After HOM, Cane returned to his room and locked the door. He pulled the black silver mask from its case and settled it over his face, voice and posture shifting as he once again became the masked blacksmith.
He activated the rune portal embedded in his floor and stepped into the forge.
Later, he reentered the Academy through the main gates—on foot, cloaked and silent. It was his first time walking the grounds as the masked smith. His destination: the stables.
Inside, Odom froze mid-motion, pitchfork halfway through a pile of straw. "M-may I help you?"
Cane smiled behind the mask. It wasn't meant to be menacing, but the effect still made Odom fidget.
"Cane Ironheart asked me to check the shoes on the horses he and his squad are taking on mission."
Odom leaned the pitchfork against the wall and gestured down the aisle. "These five here."
Cane moved with quiet precision, inspecting the first two horses before letting out a slow sigh. The hooves were overgrown, the shoes loose and uneven.
"I'll need to take them back to the forge."
"They're that bad?" Odom asked, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Very. Isn't it your job to keep them maintained?"
Odom's ears flushed red. "Yeah, but… we haven't had a local forge until recently. We've been sending them to the capital every six months."
"Well, now that I'm here," Cane said, "I'll do the work."
He loaded the first pair into the wagon and walked them back. At the forge, he worked steadily—trimming hooves, rasping edges smooth, then reheating and re-shoeing each mount with practiced care.
Psi Rune Message
Fergis: Where you at, Cane?
Cane considered the psi rune, then ignored it. Speaking through it would reveal the deeper, more refined voice his mask produced—something he wasn't ready to explain.
He finished the final mount, tied off their reins, and closed up the forge.
Then he stepped back through the rune portal and into his room.
He stashed the mask in his satchel, tucked it into his storage ring, and opened the door just as Fergis knocked again.
"Sorry," Cane said with a yawn. "I was sleeping."
Fergis grinned. "We've been working hard the last few days. You've earned it."
Cane: Fergis and I are going to head out to Sorano—scout the beginning of the route.
Clara: Me too, Boss.
Dhalia: I'm in town. Meet you at the front gate.
Cane: Our mounts are at the smith's. We'll pick them up on the way out.
"Shouldn't we let the smith know we're taking them?" Clara peered around the empty forge. "I can't even see through the window."
"He told me he'd be out collecting ore for the rest of the day," Cane replied, taking the reins of the nearest mount. "Said the horses were good to go."
He swung into the saddle without another word.
Sofie: Good luck. Be safe.
Cane: Thanks. See you when we get back.
The group rode out two by two, Cane and Fergis leading the way.
"Let's pull up here," Cane said, bringing his horse to a halt. He dismounted and tied it to the nearest hitching rail, then approached a dark-skinned man surrounded by cages and perched birds.
Clara: Falconer? Are you getting one now?
The birds were varied—hawks, eagles, falcons—and came in all sizes and colors. Cane scanned them until the man looked up.
"I'm Cane," he said. "We're looking for scouting help."
"I'm Dervish," the man replied, giving the group a sharp, assessing glance. "I've got what you need—anything from low-end to the best in the region."
"Let me see the best," Cane said without hesitation.
"You want the best?" Dervish gestured toward a bird so unappealing it gave the group pause. It had a disproportionately large head, a puff of ragged feathers, and a look of permanent offense. It looked like it might tip over from sheer imbalance.
Clara: Oh god… Don't do it!
Dhalia: For once, I agree with Clara.
Cane ignored them and stepped closer. "Price?"
"Ten platinum," Dervish said, a hopeful flicker in his eyes.
"He's your best and only ten plat?" Cane gestured toward a pristine white falcon nearby. "What about that one?"
"One hundred plat," Dervish admitted. "Look—he's underpriced because of how he looks. Truth is, I've had him for over a year. If I don't sell him this season…"
Fergis: Sounds like a sales pitch.
"What kind of bird is it?" Cane asked.
"It's a fowl."
There was a beat of silence. Then Clara burst into laughter.
"You're trying to sell us a chicken?" she gasped.
Dhalia leaned in, squinting. "The thing's molting."
Fergis: And it's hideous.
Dervish sighed, voice flat and practiced. "Not fowl as in chicken. Fowl as in falcon-owl hybrid."
Cane raised an eyebrow. "Those two species are mortal enemies."
Dervish shrugged. "Two chicks, raised together by a falconer. This is the result."
Fergis: Hideous.
"I don't care how it looks," Cane said, straight-faced. "Tell me why I should buy it."
"Of all my birds, he's the only one that can see in the dark just as well as during the day."
Fergis: Wait… really?
"I'll take it," Cane said, paying Dervish without hesitation.
The falconer moved swiftly, retrieving a small case of vials and a needle. "Alright," he said. "Let's pass the bond."
"What do I do?"
"Sit. Let him fly. You'll assign him a home range—best if you live in a tower."
"Fine," Cane sat, rolling up his sleeve. "You're etching a rune?"
"Top of the hand works best," Dervish said, prepping the needle. "But it's up to you."
"That's fine." Cane extended his hand. "Tell me how it works."
"Swipe the rune to activate. You'll see through his eyes, and he'll hear you through the bond. He understands simple directional commands—north, south, east, west—and distance commands like range far or range close. Two return commands: Return, which brings him back to you, and Home, which sends him to his assigned post."
The bird took flight as the bond etched into place, its molting feathers surprisingly graceful in the air.
The group watched it disappear into the sky.
Fergis: If this thing saves our lives, I'll never stop apologizing.
Clara: I'm naming him Pudding.
Dhalia: Please don't.
Cane swung into the saddle and swiped the rune on the back of his hand.
His eyes widened instantly as the world shifted—now seen through the sharp, elevated vision of his new companion. A bird's-eye view of the town opened up before him, crisp and clean. Even from high above, he could make out individual faces moving through the streets.
"Impressive," Cane murmured. "Range close."
Clara: So... Pudding?
Cane: Pudding it is.
Cane grinned. "Let's move out."
He gave a light kick, letting his mount ease into a canter as the group set out.
Sarona lay two hours south of the Magi Academy. The ride was calm and unhurried. The team rode two-by-two along the winding dirt trail, trading stories and theories as Pudding soared high overhead, his wide arcs casting a slow, circling shadow.
"We got a hundred points for that banshee," Clara said, glancing up. "Doesn't that mean we can unlock tougher missions?"
"That's exactly what it means," Fergis confirmed. "Also… I'm pretty sure that bird is more falcon than owl."
Cane nodded. "I think so too. Falcons circle and scan. Owls tend to glide straight—silent, surgical. Pudding has a bit of both, though."
"Pudding is badass," Clara said proudly.
The Sarona mine appeared suddenly around a bend—just a scar in the mountain's side. A crude pit flanked by rows of white tents. The air was heavy with the scent of sweat, cheap liquor, and too many bodies living too close.
Fergis: It's like a whole city. Saloon, general store... even—well, never mind. Stay away from that round tent, Clara.
Cane slid off his horse and tied it to the rail near the largest structure on site—a long, narrow shack made of real timber. Its faded red sign read: Office.
"This must be the office," Cane said.
Fergis followed behind. "What gave it away? The big red letters that say Office?"
"Exactly," Cane said with a smirk, pushing the door open.
A large man looked up from behind the counter, fanning himself with a thin sheet of metal. Sweat dripped down his round cheeks, soaking into his shirt until it looked like he'd walked through a rainstorm.
Clara: Is it that hot in here?
Dhalia: No.
"Good afternoon," Cane said, stepping forward. "I'm Cane. We're the team escorting the gold shipment in a few days."
"Jova," the man replied, wiping his forehead. "Why are you here early?"
"We're scouting the route," Cane said. "Wanted to inspect the wagon and horses while we're at it."
"Is one of you a blacksmith?"
Cane nodded. "I am."
"RITA!" Jova bellowed, his voice rattling the windows.
From a nearby room came the scraping of a chair, followed by the door bursting open. A young woman entered—short black hair, grime-streaked skin, and eyes that looked older than her years.
"Yes, Jova?"
"These folks want to see the team and the wagon. The handsome one's a blacksmith."
Fergis: I'm not a blacksmith.
Cane: You're not handsome either.
Rita smiled faintly at Cane. "This way, sir."
Cane followed her outside. She moved with short, clipped steps, as if afraid to stretch too far. He said nothing, just walked beside her until they reached the yard.
He swiped the rune on the back of his hand. "Range far."
His vision shifted again, amber and sharp. The terrain stretched out beneath Pudding in high definition.
"Move west," he whispered.
Cane: There's a group camped in the mountains. Could be nothing… but remind me to scout it again on the way back.
Cane muttered under his breath as he crouched by the wagon.
"Cracked suspension… twisted yoke… bent axle… and all four wheels need banding."
He started a fire in the small maintenance pit nearby, removed the old wheel bands, and set them in the flames to soften before reshaping.
Then he moved to the horses.
Cane: Crap… these horses are in lousy shape.
Fergis: Hopeless?
Cane: No—just time-consuming.
He crouched beside the first, gently lifting its front leg and examining the overgrown hoof. "Damn… I don't think this one would've made it two days to the capital."
He worked methodically, carving, trimming, and reshaping the hooves. His face was taut with focus. One by one, he reshod the full team. The horses relaxed under his care, snorting softly, shifting their weight as the pain ebbed from their joints.
The wagon, however, was another story. The damage to the yoke and axle couldn't be fixed here—not without proper tools or a forge.
Cane: Tell Jova we want to take the wagon and horses with us—I'll finish the repairs back at the forge.