Now that I was officially enrolled at Stoneharp College, I found myself face to face with my old nemesis: Paperwork. Honestly, why did I never consider there’d be forms, agreements, and pages upon pages of disclaimers? It felt like half my energy was spent signing my name or thumbprinting some magical contract. Master Borduk was there too, pretending to grumble about the process, but I could tell he was secretly making sure I didn’t run off in frustration.

  “Alright, Gromli,” he said once we finally cleared the admissions desk. “There’s an aptitude test coming up. You should do fine.”

  He explained that the test was in the form of a small tournament. Three categories were available: Crafting, Casting, and Fighting. I didn’t have to compete in them all, but participating in at least one would help the instructors see where my strengths lay. Apparently, they’d use the results to figure out which courses I should take to hone my magic.

  “Just pick one,” Master Borduk advised, “and show them what you can do. No need to overdo it.”

  I nodded, filing away mental notes on how I might impress them in Crafting, because hey, that’s basically what I’d been doing all my life—turning rocks into spheres, knocking rust off old tools, and messing with mana lines.

  Then I asked the big question. “So, who’s paying for this? Because I definitely don’t have the gold for fancy college tuition.”

  Master Borduk gave me one of his rare smiles. “That’s already taken care of. Remember the blacksmith back home? The one you nearly put out of business?”

  I snorted. “Dargrim Stonehand? No kidding?”

  “He was so eager to make sure you didn’t keep stealing his customers that he paid your fees,” Master Borduk said with a chuckle. “Guess he figured it was cheaper than watching you siphon away all his business.”

  I couldn’t help but grin. I guess old Dargrim really did like me in his own grumpy way, or at least he respected my hammer-bonking enough to give me a head start. Either way, I wasn’t about to complain. My path at Stoneharp was officially set, and soon I’d be testing my skills in front of who knew how many mages, knights, and craftspeople.

  Suddenly, all that paperwork didn’t seem so bad. Sure, I’d have to endure a few more quill-pen scrawls, but after that came the fun part—showing everyone just what a little dwarf with a big hammer could do.

  I had a sudden thought. “Are all the other kids in this tournament around the same age?” I asked, trying to imagine what competing against older students would be like.

  Master Borduk shrugged. “Aye, most of them’ll be about your age.”

  I grinned. “Great. I think I’ll enter Crafting and Fighting. That sounds like fun.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Well, Crafting makes sense for you. Why Fighting, though? You haven’t done much of that.”

  I flashed a mischievous smile. “I mean, how hard could it be to hit a ten-year-old with a hammer?”

  Master Borduk burst out laughing, then shook his head. “You do realize they’ll be trying to hit you back, right?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted, “but at least I know I’ll have fun trying.”

  He just sighed, ruffled my hair, and muttered something about dwarves and overconfidence. I could tell, though, that behind his gruff exterior, he was at least a little proud of my eagerness. I might’ve just arrived, but I was ready to show Stoneharp what a dwarf with a hammer could do.

  Master Borduk helped me register for the two competitions. The crafting event would be held before the fighting tournament, probably so anyone injured in the brawls wouldn’t miss out on showcasing their other skills.

  The crafting competition took place in a large open-air pavilion, a grand tent reminiscent of a world’s fair exhibit. A sizable crowd had gathered, buzzing with anticipation. An elf on the podium welcomed us, instructing everyone to provide a sample of their work.

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  I raised my hand, asking how I was supposed to demonstrate my repair abilities. Master Borduk just patted my shoulder and said it would be fine.

  I waited at a crafting station until a trio of judges approached: a dwarf who seemed to know Master Borduk, a harpy with white-and-black speckled feathers, and a kindly looking elf lady. The dwarf greeted Master Borduk with a gruff, “This yer student, Bordy?” to which Master Borduk responded with a nod.

  “Well, let’s get to it,” the dwarf said, turning to me.

  I took a deep breath. “Thank you for your time and attention. I repair stuff with my hammer, and I have a few broken items here I can fix.” I gestured to the pile Master Borduk had brought. “Do you want to pick one, or do you have something else you’d like me to repair?”

  The elf lady shook her head. “No, go right ahead.”

  “Alright,” I said, selecting a rusty, chipped sword. I moved over to the anvil and began gathering mana in my core, circulating it carefully. With my mana senses, I could feel the metal’s shape and imperfections. Then I started my percussive maintenance routine.

  Bonk, bonk, bonk.

  Each hammer strike caused the sword to glow with a faint, rhythmic light. Bit by bit, the rust and chips flaked away, the blade regaining a lustrous sheen until it was almost as good as new.

  I held the sword up to the sunlight, letting its polished surface catch the rays. The dwarf who had gone to school with Master Borduk—Durgran Stonehelm—stepped forward for a closer look. He had broad shoulders and a thick, copper-colored beard braided into several loops.

  “That’s pretty neat, kid,” he said, tapping the sword’s edge lightly with a calloused thumb. “What else can you do?”

  I shrugged. “Well, I can break down big rocks into smaller ones, for starters. But I also do a bit of rune crafting. Want to see?”

  Durgran gave a casual wave of his hand. “Sure thing, kid. Show me what you’ve got.”

  I grinned and took the sword back from him, then reached into my pouch for my rune carving tools. “I’m thinking of a simple air rune,” I said, pulling out a thin, sharp chisel and a small mallet. “Something called Waedran. It channels the element of air.”

  I laid the sword on the anvil and took a moment to focus. First, I closed my eyes and gathered mana into my core, the same way I did when repairing metal. Next, I visualized the rune’s shape in my mind: a swirling pattern reminiscent of wind currents, with a few precise notches to direct the mana flow.

  Slowly, I began engraving, tapping the chisel to form small, curved lines that overlapped like gusts of wind. Each strike had to be gentle and deliberate; too hard, and I’d mar the metal. As I worked, I funneled just enough mana into the blade to “bind” the rune to its surface. Light, airy energy crackled around my hands, and a faint breeze stirred the hair near my ears, even though there was no wind in the pavilion.

  When I finished, the rune glowed softly, its lines highlighted by a pale blue aura. I stepped back and turned the sword over so Durgran and the others could see the newly etched design.

  “That’s Waedran,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow. “A simple air rune. It won’t unleash a tornado, but it should make the blade lighter and easier to swing.”

  Durgran nodded, his expression somewhere between impressed and thoughtful. “I see. That’s a handy trick you’ve got there, Gromli.”

  Master Borduk stood quietly nearby, arms folded, but I could tell from his small, approving smile that he was pleased with how far I’d come.

  Master Durgran looked over the rune and grunted. “What are these little flourishes here and here?” He tapped the extra lines I’d carved.

  “Oh, those.” I smiled. “They add cool whooshing sounds when you swing the blade.”

  “Cool whooshing sounds?” The elf asked. Her name was Ellarith, judging by the badge pinned to her robes.

  “Yeah,” I said, nodding toward the blade. “Give it a twirl.”

  Durgran handed the sword to Ellarith, who swished it through the air with a small flourish.

  “Whoosh, whoom,” went the blade.

  I grinned. “See? Cool whooshing noises.”

  Master Durgran frowned. “You destabilized the runes to make the enchantment less useful, just so it makes a fancy sound?”

  I shrugged. “It’s nothing a little upkeep won’t fix. You can perform some simple maintenance in the field or bring it back to me, and I can smooth out the mana flows when they start acting up.”

  “Uh-huh,” Durgran grunted skeptically.

  The harpy, Talyss, clicked her beak and chimed in. “And why would you do that? Doesn’t that make your product inferior if the enchantment isn’t as stable as it could be?”

  “Not really,” I explained, setting the sword down on the anvil. “All enchantments and rune engravings need upkeep from time to time. Adding the noises makes it obvious when the runes are weakening. While working in Dargrim Stonehand’s smithy, I noticed that people often ignore their weapons until it’s too late, or they try to patch them up constantly because most warriors can’t sense magic well. No whoosh? It needs a tune-up. Still whooshing? Keep on swinging.”

  Ellarith tilted her head, as if reconsidering my idea. Durgran folded his arms but didn’t argue further. Talyss glanced at the sword again, her white-and-black speckled feathers ruffling.

  “I guess that’s one way to keep folks from neglecting their gear,” she admitted.

  Master Borduk, who’d been standing a few steps behind me, let out a soft chuckle. I wasn’t sure if he was amused by my explanation or by how baffled the judges looked. Either way, I felt a small surge of pride. I might be a ten-year-old dwarf with a hammer, but at least I had my own unique spin on things. And if part of that meant cool whooshing noises, then so be it.