ArcaneAdvent

“So pretty…” Admiration colored the words of the child nestled snugly within the lap of her father. Her gaze was fixed on a blade that gleamed beautifully in the bright moon that hung in the night sky, tracing the cloud-like pattern that ran along the darker ridge of the blade. The way the argent rays of the moonlight gently wrapped around the profile of the steel gave it a cold bluish glow that was soft yet bright at the same time. A mirthful rumble escaped from her father’s throat. “If it’s got your approval then it came out really well.” She watched as he brought his opposite hand to the edge and then panicked, reaching out to stop him. “Be careful! Swords are sharp at that end!” “Not this one.” He demonstrated by brushing along the edge with his fingers and then pulled away to show that even without his protective aura he was unharmed. “Not a scratch. See?” The child carefully mirrored his motions. The edge felt cool to the touch but there was no sharp nick or pain. “But

“What do… you mean…?” Confusion painted the words spoken by a child that shattered the elongated silence within the decorated room. His mouth had gone dry throughout the quietude that had proceeded the declaration he still couldn’t fully process, so the words came out slightly hoarse once they clawed their way out. He desperately wished he had drunk some water to slake his parched throat before he had been brought into the room. It had only been mere minutes ago that he had been ripped away from the familiar comfort that was the residual heat of an open forge. The cloying scent of super-heated metal being pressed to an anvil filled his nostrils, and the jolt running up the hand wielding the tongs left the short limb to tremor as the hammer came down. The steel had begun to mushroom beyond the profile from a brief distraction, and so he had been trying to use more force to correct his mistake—which was a mistake in itself, but forgivable for a child who’d only seen ten years of

Chapter 20: So Long Cerulean City "There are a lot more people here than I expected," Lillie stated as she shuffled into the front row of seats set before a stage with her precious Alolan Vulpix comfortably in her arms. The lights were dim, but she could clearly see the seats that had been reserved in the front for herself, her mother, and Mister Bill. And there were already two others next to them. "Miss Melanie, Mister A.J., you both made it already? The young man merely gave a slight grunt in acknowledgment as he rested his head in his hand, elbow propped up on the armrest. He clearly wasn't in a talkative mood. Then again, she imagined he wouldn't be in much of one since the incident and the reveal that he had actually been working with the International Police. That had been a… story, to say the least. All of it. "I was able to leave the pokémon in the care of some reliable individuals for the moment, thankfully," said the Caretaker of the Pokémon Shelter in a gentle tone as

Pratty frantically made her way from the open arena to the enclosed steel corridors of the Central Tower with Kutty cradled in her arms and tucked against her chest. Trish had run away after their match ended in her loss. It was clear that she was upset despite what they promised each other earlier. So, Pratty wanted to talk to her about it and make sure they were still friends. But it was against the rules to follow her from the arena, so she had to head all the way around and hopefully catch her within the central corridor instead. However, as soon as she emerged through the doors that would lead into the main central walk, she ended up bumping into another person. “Oh, sorry! I was in a—Ah, you’re that boy from the docks!” The golden-haired, blue-eyed boy scoffed. “It’s Varil. And you should know better than to run inside the Central Tower. Don’t they teach manners in the Silver Guild?” “I said I was sorry,” Pratty said, her cheeks puffed out and voice tinged with annoyance.

The day of the Craftlord Tournament came after a week of preparation. Pacing around the lobby of the Central Tower while her Guardian Beast watched from atop a nearby set of boxes, Pratty couldn’t shake an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. In fact, it was almost like her stomach was gnawing on itself. Not from hunger but from being worried about Trish. Her friend had been a lot more… distant for the last few days. Pratty figured that it was because of their impending match. She knew that the moment they had been declared opponents there might be some awkwardness. But she thought that they would remain friends until the end. Welf seemed to notice her discomfort and reassured her that things would be fine once the match was over. That Trish was probably trying to do her best to make sure that she could be a worthy opponent. That Pratty should do the same to respect her efforts. Pratty still had her doubts but felt that he had a point. Trish was probably doing her best in

Sleep had not come easily for the son of the Gold Master last night. Varil had been restless despite the velvet sheets, quilted coverlet, and a bedstead laden with multiple layers of mattresses sorted from firmest to softest. The discomfort lay not in his body but mind. The memory of those girls looking down on him had lingered throughout the night, along with the disgrace of his loss that evening. In the end, he had taken to standing in front of the balcony doors nestled at the eastern wall of his chambers. The Gold Guild was the tallest building in the City of Swords and second only to the Central Tower, meant to be a symbol for all to see as the greatest of the guilds that contributed to their prosperity. That afforded him a view of the entire expanse of the Second Level of Wystern as the morning sun shone down on the hive of steel and steam that was their homeland. Located on the topmost floor of the Gold Guild, the bedrooms were naturally befitting the pedigree of the Gold

“Yay, we’re done!” Pratty let out a jubilant cheer as she raised her new weapon high in the air, proudly gleaming in the artificial light of her workshop. She had spent more than six hours forging herself a new weapon since returning from the Labyrinth with her share of the materials. And now she had finally managed to bring it to fruition. “The Sharp Dagger is complete!” The size of the weapon itself was on the larger end of what could be considered the norm for a dagger, with the blade itself being around 10 inches and with a width of 4 inches that tapered as it reached the point. It was longer and thicker than her Novice Knife by a good margin, enough that she was sure it would be a bit unwieldy if not for the composition of the blade being majority Wind Ore. But it should be a little more durable and have an easier time cutting through the stray summons on the Fifth Floor and below. “All that’s left is to get a sheath for it from Master.” Heading out the door of her workshop with

“Mmnn…” A soft groan was followed by the shifting of bedsheets as Sanary was slow to rouse from her late-day slumber. Her body felt lethargic as she sat upright, spurred by the gnawing roil that was her empty stomach. She brushed her eyes with the back of her hands before looking over to the nearby nightstand towards the clock. The time was roughly was early evening. I overslept by that long? She sighed, disappointed in her inability to go into the Labyrinth for the third day in a row. The first two days were understandable considering the commission deadline. But she’d planned to get some material farming done after a quick nap, only to find half the day gone. There was no point in rushing to the Labyrinth at this hour, so Sanary decided to see if Master Bron had returned yet. She hoped he would have time to come up with a new Sword Technique for her with his current order completed. But first she needed food. Getting to her feet, the swordswoman stretched her limbs and

“C’mon, time’s a wastin’! Load ‘em up!” A loud voice cut through the noisy bustle of the docks. It was midday, with the afternoon sun hanging high in the sky and gleefully shining down on the City of Swords. People abound where steel met waves, from travelers arriving to bear witness to the matches that would see the crowning of a new Craftlord to dockworkers moving cargo that came from afar or would be sent out to the wider world. Among the bustling workers were the Silver Guild apprentices. It was the day after the preliminaries rounds for the Silver Guild. The Silver Master had decided to make them pay for the nice meal they had eaten last night by helping to load up all the weapons that needed to be shipped off to Vance into one of the boats that were afloat in the docks. Specifically, the one personally owned by Master Bron—a fact that he made known after Pratty had let slip that she had apparently snuck onto it at night. She was also quick to state that her

Pratty took a deep breath from behind the entryway that would lead her down the stairs and into the arena. So far everyone from the Silver Guild who participated had won their matches. Sanary’s had been completely one-sided and, while Trish won because Pouso healed her, she still won fair and square. Welf’s had been cool too, though the twins had to explain how it worked—and they weren’t nice about it either. Now it was her turn to shine. She slapped her cheeks to banish the doubts that had been creeping in at the thought of fighting in front of an audience. She wouldn’t embarrass herself by failing where the rest of her fellow apprentices had succeeded—especially not after she made Welf promise to give it his all and he did. “Right! Let’s go, Kutty! We’ve got a match to win!” The Magical Beast seemed to approve of her resolve as he floated over and licked her cheek. “Kutty!” She giggled before making her way down to the left side of the arena. The damage from Welf’s