The Artifact Refining workshop occupied the ground floor of Sparkshire's technical building—a massive space that was more industrial foundry than classroom, filled with forges and workbenches and equipment that radiated some innate enhancement potential.

Bright entered with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, his spatial foresight automatically cataloging the workshop's layout, identifying the tool locations, mapping heat signatures from the active forges.

The place was different, he recognized immediately. It had no resemblance to the common lecture hall nor the training ground. It was an actual production facility where things got made rather than just studied or destroyed.

The space smelled of metal and heat and something else—essence residue maybe, lingering soul-force from previous refinement work, accumulated power that the workshops developed over years of concentrated creation.

Only few people signed up, Bright observed, counting approximately twenty candidates scattered throughout the large space. Makes sense. Artifact Refining is get-your-hands-dirty type work. Little immediate combat utility. Can't forge a weapon in front of Crawler while it waits politely for you to finish.

But for Bright, the long-term value was staggering—especially considering his humble beginnings. Weapons sold. Equipment generated income. Mastery of the craft offered a kind of independence money alone couldn't buy.

It was worth the investment, even if the payoff wouldn't come immediately.

He settled at a corner workbench, instinctively choosing a spot with both cover and a full view of the room. Survival habits ran deep; the fact that this was a classroom didn't make him any less cautious.

A flicker of motion caught his peripheral vision. Celestine Aurin was settling at a nearby workbench, her red hair tied back with a practicality that spoke of more than vanity—she'd clearly studied what this kind of refining work demanded.

Their eyes met for a brief instant—a silent acknowledgment that they would be classmates in this specialization, that their paths were now entwined beyond a few encounters.

Celestine's expression was serious today rather than her usual chaotically enthusiastic personality. She was focused and ready to learn rather than perform.

She's actually interested in this, Bright recognized.

That's… refreshing. Unexpected from a noble heiress. But refreshing.

The instructor entered through the workshop's main doors—a massive man whose physical presence dominated the space despite not being particularly tall.

His hands were huge. Solid as mountains. Scarred from decades of metalwork and combat and whatever else produced that kind of accumulated damage. His shoulders showed some rough edges suggesting he'd never learned social refinement and didn't particularly care about that limitation.

a Working man, Bright identified.

He seemed like someone who honed his skill through effort, not just by absorbing cores. Someone who understood materials by handling them, not merely reading about them.

A scar wrapped around the instructor's left shoulder—deep tissue damage that spoke of serious combat injury, of a wound that had nearly killed him from the looks of it.

"I'm Hendricks," the instructor announced, his voice carrying the workshop authority that needed no amplification. "Just Hendricks. That's all you need to know about me. My family name—if I even have one—isn't relevant to artifact refining instruction."

Bright noted the deliberate vagueness in the instructor's background. Whether he was running from something or spurning noble connections, the point was clear: here, skill and effort outweighed family name.

"Artifact refining is a profound path," Hendricks continued, moving toward the central demonstration forge. "Just like the damn Crawlers need us for their enjoyment—" His dark humor landed with uncomfortable truth. "—fighters need weapons. Good weapons. Weapons that complement their capability rather than just providing some generic enhancement."

He activated the forge, flames erupting with controlled intensity.

"This art isn't some fantasy rubbish you can just play with," Hendricks said bluntly. "You need real patience to make a weapon. A good one at least. You need to understand materials, understand soul-force integration, understand a whole lot of things your tiny brains can not comprehend.

He paused, surveying the assembled candidates with a measuring gaze.

"I'll share some wisdom from a great artifact refiner," Hendricks announced. "Words that capture this art's essence: 'As you forge your weapon—a weapon meant for yourself, by yourself, of yourself—you in a sense glimpse a higher mastery of what you embody. You understand your capabilities through creating tools that express them. You become more complete through making completeness manifest.'"

One student—a noble candidate whose enthusiasm exceeded his awareness—practically vibrated with excitement.

"Which distinguished gentleman gave out such profound words?" the student asked eagerly.

Hendricks smiled with predatory satisfaction. "Well, that wise one would be myself."

The student deflated visibly, his enthusiasm cooling as he recognized he'd been set up, that Hendricks had quoted himself while pretending to reference an external authority.

Several candidates chuckled—appreciating the instructor's willingness to mock the student's assumptions.

But Bright barely noticed the exchange.

As you forge your weapon, he thought, the words resonating with something fundamental. Weapon meant for yourself, by yourself, of yourself.

Glimpse higher mastery of what you embody.

He looked at his fused katana—a weapon he'd created through the combination of a standard blade and a blade with an extending mechanism, through his fusion talent.

I like this weapon, Bright recognized. Like its function. Like how extending reach creates some measure of an advantage in battle. Like how my fusion transformed the components into something exceeding their individual potential just like my cores.

But the quality is slipping. The materials might suffice for a Fledgling, barely enough for an Initiate—and by my estimation, I am far from a mere Initiate. Improvised fusion like this won't hold up at higher ranks, where the demands of combat far outstrip what such makeshift methods can provide.

I need to think deeper. Not just build a weapon—but design something that becomes an extension of who I am, not merely something I hold.

To do that, I first have to understand what I actually embody. Only then can I forge a tool that gives that essence shape.

But what exactly do I embody?

The question settled in his mind like a weight requiring sustained contemplation—not answerable immediately, but fundamental to his development, essential to understanding what his advancement actually meant.

Around him, other candidates were processing Hendricks's introduction with varying levels of comprehension—some recognizing the philosophical depth, others just focused on learning a profitable skill.

Celestine scribbled in her notebook, her expression sharp and focused—enough to suggest she was already seeing implications beyond the surface of the lesson.

She understands, Bright realized. This isn't just about crafting weapons. It's about uncovering who we are—expressing our essence through the tools we shape.

That's why she takes it seriously. That's why she chose this course. The House Aurin heiress knows that understanding oneself matters far more than amassing raw skill.

Hendricks began a detailed instruction—explaining the forge operation, demonstrating some integration techniques, outlining material properties and enhancement principles.

But Bright's mind kept returning to a fundamental question.

What weapon embodies spatial manipulation?

What tool makes dimensional awareness manifest?

What creation would glimpse a higher mastery of what I'm becoming?

The answer would require time and experimentation.

That's fine, Bright thought. I have time.

Outside the workshop, the Academy continued its daily operations—students training and studying.

While Bright sat in the foundry heat, contemplating a profound question that would define his weapon and his understanding of his own capability.

What am I becoming?

And what tool expresses that becoming?

The forge burned.

The question remained.

And the semester of discovery was just beginning.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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