Kyrie Ironhowl's Arc

Chapter 9 of 13

Kyrie spent the first day in the forge, hammering out the blade's rough shape. The steel came together clean and true, each fold precise. By nightfall she had the basic form—longer than the stolen design, with a narrower taper that would give it better balance. She cooled it in oil and went to bed with aching shoulders. The second morning brought a visitor. She opened the workshop door to find a competition official waiting outside, a younger man she didn't recognize. He held a leather folder and wouldn't meet her eyes. "There's a procedural path," he said quietly. "Emergency reinstatement. If you can prove your blade was stolen and replicated, you can re-enter under dispute resolution." Kyrie's chest tightened. The blade sat half-finished on her anvil behind her, still rough and unpolished, the real design visible in every line. She'd need to bring it to the competition hall for verification. Show the judges the work in progress, let them photograph it, document every detail before it was complete. The official shifted his weight. "You'd need to file today. Bring the blade for authentication." She looked back at the anvil. Metal scraps littered the floor around it. The blade gleamed dull orange in the forge light, unmistakably hers, unmistakably unfinished. If she showed them now, her rival would see it. The judges would see it. Everyone would know exactly what she'd built and how, two full days before she was ready. Kyrie turned back to the official. "I'll be there in an hour."