specimen. It was an intense red, showing internal veins that seemed to pulse faintly under direct sunlight.
"Fire affinity," I remarked, turning my gaze directly to his face. "You chose this one thinking about Eris's visual aesthetic."
Rudeus looked away, scratching the back of his neck with obvious embarrassment. "Well... it wasn't a purely visual criterion."
"What percentage of influence did her hair have on your alchemical decision?"
"I can't measure it exactly..."
"Rudeus. Be honest."
"Seventy per cent," he admitted, with the face of someone who knew perfectly well how superficial that choice had been. "Her hair is that colour and she has that temperament. I thought there'd be a natural resonance of elements."
"That logic only works in fantasy novels of dubious quality. In physical reality, Eris is already an unstable, aggressive element by nature. Introducing a purely pyrotechnic affinity crystal into her wand would be like giving a bucket of kerosene to someone who already has a habit of lighting fires indoors. You'd be amplifying exactly the tendency she needs to learn to control and stabilise."
He sighed, absorbing the technical criticism with visible reluctance, and pointed at the third crystal, greenish in tone and noticeably lighter than the previous ones.
"Wind affinity," he explained. "It has an extremely fast response speed. I thought it would match the physical agility she shows in training with Ghislaine."
"Eris has no natural affinity whatsoever with the wind element. Just because the element shows fast conduction doesn't mean it'll resonate harmoniously with her internal mana matrix. That would be an artificial choice."
Rudeus let out another sigh, longer this time, and picked up the last crystal on the bench. Unlike the others, this one displayed a chaotic structure: an unstable mix of orange and golden tones, cut through by thin bluish lines that seemed to move beneath the surface, as if the mineral still hadn't decided which molecular pattern to adopt.
"This was my process error," he explained, looking genuinely embarrassed by the result. "I tried synthesising a core with no fixed element, but the compression rate fluctuated during fusion and the resulting pattern came out unstable. I can't even classify which element it belongs to."
I picked up the unstable crystal between my fingers. I immediately felt an energy vibration entirely distinct from the others. It wasn't a more powerful or destructive mana signature, but an extremely fluid, open structure, like a blank space awaiting a directing command.
"This is the ideal core," I stated.
Rudeus blinked, confused. "But that's exactly the one that went wrong during refining, Azra'il."
"No."
"Its molecular matrix didn't settle on any element!"
"I noticed."
"So the process failed."
"Rudeus, you're confusing absence of specialisation with failure." I turned the crystal between my fingers, feeling the controlled instability inside it, the kind of instability that didn't indicate weakness, but unresolved potential. "For a ten-year-old still developing her own magical style, fitting a specialised elemental crystal would be making a decision for her before she's even had a chance to decide for herself. The neutral crystal would be functional, but passive. This one is different."
"Different in what way?"
"It has magical plasticity. It hasn't settled on any fixed affinity because it hasn't yet been exposed to a constant, long-term mana flow. With continuous use by Eris, this crystal's internal matrix will start adapting to her energy pattern. If she uses more physical acceleration techniques, the crystal will optimise flow conductivity. If she develops a fire affinity, the molecular structure will reorganise to facilitate that conduction. There won't be any absurd magical bonuses or artificial power increase; just a gradual reduction in internal resistance as its owner uses it."
He remained looking at the mineral with an expression mixing initial incomprehension with a slow, progressive technical understanding.
"I... created something with this level of complexity completely by accident?"
"By accident. Yes."
"You know, the fact that it was a process error takes away a considerable amount of dignity from today's achievement."
"Accidents and laboratory failures are responsible for an immense share of scientific progress across millennia of human history, Rudeus. The alchemist's original intent is irrelevant to physics; only the concrete result that manifests in the real world matters."
He kept his eyes fixed on the crystal for a few more seconds. Slowly, the frustration on his face gave way to a more sober, honest understanding of his own creation.
"Was it me who did this?" he asked, almost in a whisper to himself.
"By pure chance and a lack of stable temperature control," I reiterated, without hesitation. "But yes, it was you who did it."
He held the unstable crystal with infinitely more care than he'd shown the other three. He spent part of the afternoon working on fixing the core into the wand's wood, receiving small guidance from me whenever he hesitated too long before a critical step. I never interfered directly with the assembly; I limited myself to pointing in the correct direction whenever his hesitation threatened to compromise the piece's structure.
While he worked, I turned my attention back to Lièxīn, wrapping it in a thick protective cloth with the same technical rigour I'd devoted to every hammer strike and quenching of the process.
Two twin siblings. A sword and a wand. Two entirely distinct gifts, forged in secret for the same ten-year-old girl who, at that exact moment, was probably somewhere in the manor beating up a straw dummy with no idea whatsoever that a small, highly complex artisanal industry was operating exclusively for her benefit.
We returned to the Boreas manor in the middle of the afternoon. Rudeus kept the nearly finished wand and the remaining minerals in his leather pouch; I carried Lièxīn wrapped in the protective cloth, held firmly against my chest.
As soon as we reached the corridor leading to our respective quarters, we were interrupted by a familiar voice.
"Master Rudeus. Miss Azra'il."
We both stopped walking at the same time.
Eris's etiquette and dance tutor stood a few metres from us. Her expression carried a level of exhaustion entirely different from what I'd registered in our last conversation. There was a dramatic difference between the face of a tutor dealing with a rebellious student and the face of a professional who'd begun to question whether the laws of gravity and traditional pedagogy still applied to the human being she was trying to instruct.
The woman in front of us was dangerously close to suffering a collapse of her professional convictions.
"Might I have a few minutes of your attention?" she asked. Her voice, though controlled by Asura's rigid etiquette, carried a tremor of uncertainty she couldn't entirely hide.
Rudeus and I exchanged a quick tactical assessment glance.
"Did Eris destroy any valuable property?" I asked.
"No."
"Did she strike any member of the manor's staff?"
"No, Miss Azra'il. Nothing of that nature occurred today."
"Then her behavioural balance for this week is considerably above the historical average," I concluded.
The tutor showed not the slightest inclination to find humour in my comment, which, given the visible level of stress accumulated at her temples, was perfectly understandable. She took a deep breath, gathering the posture needed to present an uncomfortable request.
"I have a request of the utmost importance to make of you both," she said, finally.
I stayed silent, adopting that expression of absolute serenity Rudeus had already learned to identify as my internal signal that I was bracing for an unavoidable misfortune.
"I need you to assist me," the tutor continued, "during Lady Eris's practical dance sessions."
I looked at the middle-aged woman.
Then, I slowly turned my gaze to Rudeus.
He looked back at me with the exact expression of a soldier who's just realised his military leave has been revoked, and that he's been assigned to a front-line mission with no right of appeal.
The spirit steel sword had demanded ten whole days of uninterrupted work to reach its perfect form. However, faced with the silent despair stamped across that etiquette tutor's face, teaching Eris Boreas Greyrat to coordinate three waltz steps without causing a diplomatic incident would probably demand considerably more time and effort from the two of us.