Devouring Hollow Hearts || ONC'24

》Chapter Five《

Despite Dailes casually sweeping up rocks with his tail in an effort to cover the shrine, Chyrie couldn't help but stare as the glow softened behind each layer of rock.

Not only were her eyes fastened to the late goddess' temple, but the drake's broader shoulders and whiplike tail were strengthened. Larger. Sharp talons accentuated his paws, curling out from thick sheathes of skin and portraying more menace than his friendly head tilts would assume.

"Are all Fae so easily distracted?"

Dailes' voice still skittered through her mind, tingling like hot cider.

Chyrie's brows furrowed. "Hm?"

"Your sword," he replied, golden eyes flickering to the forge. "I do not think it should be that color."

As true as stone, her cast was now beaming with white-hot light, completely inflamed from their time in the temple.

She scowled in frustration and paced around her anvil, careful to lift the hilt with a leather glove left strewn on her work table. He was right. Should she have left the blade in a few minutes longer, the metal would've failed to harden properly and likely become brittle.

Careful not to knick the blade, Chyrie wedged the hilt into a press and eased a faint warp out.

A dark gray head snuck between her legs, rising to watch the cooling blade.

Dailes managed to navigate the space around him without knocking into her or the fresh weapon. He carefully examined the sword, curious.

"Why not reclaim your parents blades?"

Innocent enough, she supposed.

Chyrie huffed a long sigh and eyed the large cylinders of magma warily. She didn't know what she would do if Anryth noticed the drake now claiming her or the shrine only feet from the forge. Only two of five tubes were filled, leaving them with just enough time to hide what they'd discovered.

Including her parents' weapons.

"He gave me very specific parameters," she muttered, anger creeping into her voice. One in particular Anryth knew none of her work met. "I must use iron and silver combined, so these swords can take both fae and elf lives..."

"They do not kill?"

Chyrie shook her head, an absentminded finger tracing over the rusted tip of her anvil.

"Not Fae," she said. Another vision of her fathers murder scraped at the back of her mind but she persisted. "The iron content of our armaments is minimal to remove discomfort and Emberlin is a peaceful country."

Dailes admired her craftsmanship, sniffing the blade's edge. "It's not sharp."

"I have to sharpen it myself." Chyrie chuckled. "They are not created sharp."

The drakeling blinked in response, nodding with each of her answers. Learning.

Chyrie pulled at the blade one more time, grumbling under her breath as she adjusted the position. Without dips or cracks, the only thing she needed to worry about was some infernal warp developing after she quenched the blade.

Dailes released a disgruntled puff. "It is straight."

She wasn't confident.

Gravel crunched in the distance, ripping Chyrie from her calm focus as footsteps ground against the cliffside. She counted the crunches, both the soft fluid movements and the heavy ones that accompanied them.

Her sweat turned cold as she looked at Dailes.

"You need to go, now."

"I'm not afraid of the boney man," he answered, chuffing.