Thus, the first two weeks had flown by in a whirlwind of sweat, fire, and hammers pounding steel. Cliff spent most of his time in the forge—sometimes to the point of forgetting himself. He forgot to eat, to sleep, to speak. Fortunately, his mutant body could now endure several days of fasting without the slightest sign of weakness or discomfort.
A normal human would've collapsed, but him… his mind was adapting. Slowly but surely, he was shifting into a new normal. This world, this rhythm, this body. He wasn't quite the human he used to be.
Sitting on a pile of half-tanned hides, arms crossed and face covered in soot, Cliff silently watched Nemenski carve runes onto a glowing sword, fingers trembling from the heat and intense focus. The luminous symbols embedded themselves into the white-hot metal, forming a complex network of enchantments.
But his gaze drifted, almost mechanically, to Seth.
