I found Master Heston at his forge, bent over a half-disassembled crossbow mechanism. This time Goran and Kester were working together without Master Heston's direct supervision. From time to time, amidst the clanks of the hammer, Heston's shouts to correct them could be heard.

  Moving his gaze from his apprentices to his project, he saw me approach. "Cato. What brings you here?"

  "I need advice. About materials."

  He set down the crossbow piece and wiped his hands on a rag. "For a new weapon? You did really good on your last ones."

  "Yes." I pulled out the rolled blueprints from my bag. "I've run into some problems."

  He gestured to a clear section of workbench. "Show me."

  I spread the blueprints out, weighing down the corners with random tools. Heston leaned over them, his eyes tracing the lines and notations.

  "Interesting," he muttered. "Very interesting. This is... I'm not sure what this is."

  "It's a rope dart. With some modifications."

  "Modifications." He pointed at the coil assembly. "What's this?"

  "A mechanism to retract the rope. And to launch it."

  "Launch it." He looked at me. "You're going to shoot a rope dart?"

  "Something like that."

  He studied the blueprints for a long moment, occasionally pointing at sections and muttering to himself. Finally, he straightened.

  "This is ambitious. Possibly insane. But I can see why you'd want to make something like this, only... I don't understand the mechanism." He tapped the casing design. "Is this your problem area?"

  "Yes. I need something that can handle impacts without transferring all the shock to my arms. And something that can insulate against lightning."

  "Lightning?" His eyebrows rose. "Why would you need—" He stopped, looking back at the coil assembly. "Ah. Is this using lightning in some way to work?"

  I didn't confirm or deny. "Do you have any materials that might work?"

  He rubbed his chin, thinking. "Insulation against lightning... That's tricky. Most woods and hides will conduct some amount of charge, especially if they're saturated with aether. You need something that naturally resists lightning's penetrative nature."

  "Like what?"

  "Earth-attribute materials. Certain types of beast bone, minerals with earth affinity, or even wood of that attribute. They ground lightning's motion and disperse it harmlessly. It's one of the reasons earth mages are resistant to lightning techniques."

  I felt something click in my mind. Earth attribute materials. I had those.

  "The bones from that skeleton I bought," I said. "The one from the earth beast. Would those work?"

  Heston looked surprised. "You still have those? I thought you used all you had for that mace."

  "I've been saving some. Didn't know what to use them for."

  "Well, now you do. Earth beast bones are excellent insulators. Dense, durable, naturally resistant to both physical and aetheric impacts. They'd work perfectly for your casing." He pointed at the blueprint again. "You'd need to carve them carefully, fit them around your mechanism. But yes, they'd work."

  I was already rolling up the blueprints. "Thank you. I need to go."

  He laughed. "Hold on a moment. Before you rush off—have you been attending your classes? You brought a bunch of stuff the past weeks and now this?"

  I paused. "Some of them."

  "Some." He crossed his arms. "Cato, I know you're working hard to make all these pieces, but you can't just skip—"

  "I'm exempt."

  He blinked. "What?"

  "From most classes. The headmaster arranged it as he wants me to focus on training for an upcoming tournament of sorts... I'm only required to attend exams and practical demonstrations."

  "I... was not aware of that." He looked bemused. "When did this happen?"

  "A few weeks ago. Some days after I brought the last dagger."

  "Huh. Well, that explains why you only come out now." He shook his head. "Alright then. Just make sure you don't miss the exams. Exempt or not, you still need to pass them."

  "I won't miss them. Also, I finished my stash of daggers and I can't forge new ones without expending a lot of energy to keep the cold away from the forge. I just don't feel like doing it..."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  "That's... The most childish reason I ever heard from you! Whatever. Now go. I can see you're itching to get started on those bones."

  Back at the tower, I brought the crate containing the earth beast skeleton out from storage. I'd bought it months ago, back when I was still figuring out what materials I'd need for various projects. Part of it I'd used—vertebrae and tail bones for that mace.

  But I'd saved the femur bones and ribs. Long, dense, perfect for structural applications I hadn't identified yet.

  Until now.

  I pulled one out and set it on the living room table. The bone was heavy, solid, with a faint yellowish-brown color that suggested earth affinity. I ran my hand along its surface. Ridged, cool, slightly rough in texture.

  I needed to test Heston's claim about insulation.

  I brought out a segment of spider silk and poured aether into it, connecting its other end to the bone. The charge flowed and... nothing happened.

  "Perfect," I muttered.

  I grabbed my measuring tools. Time to see if I had enough material.

  The femurs were each about a forearm's length, thick at the joints and narrowing toward the middle. I'd need to cut them in half, carve channels for the mechanism to sit in, shape them into a base and use the rib bones to make the top half that could house the coil assembly.

  I measured, calculated, sketched. One femur might be enough for a single casing, if I was careful with the cuts. Two would be safer, allowing for mistakes, yet for balance and safety in battle I'd be better off with two of these weapons.

  I had four leg bones total. More than enough.

  I marked cutting lines on the first bone with a piece of charcoal, planning out where I'd need to remove material. The two halves would sit with their flat sides downward and the rounded sides up, giving me more material to make fixtures for the internal mechanism.

  Metal bands could reinforce it at intervals, and the river serpent hide could wrap around the outside for additional shock absorption and grip.

  The design was coming together.

  I picked up my saw and started cutting.

  The bone was harder than I expected. Dense, resistant. The saw bit into it slowly, each stroke requiring force. But it cut cleanly, without splintering or cracking.

  Good. That meant it would hold up under stress.

  I worked for an hour, cutting, shaping, testing the fit. By the end, I had a rough base of bone with the interior partially hollowed out. Not finished, but progress.

  My arms ached from the sawing. The bone dust had gotten everywhere—on my clothes, in my hair, coating the workbench. But I had the foundation of the weapon's casing.

  I set down the tools and examined my work. The bone halves were crude, unrefined. But they were the right size, the right shape. With more carving and smoothing, it would work.

  I looked at the other bones laid out on the table. The other femur bone and the ribs. I still needed to make the silk rope and the chain for the weighted end. I hadn't even started forging the blade. This was merely the start of this creation.

  One step at a time.

  I still needed to complete the coil assembly, find a way to make it accelerate the blade, and make the tiny motor for the retraction mechanism. But before I could do any of that, I needed to fire the forge to properly treat and temper the metal components.

  Which brought me to the other problem.

  I walked outside, around to the back of the tower where the forge sat. The stone was cold, frost gathering in the cracks. The air was bitter, the kind of cold that sank into your bones.

  I couldn't fire the forge in this weather. The thermal shock—heating the cold cinder stone too quickly—would crack it. Maybe even shatter it entirely. And I couldn't afford to rebuild the forge right now.

  I'd have to wait for warmer weather. Or at least less bitterly cold weather.

  Which meant the electromagnet coils would have to wait. I couldn't rely on subpar ferrous cores, but I no longer had any pure iron prepared. Meaning I had to go through the white heart process again, which required the forge.

  Frustrating. But unavoidable.

  I headed back inside, closing the door against the cold. At least I could work on the casing. That didn't require heat. Just patience, precision, and a lot of careful carving.

  I picked up the bone base again, examining it in the candlelight. The earth beast's femur bone, repurposed into a weapon component. The beast had used these bones to walk, to run, to fight humans and beasts. Now I'd use them to fight, carrying it through more battles, just in a different form. In a way, these beasts couldn't rest or stop fighting even in death.

  I paused my work to attend aether training, and returned to carving as soon as we finished. I propped my hands with force on the table to stop their trembling as I picked up a half of the bone to analyze it again.

  I set it down and pulled out my carving tools. Small, precise implements meant for detail work. This would take time. Days, probably, if I wanted it perfect.

  But I had time. Three and a half months until the tournament. Three and a half months to finish the weapon, learn to use it, and prepare for whatever the tournament would throw at me.

  I started carving, removing small chips of bone, smoothing the interior surface. The work was meditative, repetitive. Each stroke of the blade removed a tiny amount of material, gradually shaping the rough base into something more refined.

  My mind wandered as I worked. The tournament. The weapon. The training. The array in my aether pool that I'd disrupted but would need to rebuild eventually. The static charge that had both helped and hindered me during training with Garrick.

  So many variables. So many things that could go wrong.

  But also, so many things that could go right.

  The bone base took shape slowly under my hands. Smooth flat surface, channels carved for the metal bands that would support it and connection points for the ribs that would make up the protective shell. It was rough still, imperfect. But it was becoming something.

  I worked until my hands cramped and my eyes blurred. Then I set down the tools and stepped back, examining my progress.

  Maybe a quarter done. The basic shape was there, but it needed refinement. More carving, more smoothing. The channels needed to be deeper, the walls more uniform.

  Tomorrow. I'd continue tomorrow.

  I covered the workbench with a cloth, protecting the components from dust. Then I headed upstairs, my mind already planning the next day's work.

  Over three months. I could do a lot in three months.

  I just had to keep moving forward.

  The next morning, I woke to find frost on the inside of the window. The tower was cold despite the heating system, the winter pressing in from all sides.

  I dressed quickly, pulling on layers, then headed back downstairs to the workbench. The bone base waited where I'd left it, partially carved, still rough.

  I picked up my tools and continued.

  Hours passed. One half slowly took shape, the interior becoming smooth and even, the exterior maintaining its structural integrity while conforming to the design I'd sketched out.

  By midday, I had to stop for training with Garrick. My hands were sore, fingers stiff from the detailed carving work.

  But I'd made progress. Real, measurable progress.

  The weapon was coming together.

  Piece by piece, component by component.

  It would work. It had to work.

  I just needed to keep building.