He could feel it in his hands.
The way the hammer struck the anvil. The way the metal folded in perfect layers. The way the core rings aligned this time without collapsing.
He was getting closer.
The thought of failure didn't bother him anymore.
If anything, it felt like progress.
Every mistake carved a little more clarity into his mind. Each flawed attempt refined his intent.
He had learned to treat errors like stepping stones.
This wasn't just a forging process. This was something deeper.
This was his Path.
This was who Nameless Death had always been.
Someone who kept moving forward.
Someone who could lose a hundred times and still rise.
Someone who would eventually win.
Because he refused to stop until he reached the end.
Finally, after what felt like another lifetime inside the forge, he looked down at what lay in his hands.
A cube. Roughly the size of a human palm.
Silver, metallic, and alive with faint pulses of rune light under its surface.
