"We left Loramo Harbor months ago onboard the Veda," Cane said, his voice tight. "We were attacked the first night. Pirates. I heard the fuses light while sleeping on deck. I shouted a warning and dove overboard."
Philas nodded thoughtfully. "You were lucky. Anyone topside would've been the first to die."
"Jonas…" Cane swallowed. "He was asleep in one of the cabins below deck. By the time I got back, the water was waist-deep. I searched what I could, then escaped in a dinghy."
"It's not your fault," Philas said gently. "If he's alive, he must've been taken prisoner."
"I spent two weeks in that dinghy, grieving him," Cane muttered.
He went on to tell the rest of the story—his capture by slavers, the escape with Neri and Rhiati, the letter to Archmage Telamon that opened the Academy gates. He even spoke of the blacksilver mask and the secret identity he'd taken: Jonas Ironfist, in honor of his lost master.
Philas chuckled. "So the slaver escape is when you picked up the fish-wife?"
Cane flushed. "What? No! I told you—it's not like that. I have a girlfriend. Human. No magic. She's…" He hesitated. "She's as beautiful as a summer day."
Philas grinned. "Merfolk only attune once in their life. You must've made quite an impression on this Neri person."
Cane squared his shoulders. "Grandpa… train me."
Philas clapped. "Finally! I've been waiting decades to hear that. First, hand me the Cold Iron artifact you're carrying."
Cane pulled the time-bending relic from his ring—the one Ravena had used. Philas took it, and with barely a flicker of concentration, reshaped it into a simple Cold Iron ring.
"Put this on. Bond with it completely. Don't fear it—Cold Iron belongs to metallurgists."
Cane slipped the ring onto his finger.
The world dissolved into radiant starlight.
His twin star aspects, usually in motion, slowed—then shifted slightly apart. Between them, a third light bloomed: a red, turbulent core.
Cane drifted, his mind unmoored.
He didn't try to control it. He just… calmed.
An image formed: Sophie, humming while they walked along a beach.
Then it melted—liquefying into nothing, swept away.
"I was with someone," he said softly. "Who was that…?"
The memory tugged away, leaving a hollow ache in his chest.
Another scene formed. The deck of the Veda. Jonas laughing beside him.
Mid-sentence, the memory vanished. No trace of the man remained in his mind.
Image after image surfaced—moments that had shaped him—only to be yanked away, stolen by the forge of the void.
"No…" Cane clutched his head, defiant. "You can't have them."
Neri's face appeared, hands on his shoulders, their foreheads touching. Aquamarine eyes. Crashing waves. The sound of gulls.
Gone.
Everything vanished.
He stood alone in an empty space, void of light or name. Wiped clean.
"What am I doing here?"
He searched the silence. "I'm…"
He paused.
Then narrowed his gaze.
Even stripped of everything—this place felt right.
"You've taken everything," he said aloud. "But I know this much—I have the power here. Not you."
Overhead, the twin stars began to move again.
And then, from the darkness, a third star emerged.
Black. Silent. Pulsing with gravity.
"Ahh…" Cane's voice steadied. "I'm a metallurgist."
He looked around the trembling void.
"You will submit."
The stars pulsed in unison. The world resisted—twisting, threatening to collapse. But Cane stood calmly as the three stars enforced their will, reshaping the dimension.
Under the white star, images flickered:
A girl chopping wood with quiet strength.
A man teaching a boy how to fish.
A mermaid pulling two figures through deep water.
Under the blue star:
A forge.
Sheets of glowing metal stacked with perfect symmetry.
The hammer-song of progress.
Under the black star:
A banshee in shadow.
An Alpha Shadow Wolf, eyes glowing.
A woman hanging from the gallows in silence.
"I'm Cane," he whispered.
And suddenly, he was.
His world snapped back—people, places, purpose. The stars receded, the images stabilized.
He smiled, eyes stinging.
"I see now… only when everything is taken can you truly see what matters."
Cane exited the ringworld with a breath, eyes drifting upward.
Three aspects now orbited him.
The blue star hung stationary, like a calm sea at dawn. The white and black stars rotated perfectly—balanced opposites across the pathway of his soul.
"I peeked at a few of your memories while you were refining the ring," Philas said casually. "That shifting trick you do during combat—moving faster? It's incredible that you managed it without Cold Iron."
Philas drew a sword and vanished.
He blurred in one direction—then another—striking out again and again in unpredictable patterns. The blade danced like lightning, moving in ways Cane couldn't follow.
A dozen attacks later, Philas reappeared in front of him.
"Don't immerse into your weapons or armor when you fight anymore," he said calmly. "From this moment on, they are part of you. Use your ring. Shift from there."
Cane nodded and slipped into immersion without effort.
He chose an imaginary target and executed a strike—one clean motion forward, Starbolt extended in a chest-high thrust.
But it felt… slow.
"That didn't work," Cane said, confused.
Philas just laughed, shaking his head. "Don't be daft, Cane. It worked beautifully."
"Huh?"
"You've seen elves fight. That's where you got this shifting idea, isn't it?"
Cane blushed. "Well… yeah. I needed to move faster. Hit harder."
"And you did," Philas said, voice more serious now. "Impressive, honestly. But you're not an elf. You don't have the frame or bone structure. If you kept doing it that way…"
Philas frowned.
"…Your body would've shattered."
"But you just did the same thing!" Cane argued.
Philas grinned. "What you did just now? I didn't even see it."
Cane blinked. "What? It felt slow."
"You're wearing Cold Iron, lad. You know time flows differently around it. What felt slow to you happened faster than I could track. That's your third aspect—union—already working."
Cane stared, half-expecting a punchline. But Philas looked dead serious.
"So… why did my third aspect form now?" he asked.
"Because you refined Cold Iron into yourself. That's the key." Philas nodded. "Now stay immersed. Watch this."
Philas moved again—this time, the same sword sequence from before. But now it was slower. Trackable. Clean.
Deadly.
When he finished, he turned with a grin.
"What'd you think?"
"You went slower so I could follow?"
"I did the exact same thing at the exact same speed," Philas tapped Cane's forehead gently. "But now you're immersed—no, united might be a better word. You've formed a bond with Cold Iron. With time itself."
"You used Cold Iron to increase your speed," Cane murmured, connecting the dots. "And I used that union to match you, so it felt slower."
"Exactly. Less complicated than it sounds, I promise." Philas's eyes twinkled. "Do you have a sword?"
Cane extended Starstrike. The weapon warped in his grip—lengthening, shaping itself into a blade with quiet defiance.
"Yes," Cane said.
Philas barked a laugh. "Dammit… I was thirty before I figured that one out."
He raised his blade and dropped into a ready stance.
"Come at me, grandson."