The next day they were all awakened with a shrill whistle in their ear. Through his window he could see the sun barely breaking over the horizon. Martin felt decadent, he had slept past dawn though he found the manner of his awakening disorienting. He scrambled to wash himself, feeling even more decadent using hot water, not the cold water he was used to, though the weather was warm and cold water would not have been unwelcomed. He dressed in some of his sturdier and less ostentatious clothing, fine black cotton pants and a simple white cotton shirt with tie downs. He left his room, finding none of the others out of thieirs yet. He went to the cabinet with food in it, taking out some fresh fruit and munching down on it as he waited for the others.

He was still relaxing, sitting in the wooden chair that he had taken as his own as the door opened and an elderly woman, escorted by four of the red clad guides, two men and two women, entered. She smiled at Martin and gave a nod to the guides. Three marched to the closed doors, the last one giving a nod to Martin and relaxing by the woman. Synchronised, they opened the doors with keys of their own. A shout of indignation came from Kilia, Gwyneth just walked out, seemingly unphased by her invader. A half growl half bellow issued from Hurnith’s room, but both Kilia and he emerged, clothing messy and far from groomed.

The woman addressed them, “In the morning when you hear the wake up call, you have half an hour to get ready. After that you will make your way to the classroom for your morning session. Tardiness will not be accepted.” She smiled, “I must commend Martin for his punctuality, he at least had time for breakfast. Now, follow me.” She marched out, the guides flanking her as the four new Awakened followed behind.

The classroom was small, the four of them, another group of four and an instructor. They spent the morning being familiarised with the Academy, the rites and rituals of daily life of the Awakened. The others seemed more familiar with what was being discussed. He alone seemed to come from a background of complete ignorance. Even the other humans in the group came from worlds, or realms as their instructor called them, where knowledge of the battle between the Fae and the dark, of the role of the Awakened, was common. He felt drowned, out of his depth, and spent much of the time wondering when he would be able to see his family again.

They had a break for lunch, and the afternoon was more of the same lessons, but this time in weapons and fighting. As their instructor said, even the best mage had to be ready to hit the one who came too close. Martin had no real experience with weapons aside from some expertise with a hunting bow but a hammer felt good in his hands, he knew how to swing it, how to guide it, and it made an effective weapon. The Warhammer he held was not the same as his smithing one, the hook opposite the head a new factor, but it still felt more comfortable in his hand than a sword. So it was bow and sword he practiced with that day, and the ones that came after.

The days fell into a routine, mornings learning what they felt was necessary to walk into the Fae realm and face the dark, afternoons learning and sparring in the training yard, increasing their proficiency and knowledge with their weapons. Those like Gwynneth, who wielded magic, learning to wield it and combine it with weapon strikes. He saw the difference between Hurnith and himself, between someone whose weapons and fighting were guided by a Power and someone like himself who had only their own ability to rely on. Fighting against Kilia was like trying to fight a ghost, her patron Power letting her move like the wind, never being where he thought she was. Of the four he was the worst with the weapons. He missed the forge, missed the heat of the furnace, the sound of the hammer hitting metal on the anvil.

Then he found the forge, the sound of hammer on metal coming to him as he walked through the streets of Comfor, the city around the Academy, on a rest day, a day of no classes. It called to him, the sound beckoning to him. He followed the noise and found a large forge; three anvils being worked at once. A man came up to him, looking at his clothes.

“My lord, what can we do for you?” The man had the same manner as Master John, respectful but not obsequious, master of his forge but ready to serve a customer.

“I seek nothing, Master. I am content to watch. I just miss the forge.”

“Miss the forge, my Lord?” He looked at Martin, at his large frame and his well-developed muscles. “Surely my Lord can work a forge within his own manse if wishes.”

Martin laughed, then stopped himself before he insulted the master Smith. “Master, you mistake me for something I am not. I am only a journeyman smith who finds himself amongst the awakened and missing what he had before. I struggle with lessons about a life and war I never knew about a few short weeks ago. I struggle to learn to wield the weapons I must in order to survive, but I am more comfortable making them than swinging them.” He looked dejectedly at the forge and bowed to the master, “my apologies for the interruption.”

“Wait, Awakened. If it helps you, there is a fourth anvil here. Feel free to come and work when you will. We all do what we can to help and if my way of helping is for you to use an anvil in my forge, so be it!"

Martin’s eyes lit up and he came forward, embracing the Master. “Thank you Master, I am Martin, I passed my journeyman exam under Master John of the village at Covenant of tears.”

The Master embraced him briefly then held him out arm- length. “I am Master Anders.” He turned to face those working in the forge, banging his hand down on the table before him. “Hear now, this is Martin, one of the Awakened in the academy and a smith like us. Know, his anvil is the one at the back. Sean, boy, get that forge hot!” He turned back to Martin, “We all do what we can for the war, here is how I help, by giving you a place in my forge.

Martin went in, waiting until he saw no one watching and changed his crucible to its full hammer form, feeling it in his hand. A quick search through the well-ordered workshop and he found the stacks of iron and pig iron, taking what he needed and melting them, working the bellows to pump oxygen in, making steel. The time passed as he readied his metal, time seemed to stand still. He took his shirt off, the heat of the forge making him sweat and he did not want to spoil his good clothing. He was too intent in his own work that he did not notice the remarks of the others at work when they saw his mark of Awakening.

He readied his metal, and to his mind came the runes from the book he had been reading. He knew this would be a hammer head, flat on one side with a strong spike on the other, one to replace the one with which he fought daily, but he wanted it to be more

He thought of the runes he had been studying, and, as he worked, he brought them to mind. On the flat side, he scribed the rune for impact, embedding it within steel, engraved within, just a thin etching seen from outside. On the other side, on the spike a rune for strengthening and between them, around the haft that would grip the handle, a rune for balance. He laboured at it, putting himself into it, trying to do what the book said, the lantern above him showed him it was night, that dark had fallen. Still he worked, and he started to notice the soft blue light illuminating it, a glow from the mark on his chest. The runes on the hammer head glowed along with it, and Martin lifted it to examine it closer. He felt a strange itching behind his eyes, a wisp of something entering him, but he ignored it, not knowing what it was. He thought he heard the soft feminine voice but, that too, he ignored in his satisfaction of his work.

Behind him he heard a gasp and turned to see Master Anders watching him in the dark from the depths of the forge.

“You call yourself a Journeyman, yet you wear the mark of Hiphate and forge a rune marked weapon in my forge? I am honoured you came here. Whatever metal you need, whatever help you need, I am at your service. Journeyman you may be, but you are marked by the Smith. Leave the head here, tomorrow I will make a handle for it and send it to the academy.” He stepped forward with a marking stick, quickly taking some measurements, before Martin could walk off into the night.

Martin bowed to him; a gesture Master Anders returned. He turned and went back to the academy, feeling better than he had in a while. When he lay in bed that night, he felt his chronicle burning against his skin and he opened it, concentrating on the picture of himself, and seeing some changes, the chronicle showing how he had changed.

Name: Martin Race: Human Class: Awakened Smith Level 2

Str: 13 Con: 15 Dex: 8 Int: 10 Cha: 12

Skills:

Blacksmithing 10 (Journeyman), Weaponsmithing 6 (Apprentice), Armoursmithing 5 (Apprentice), Smelting 10 (Journeyman), Geology 5 (Apprentice), Hunting 5 (Apprentice), Read/Write 10 (Journeyman)

Stat points: 6 Skill point: 4 Mana Points: 0/5

Rune Skills: Basic Scribe 6 (Apprentice), Etch Leather 5 (Apprentice), Etch Metal 2 (Novice)

He looked at the changes, at the lack of mana points, at the fact that he seemed to be stronger, hardier, and now at level 2. He saw he had more stat points and skill points, and, as yet, no one had told him how to use them. With the weariness of the forge and the good feeling of a days hard work, he slept soundly that night.

The next morning was the same as other days, yet finally he felt a sense of belonging and things felt clearer. It only improved when they arrived at the sparring ground and a messenger boy was waiting for him, a plain wooden box in his hands. He opened it and found his hammer, a beautifully worked iron wood handle attached. He hefted it, the balance feeling perfect and when he swung it into a wooden practice dummy, with a sharp crack the wood split.

Hurnith smiled, “Must have been an old dummy, they are meant to be stronger than that.” Then he looked at the hammer in Martin’s hand, and the rune with its soft blue glow in his hand. “Where did you get that?”

Martin wonderingly at the hammer, never having seen any such thing before. He thought of his chronicle, and looked at it, concentrating on the hammer as he did so, doing what a teacher had called identifying.

Lesser Rune Hammer

Rune of Impact: Increase impact damage.

Rune of Balance: Faster recovery and better control.

Rune of Strength: Reduce chance of breakage against armour.

One of the guards training nearby looked at them. “Seems obvious to me, isn’t he Awakened by Hiphate? Must be Hiphate helping him, giving him a rune weapon.”

Martin looked at him, shaking his head. “No, I forged this yesterday, Master Anders attached the handle for me.”

Those training there just looked at him as Gwynneth turned to him, “A new smith forging a three rune weapon? This is going to make waves.” She looked around, both at the guards and the other awakened training nearby, “Anyone want to take a bet that we get a visit from the Magisters?” Everyone just looked away as Martin looked at her. He had heard of the Magisters in his lessons on Awakened society, but they were supposedly remote and concerned with the issues of governance and running a war. Why would they be interested in him and the hammer?

The next morning proved why no one took her bet. Walking out, a black uniformed man awaited them as they entered the classroom. He stepped forward, and handed a sealed scroll to Martin, with a low bow. Martin took it, looking at the parchment with its seal, bearing what he had learned was the sigil of the Magisters. The others watched as he broke it and as he disappeared, a small gust of wind fluttering past as the vacuum where he had been was filled.

***

Martin was disoriented. He stumbled a bit as his feet sunk grass. Looking around he found himself in a garden facing five robed people, four with their faces hidden beneath their cowls, the fifth, and one in the middle, an often seen portrait, the only known Magister and Head of the Council, Bathel. Not knowing what was expected, the etiquette for meeting the Magisters never discussed, he simply bowed, too overwhelmed to speak or move further.

“Welcom, Martin. It is always a pleasure to meet those training to help us.” Surprising to Martin, the voice was friendly, he even thought he detected a hint of amusement. “No need to be nervous, you have done nothing wrong. On the contrary, you are here because you have exceeded expectations.”

“Umm, Lords, what can I help you with? I am honoured by this invitation, but do not know why you would be interested in me.”

“You don’t know why we are interested?” On of the cowled figures turned to him, and Martin could feel the gaze on him. “You forged that hammer yourself, newly awakened. Three runes placed on it, and you wonder why we are interested?”

“My lords..."

“Magisters!” one of them sharply corrected him, “we are not lords and do not look for conflict with the nobility such a title may bring.”

“Hush, Magnus, you scare the boy. He is nervous enough already.” Bathel smiled, “Please, continue.”

“Magisters, I do not understand. I went to the forge to look and got invited to use it. I just thought to use what I had learned. Did I err?”

The air went still then Bathel looked at him, “Martin, a question, what do you know of Rune weapons such as your hammer?”

“Not very much, Magister, I had never heard of them before coming here and they have not been discussed in the classes. Surely they are just weapons that have had runes inscribed on them?”

At the end of the table one of the magisters could not hold back and started laughing, her laugh clearly one of amusement, though Martin did not know what she found funny.

“Newly awakened and self-taught enough to inscribe three runes.” Her voice was soft and melodic. “Let me explain then. We would not expect you to be able to scribe runes into metal. That is the first surprise. The next surprise is to be able to scribe more than one rune into an object, another difficult feat, and we would not expect three runes on an object before you reached being a journeyman in working with metal. The weapon you made is not overly powerful, three minor runes, but still such a weapon would normally be granted to an officer or one of the elite.”

Martin looked down the table, seeing the friendly face of Bathel, but unable to see the faces of other, not having a hint as to their thoughts.

“Am I in trouble?”

“No!”, the exclamation came from one of the figures sitting next to Bathel. “Not in trouble but we are concerned. You experimented without guidance. What do you know of Mana backlash?”

“Not much, Magister. Just that extending yourself and using more than you have can cause damage to yourself, or even the surroundings.”

“So, after you created that weapon, how much mana did you have left.”

Martin felt foolish, not having connected what he had learned to what he had experienced. “None, Magister, my mana was used up, but I felt no discomfort.”

“Probably had his ass saved by Hiphate, the Master Smith we questioned said his mark of Awakening glowed while he worked.” The voice was sibilant, not like anything Martin had heard before, giving him goose bumps. He wondered what was hidden beneath the cowl.

Bathel nodded, looking at Martin. “I agree, I think Hiphate smiled on you and saved you in your ignorance. For now, limit yourself to one minor rune per item, that should not over-extend yourself. Tell me, did you gain skills while doing this?”

Martin looked at the Magister leaning forward.

“Yes, I gained etch metal at rank 2, plus my basic scribe went up and I went up a level.”

“Ah, that is going to upset the more competitive amongst the newly awakened, gaining a level so fast. What did you spend your skill points on?” the Magister with the sibilant voice enquired.

“Nothing yet, Magister. I don’t know how to use those, or the stat points, yet.” Martin felt foolish in his confession, convinced he was making himself out as just a fool. But the magisters just looked at each other.

“Ah, we will make sure that this will be included into your studies, tomorrow.” Bathel smiled, coming up to him, “Thank you for your time.” Martin was about to reply, his mouth opening, as Bathel said one more word and he found himself standing in the classroom, the teacher and classmates looking at him.