The morning passed under the steady rhythm of an adamantium hammer. Blow after blow rang out from the smithy, each one bending, interweaving, and flattening various metals under the masked gaze of Jonas Ironfist.
As Jonas, Cane moved with practiced efficiency. Nearly a dozen work orders waited, and one by one, he fulfilled them—finishing edges, cooling blades, sealing enchantments. When the last order was completed, he cleaned up, then stepped into the bright morning air.
Main Street bustled as usual. Cane walked the familiar route, checking in with customers to let them know their orders were ready.
Yet behind it all, something cold pulsed at the edges of his thoughts: Cold Iron.
It lingered—uneasy, unresolved. His dreams had grown sharper lately, layered with fragments of lore and names whispered in steel-bound voices. If the stories were true, if bloodlines could be traced by the scars left on metal, then...
Someone in his line had been placed in cold iron.
He thought back to childhood. Old stories. Family names.
Besides Jonas Ironfist and his own surname—Ironheart—he recalled others: Ironblood. Ironwords. And then... a rhyme. Something half-remembered from a lesson or a lullaby.
The blood runs hot, and the words profound;
When the heart returns, the fist will be found.
"I must be remembering that wrong…" Cane muttered, striding down Main Street. "The Ironfist family came from the Highlands… Was Jonas related to us? No one ever said so."
The question pulled at him. Months had passed since his mentor's death, yet grief still sat in his chest like a cooling forge.
Then, something clicked.
"What was the name Rhiati said on the slaver ship?" He stopped mid-step, eyes narrowing. "Orion."
A cold rush ran through him. "Son of a bitch… What kind of apprentice am I? My master slain, and I don't even seek justice?"
He turned sharply and walked back to the forge.
A short while later, Cane stepped onto the runic portal embedded in the smithy floor and blinked into his quarters. He peeled off the blacksilver mask, letting it rest on the desk as he resumed his identity: Cane Ironheart.
The sound of familiar warmth greeted him.
Good morning, everyone! This is Sofie Sweetwater coming to you live from Sun Tower, bringing you today's morning announcements.
He smiled and sat at the edge of his bed, listening as her voice filled the room.
There has been conflict in the recently ceded territories of Vesh and Toradil. Although the enemy has withdrawn, the government within these regions remains under the control of Zuni citizens, who have declared independence and refused Allied troop entry.
The Gryphon Company has been redeployed to the new front near the Aegis River. They've been garrisoned there as part of a forward military command.
He leaned back slightly, eyebrows raised. That wasn't nothing.
In Academy news, a new cycle begins today! And we have one notable change in staff—Cane Ironheart has replaced Arven Sol as Professor Selene Morva's new teaching assistant.
He chuckled. The announcement was simple, but it still felt surreal to hear his name spoken that way. Out loud. Publicly.
Sofie continued with a few local highlights—missing laundry, the best lunch specials, and listener questions from the student body—before closing with her signature sign-off:
This is Sofie Sweetwater reminding you: if you see someone today without a smile, give them yours. I'll be back this afternoon. Until then—have a sunny day.
Cane stood, rubbing the back of his neck.
A new cycle. New responsibilities. Unanswered questions about Cold Iron and the legacy left behind.
And still, he smiled. Because despite it all, there were people worth forging for.
Professor Selene Morva stood with her bare feet in the shallow pool at the center of her classroom. The stone desk platforms scattered across the water remained empty, the morning air calm and hushed.
"Cane… you're early," she said without looking up.
"I wanted to talk to you about the night the Veda sank," Cane replied, his voice steady but quieter than usual. "And what happened after."
Selena turned toward him, her expression sharpening with quiet focus.
"That sounds important," she said, stepping from the water and drying her feet with a flick of magic. She crossed to her desk and unrolled a large naval map, smoothing it out as she glanced up. "Start from the beginning. What do you remember?"
Cane took a breath. "We left Loramo aboard the Veda at 8 AM. Under full sail, we headed due south across the Rhabis Sea."
"How many sails?" she asked, fingers poised over the map.
"Three. All deployed."
Selena's hand hovered, then withdrew. She circled around the desk, stopping just before him. "May I see?"
Cane's brow furrowed. "See?"
He knew what she meant. The connection he'd formed with Neri—the empathy, the residual magic—allowed certain merfolk to glimpse moments through his memory.
"I suppose so," he said quietly.
Selena gently touched her forehead to his.
The connection flared instantly. Selena gasped, her breath catching as Cane's memories surged into vivid motion.
The scent of salt air. The creak of the rigging. The faint hissing of fuses sparking to life.
A warning cry—then chaos.
Cannon fire split the night. The Veda shuddered as explosions ripped through her hull. Cane's feet left the deck, diving overboard into the freezing sea. Water closed over his head, heavy and dark. His limbs thrashed, clothes dragging him down. His lungs screamed.
Cane stumbled back, gripping the desk as the memory let go. He was gasping, knuckles pale against the edge of the wood.
Selena stepped back, biting her lip to stop it trembling. "I felt it," she whispered. "The fear. The loss of Jonas…"
She swallowed hard and motioned to the map again. "Let's take another look."
Cane leaned in beside her, still catching his breath. Selena drew swiftly with a charcoal pencil.
"You were under full sail toward Ora. With the currents running south, the attack likely occurred here."
Cane nodded slowly. "After that… I drifted for nearly two weeks. Twelve days, maybe more. The details blur—thirst, exposure. I remember flashes. The dinghy. A passing shadow. Then nothing until I was found by the slaver ship."
Selena adjusted her markings, circling a point further along the current line. "That would've brought you near this shipping lane. A known route for Zuni pirate activity."
Cane's gaze narrowed. "I heard the name Orion from Rhiati while we were held prisoner. I think he was the captain."
Selena's lips thinned. "He is. Captain of the Twisted Snake. I checked the Great Library's archives—they've been tracking pirate movements. Orion's name comes up often."
"You've been researching?" Cane's voice carried a quiet surprise.
She nodded. "I started looking into these matters when I discovered Neri and I are half-sisters. Her ship, The Defiant, features prominently in naval dispatches. When your story overlapped… I started connecting dots."
"I didn't mean to drag you into this." Cane offered a weary smile. "But… thank you."
Selena's gaze lingered on the map before meeting his. "Justice for Jonas… is a cause worth pursuing. Just don't carry it alone."
Cane nodded, his voice low. "I won't."
"The Twisted Snake is a slaver ship, but it's not rigged with enough cannons to sink the Veda…" Cane paused, watching the shadow pass across Selena's face. "You know who did it, don't you?"
Selena nodded, her expression tight. "Nothing confirmed. But all signs point to the Horatio Muldoon, under the command of Phen Styn."
"Phen Styn?" Cane frowned, trying to place the name. "I think Maud from the Defiant mentioned him… said he's the type who enjoys torturing captives."
Selena exhaled slowly. "When Neri and Captain Rhiati were taken and sold, rumor is—they were bought by Styn. You literally saved them from a fate worse than death."
"It was mutual," Cane said, his voice low. "They've saved me more than once."
He glanced toward the map, then back to Selena. "So… how would your Advanced Water Elemental class feel about collaborating with Advanced Metallurgy?"
Selena tilted her head. "Toward what end?"
"You've heard of the Avenger, right? The all-metal warship sunk by the Defiant?"
She nodded, arms crossing. "The reports were vague. I assumed they were exaggerated."
Cane smirked. "The only part they got right was that it went down during a fight with the Defiant."
Less than an hour later, both Advanced classes—Water Elemental and Metallurgy—were squeezed into Selena Morva's classroom. Students perched along platforms and railings, murmuring with curiosity. Professor Brammel stood near the edge of the pool, watching Cane with raised eyebrows.
"You saw it, boy?" Brammel asked. "The Avenger. Up close?"
Cane nodded. "Up close and personal."
He left it at that—no need to mention how he'd walked straight through the hull using a rare submersion technique. Rhiati had warned him to keep that part quiet.
Cane unrolled a rough blueprint onto a central table. "I studied its design. Every inch."
Brammel leaned in, eyes gleaming. "They say it was stealthed. Runes everywhere. Rigged for defense, maybe offense too."
Cane smiled and drew a thin silver sheet from his ring. The room hushed. Etched across the surface were intricate runes—layered, complex, and still faintly glowing. "These were copied from the hull."
Brammel looked to Selena, his voice low. "This is bigger than student work. These kids could help shape the future of warcraft. We've got the harbor, the tools. All we need is a green light."
Selena studied the runes, then looked to her students.
"We accept," she said simply. Then, with a shift in tone: "As of now, this is a confidential project. You're excused from all tests and practicals for the cycle. In return, I expect your full effort."
A wave of stunned excitement rippled through the students.
Brammel clapped once. "Right then. I'll dismiss my group."
He turned to Selena. "We'll need the Archmage's approval before we touch the harbor."
Selena nodded once. "No time like the present."
She swept out of the room, robes trailing like the tide, leaving Brammel and Cane to follow in her wake.