Kyrie Ironhowl's Arc

Chapter 8 of 13

Kyrie burned the letters in her forge that night. She watched the parchment curl and blacken, his frustrated words turning to ash. He'd wanted a fair fight. She'd given up her position to expose a cheater. Now she had no official entry, no legal right to compete, and three days until the noble submitted her stolen design as his own. She pulled out the water-stained journal she'd hidden beneath a loose floorboard. The pages were marked with pressed swamp flowers—blue for failed attempts, pink for breakthroughs. Her real design filled the center pages, sketched in careful detail with notes on heat curves and folding patterns. The stolen plans had been close enough to fool someone who didn't understand bladesmithing, but they were missing the crucial adjustment she'd made after studying her rival's work. She traced her finger along the drawn blade. The noble would forge the decoy design and present something technically competent but fundamentally flawed. She just had to finish the real blade before he did. Kyrie locked the workshop door and lit the forge. No registry. No official entry. Just her and the steel and three days to prove she'd never needed their permission in the first place.