[A/N: Yo, Phoenix here with a bonus chapter! Someone asked if I could upload again today, so I gave a little challenge and shoutout to isekaiimmortal for getting the right answer. This one's for you!]
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The heat of the forge pressed thick in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of smoke and molten metal. Sparks flew in bursts as Gobber's hammer slammed down on a glowing slab of iron, the sound echoing like thunder through the shop.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Lucian stood near the entrance, eyes scanning the cluttered workshop. Racks of old weapons, rows of hammers, tongs, buckets of quenching oil, and coils of chain. The firelight danced against the walls, painting the room in flickering amber hues.
"Close the door, lad! You'll let all the heat out!" Gobber barked without turning.
Lucian obeyed, stepping deeper into the forge. He rolled up his sleeves and approached the workbench, watching with quiet focus as Gobber set the hot iron aside.
"Right, lesson one," Gobber said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Smithin' ain't about brute force it's about rhythm. Control. You don't just beat the metal, you shape it. Guide it."
He grabbed a raw piece of iron and held it up.
"This is your canvas. Ugly thing now, but treat it right and it'll become somethin' beautiful. Now watch."
Gobber thrust the metal into the roaring furnace. As the iron began to glow, he spoke with a teacher's tone gruff, but oddly encouraging.
"Step one: heat it up till it's red as dragon fire. Not too long, mind else it melts like cheese on a summer rock. Step two: draw it out. That's where the hammer comes in."
He placed the glowing bar onto the anvil, then took his hammer in his good hand and raised it.
"Step three: strike. Not too hard, not too soft think of it like drummin' to a steady beat."
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
He worked quickly but precisely, turning the iron and striking each side in a rhythm that seemed almost musical. Sparks flew, the smell of hot metal and soot filling the room.
"Next, shape the blade. Use your fuller to groove it lighten the weight without losin' strength. Then bevel the edges."
He handed the now sword-shaped slab to Lucian with a smirk. "Right. Your turn."
Lucian stepped forward, slipping on the thick leather apron Gobber tossed him. He took a breath and tried to mirror the steps. He thrust the iron into the fire and waited until it glowed a soft orange-red.
"Bit longer," Gobber grunted. "You want that metal burnin' like a Nadder's eye."
Lucian waited, then pulled it out and laid it on the anvil.
He raised the hammer.
CLANG!
The strike bounced awkwardly, barely flattening the metal.
"Too soft," Gobber said. "Put your back into it!"
Lucian tried again, this time harder.
CLANG!
A sharp thud, but he missed the center and left a dent in the wrong spot.
Gobber winced. "Too much back. Not enough brain."
Lucian kept at it, growing increasingly frustrated. He had the knowledge, the system in his head laid it out clearly. But his hands didn't follow like they should.
He burned the edge once.
Bent the tip another time.
Dropped the fuller.
Nearly cracked the blade when quenching it too fast.
But he didn't stop.
Hour by hour, strike by strike, sweat soaking through his tunic and soot streaking his face, Lucian adjusted. He began to feel the rhythm Gobber spoke of. His strikes grew more confident. The hammer became less of a tool and more of an extension of his arm.
By twilight, Lucian stood before the anvil, breath ragged, holding a freshly-forged sword. It wasn't ornate, but it gleamed with a silvery finish, well-balanced and sharp-edged.
Gobber stepped forward, brows raised. He took the sword, inspecting it closely.
"Hefty," he muttered. He turned it over, checking the grooves. "Well-balanced. Hilt's solid."
Then he walked to a wooden training dummy. With a grunt, he slashed.
SHNK!
The blade sliced through the wood with clean precision.
Gobber then pulled an old, rusted sword from the wall and struck the two together.
CLANG!
Lucian's sword didn't so much as chip.
"Huh," Gobber said, impressed. "Sharp. Durable. Holds an edge. You sure this is your first time smithin'?"
Lucian wiped the sweat from his brow, cracking a faint smile.
"Yes."
Gobber looked at him sideways. "And you're tellin' me you've never forged a blade before?"
Lucian shook his head. "Not once."
Gobber let out a low whistle. "Well, either you're a natural… or you're holdin' back more than you're lettin' on."
Lucian simply smiled again, but said nothing.
Gobber grinned. "Heh! Either way, welcome to the forge, lad. Looks like you've earned your first burn."
He tossed Lucian a wet cloth, and Lucian caught it, wiping the soot and sweat from his hands.
As he dried off, his gaze drifted back to the finished blade resting on the anvil. Stepping closer, he picked it up with both hands, eyes gleaming with a quiet sense of accomplishment. He ran a finger cautiously along the flat of the blade, feeling the cool, solid weight of his work.
"GOBBER"
That peaceful moment was quickly interrupted by a loud, exaggerated voice booming from just outside the shop. The shout was so sudden and forceful that Lucian instinctively point the sword to the entrance. Gobber, however, just rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Oh, not again…" he muttered, stomping toward the forge entrance.
The heavy door creaked open as a tall Viking ducked inside, his long blonde beard swaying with every step. A tin bucket was jammed tightly over his head, tilted slightly to one side like a crooked helmet. In place of his right hand was a rusted iron hook, which he now used to wave a folded piece of parchment in the air.
"Bucket," Gobber greeted flatly, arms crossed. "Ye got somethin' important this time or just another one of yer grand tales about raccoons in the mead barrels?"
"No tales this time," Bucket said, his voice muffled from inside the bucket. "A raven just came in from the west. It's a message from the Kingdom of DunBroch!"
Lucian glanced over from the forge, intrigued. "DunBroch?"
Gobber took the letter, eyes narrowing. "They don't usually send word this far east unless something big's happening…. What do they want with Berk?"
"Didn't read it," Bucket added. "Didn't want to get soot on the ink. Or maybe it was soup."
Bucket handed over the letter, nearly fumbling it with his hook before Gobber snatched it mid-air.
"…Right," Gobber muttered as he cracked the seal and unfolded the letter.
The parchment bore the royal crest of Clan DunBroch—two interlocked bears carved into wax. Gobber scanned the page, his expression shifting from curiosity to surprise.
"Well?" Lucian asked from behind him.
"Well I'll be…" Gobber muttered.
Bucket took a cautious step forward. "What does it say?"
Gobber looked up, still processing. "It's an invitation. Straight from Queen Elinor herself."
"Invitation?" Lucian echoed.
"Aye," Gobber said, eyes still scanning. "They're arranging a betrothal ceremony for Princess Merida. It seems the clans of DunBroch have come to an agreement or pressure, more likely, and now they're invitin' representatives from allied tribes across the seas to attend the ceremony. Bit of a political move, if you ask me."
He turned to Lucian, waving the letter slightly. "And guess which tribe they want to send someone?"
Lucian blinked. "The Berkians?"
"Exactly!" Gobber smirked. "They're lookin' to strengthen ties with the Hairy Hooligans. Show off a bit o' peace and diplomacy in front of the other Highland clans."
Bucket nodded enthusiastically. "The messenger said they want someone young, respectable, and capable to represent Berk. Which is why I suggested myself, of course."
Gobber gave him a look. "Bucket, last week you got stuck in your own fishing net and declared war on your boots."
"They started it," Bucket muttered, defensive.
Lucian tilted his head slightly. "So… who's going as your representative?"
Gobber shrugged. "I dunno."
Lucian blinked. "You… don't know?"
"We'll come up with that when Stoick gets back," Gobber said casually, folding the letter and tucking it under a pile of scrap metal like it was just another order form. "It's still a month away, anyway. Plenty o' time to make a bad decision."
Lucian opened his mouth to say something more, but Gobber clapped his hands loudly.
"Right then! Chop chop, back to smithin'. That sword's not gonna temper itself, and I've got two shields to fix before Dinner!"
Lucian let out a quiet breath and turned back to the forge.
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Atlantica
The dressing room shimmered with gentle light from bioluminescent coral, casting pastel glows across seashell mirrors and polished pearl vanities. The mersisters floated about the spacious chamber, each attending to their hair, jewelry, or decorative shells in preparation for a musical performance later that day or perhaps simply indulging in the usual ritual of undersea glamour.
Aquata wrapped a delicate gold kelp band around her forehead, tilting her head just right to admire the angle. Adella giggled as she tried out a new swirl in her hair, frowning every time it didn't fall the way she imagined. Arista, ever the perfectionist, kept discarding shells that didn't match the cool tone of her shimmering hair.
In the far corner, Ariel was somewhat removed from the flurry. Instead of joining in the typical dressing room banter, she was hunched over a cluster of smooth, flat stone slabs, each one etched with weathered runes and ancient mermaid script. Her expression was focused, eyes scanning each line with careful intent as her fingers lightly tracing the carved grooves.
Noticing this, Andrina swam closer, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. She leaned over Ariel's shoulder.
"Okay, little sponge," she said with a teasing lilt, "what exactly are you reading now?"
Ariel looked up, startled, then quickly tried to act casual. "It's just something I found in the archives," she replied. "It talks about… a race of merfolk. Ones who could transform into humans."
That caught the attention of the others.
Arista swam over, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Humans, huh? Now why would you be looking into that?"
Andrina narrowed her eyes playfully. "Wait a minute… is this because of Lucian?"
A deep blush bloomed on Ariel's cheeks. She stammered, trying to hide the nearest stone slab behind a mirror made from abalone shell. "N-no! Well—maybe. I just… I was curious, that's all."
Adella let out a peal of laughter and swam in closer. "So it is about him! Our mysterious surface warrior with sea legs and fins." She nudged Aquata, who burst into a laugh of her own.
"I mean, come on," Aquata added. "You dragged him in with a net. That's already the most dramatic meet-cute I've heard in years."
Ariel groaned softly, hiding her face behind her hands. "It's not," she mumbled, though her flushed face betrayed her.
"Oh, sure it's not," Andrina said, winking. "Next thing we know, you'll be trading your voice for legs."
But then, Attina, the eldest sister and typically the most composed, swam over with a thoughtful look in her eyes. She glanced at the runes before saying quietly, "Tideborns."
Ariel perked up. "You know them?"
Attina nodded. "The merfolk who could live in both worlds sea and surface. I remember something about them from Mother's collection. They were called Tideborns. A powerful race, long ago."
"Didn't they vanish?" Arista chimed in. "During the Great Rift?"
"That's what the legends say," Attina replied. "Some believe they were hunted down by surface dwellers. Others think they sealed themselves off from the world, hiding away in deep trenches or forgotten reefs."
Ariel's eyes sparkled. "What if Lucian is one of them?"
The room fell into a momentary silence as that possibility hung in the water like drifting plankton.
"Well," Adella said finally, "he did ride a Scauldron like it was a seahorse. That's not exactly normal."
"And you said that he has human legs when you first saw him" Andrina added.
Aquata flipped her hair, smirking. "Father would lose his trident if he knew you were sneaking up to the surface to meet some half-human sea mystery."
Ariel looked around, concern crossing her features. "You're not going to tell him, are you?"
The sisters exchanged glances—then, one by one, their smirks returned.
"Nah," Andrina said with a laugh. "Secrets are way more fun."
"I've had three scandals already," Arista added proudly. "You deserve at least one."
"We'll cover for you," Adella said, patting Ariel's shoulder. "Just don't get turned into seafoam or cursed or anything dramatic like that."
Attina gave Ariel a small but sincere smile. "Be careful, though. If he really is Tideborn… there's a lot more to him than even he might know."
Ariel nodded, heart racing as she looked back down at the runes.