The Weight of an Empire

The forge burned hot, filling the air with the scent of smelted iron and coal. Aether wiped the sweat from his brow, his tunic clinging to his back as he adjusted the half-formed blade on the anvil. The hammer in his hand was heavy, its worn grip rough against his calloused fingers. He lifted it, muscles straining, and brought it down in a steady rhythm. Sparks scattered with each strike, glowing embers against the darkened walls of the smithy.

"Again," rumbled a voice behind him.

Aether set his stance, steadied his breathing, and swung once more. The steel groaned under the force, its shape sharpening, becoming something more than just raw metal.

Master Lewis grunted approvingly, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was a bear of a man, his skin darkened from years of standing too close to the flames. The deep creases in his face made him look older than he was, but his sharp blue eyes missed nothing.

"You're hesitating."

Aether exhaled through his nose, staring down at his work. The blade was uneven, a slight imperfection in its curve.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, be certain," Lewis said. "A blade isn't just shaped by fire, but by the hands that wield it. If your hand wavers, the steel will remember."

Aether nodded, setting the hammer down and stretching his fingers. He loved this—shaping something, creating something real with his own hands. It was different from sword training, where every movement was about destruction. The forge was about making, not breaking.

But this was not his future.

He was a prince. A leader. His people looked to him for strength, for guidance.

And yet, standing here in the heat of the forge, he felt more at peace than he ever had with a sword in his hands.

Lewis watched him for a long moment before reaching for a pair of tongs. He lifted the half-finished blade, inspecting it under the firelight.

"Not bad," he admitted. "Could be better."

Aether cracked a small smile. "It always could."

Lewis snorted. "Aye, that's true enough. Go on, get some rest. Your brother's probably looking for you."

Aether nodded and stepped outside, the cool evening air a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the forge. The village of Vala'dir stretched before him, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns and the distant shimmer of the sea.

The smell of salt and pine drifted through the air, mingling with the distant sounds of merchants packing away their goods and fishermen hauling in the last of their catches.

Home.

He let out a slow breath, savoring the quiet moment before heading toward the heart of the village.

The main hall of their home was warm, filled with the rich scent of spiced stew and fresh bread. Aether stepped inside, running a hand through his damp hair as he took his seat at the long wooden table.

His mother, Elyra, gave him a knowing look. "You've been with Lewis again."

Aether grinned, accepting the bowl she placed in front of him. "I think he likes me."

She huffed, shaking her head as she sat. "That man likes nothing but his forge. Be careful you don't burn your eyebrows off."

Across the table, Caelum let out a chuckle. "Might improve his looks."

Aether shot him a glare, though there was no real heat behind it. "Just because you're ugly doesn't mean you have to drag me down with you."

Caelum smirked, leaning back in his chair. At twenty-five, he had already grown into the role of leader, carrying the weight of their people on his shoulders. He had their father's strength, their mother's sharp wit. There was a time when Aether had resented him for it, for how easily he had stepped into the role that Aether felt unprepared for.

But that resentment had faded over the years. Now, there was only admiration.

And a little frustration.

"You should be training more," Caelum said after a pause. "The world isn't kind to those who hesitate."

Aether sighed, pushing a piece of bread around his bowl. "I train enough."

Caelum's gaze didn't waver. "Not if you want to survive in it."

Their mother clicked her tongue. "Let him eat, Caelum. The world can wait until morning."

Caelum held his gaze a moment longer before nodding, returning to his meal.

Aether exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. His brother meant well, but there was always this unspoken pressure between them.

Aether wasn't weak. But he wasn't his brother, either.

And he wasn't sure he ever wanted to be.

Later that night, Aether stood outside their home, staring up at the sky.

The stars stretched endlessly above, a vast ocean of silver light. He had always found comfort in them, in the knowledge that no matter where he was, no matter what happened, the stars would always remain the same.

He closed his eyes, feeling the wind against his skin.

For now, life was simple.

For now, he was free.

But fate was already moving.

And soon, everything would change.