Kyrie Ironhowl's Arc

Chapter 10 of 13

Kyrie wrapped the unfinished blade in linen and slid it into the leather satchel she used for transport. The metal was still rough, the edge unsharpened, the tang barely shaped. Anyone who looked would see exactly what she'd built and how far she still had to go. The competition hall was quieter than she expected. A handful of officials moved between tables, sorting papers and checking lists. The verification stand sat near the center of the room, its canvas awning stretched taut above a polished iron surface. A judge she didn't recognize waited there, arranging tools on the counter—calipers, a measurement grid, a camera. Kyrie approached and set the satchel down. The judge nodded. "Unwrap it, please." She pulled back the linen slowly, exposing the blade in sections. The judge leaned forward, studying the taper, the folded steel visible in the unpolished surface. Footsteps echoed across the hall behind her. Kyrie didn't turn, but she felt the shift in the room's temperature, the way sound seemed to pull toward a single point. Her rival's voice came low and measured. "That's clever work, Ironhowl." She looked up. He stood three paces away, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on her blade. Not on her. On the design she'd hidden for two years, now laid bare on the verification stand. The judge glanced between them, then cleared his throat. "I'll need photographs for the file." Her rival stepped closer, his eyes tracking the curve of the tang, the narrower profile, the offset fuller she'd placed to redistribute weight. He wasn't gloating. He was studying. Learning. Kyrie's hands tightened on the edge of the stand. She'd gotten her reinstatement. But she'd also just shown him everything.