The molten metal pours into the crucible, bringing a slow orange glow to the shadows of the forge. The man, bound and bloodied, glares up at the smith.
‘You’re… you’re making another one? Why?’ He pauses to cough. ‘It took us so long to destroy the last one. Why would you do this?’
The smith watches the metal ease into the inlets of ancient glyphs. ‘Creation is a process. Look at all the good you did in the world in your efforts to destroy that sword. All the tyrants you usurped. Monsters felled. Lives restored. All that from a single call to action. We can’t let all that good stagnate now. You need a little threat to poke the good deeds along.’
‘You killed them,’ he spits blood. ‘You killed them all. They were your brothers and sisters. They knew us better than anyone.’
The smith stares into the flames of the forge. ‘Our time had come. There will be others. They just need something to unite them in purpose. They need an enemy.’
Paddy Dobson
13th March 2022