The rain had stopped by dawn, leaving the foothills slick and gleaming under a pale, watery sun. Kade Shen trudged behind Lila Mei, his boots sinking into the mud with every step, the broken saber a cold weight against his hip. The scout’s blood was gone—washed away by the drizzle—but its memory clung to him, a phantom stain on his hands. A mile north, the scout had said, by the split rock. They’d scouted it at dusk, peering from a ridge as cookfires flickered in a shallow valley—Red Talon’s camp, alive with rough voices and the glint of steel. Too many, Lila had muttered. Twenty, maybe thirty. No way in, not yet. So they’d turned west, following a faint trader’s path she claimed led to shelter.

Now, as the sun climbed, they crested a rise and saw it: a ghost town nestled in a hollow, its skeletal remains half-swallowed by the earth. Tumbledown shacks leaned against each other like drunks, their roofs caved in, windows gaping. A windmill stood crooked at the edge, its blades rusted still, creaking faintly in the breeze. The air smelled of damp wood and decay, a graveyard of dreams abandoned when the mines ran dry. Kade’s stomach tightened—not from hunger, though that gnawed at him too—but from the eerie quiet that pressed down, broken only by the drip of water from sagging eaves.

“Welcome to Hollow Bend,” Lila said, her voice dry as she adjusted her hat. “Used to be a boomtown. Now it’s just bones and echoes.”

Kade squinted, scanning the ruins. “Why here?”

“Supplies,” she replied, starting down the slope. “Folks leave things behind—canned goods, tools. And there’s a man who might help, if he’s still kicking.”

“A man?” Kade followed, his pack jostling against his back. “Who?”

“Old Wei. Blacksmith. Crazy as a fox and twice as mean. Knows more about steel than anyone this side of the peaks.” She glanced at the saber on his hip, its jagged edge catching the light. “Might fix that sorry excuse for a blade—if you don’t piss him off.”

Kade’s hand brushed the hilt, a reflex. “It’s not sorry. It’s mine.”

“Yours and busted,” she shot back, smirking. “Call it what it is.”

He bit down a retort, focusing on the town as they entered. The main street was a muddy scar, lined with storefronts that stared blankly— saloon, general store, a barbershop with a faded pole. Weeds choked the boardwalks, and a rusted sign swung loose, groaning on its hinges: Hollow Bend - Pop. 300. Population zero now, unless rats counted. Kade’s boots thudded on warped planks as they moved deeper, the stillness prickling his neck. Every shadow felt like a threat, every creak a step.

Lila led him past a collapsed stable to a squat building at the far end, its chimney jutting like a broken finger. Smoke curled from it, thin but steady—someone was here. The sign above the door hung askew, the word Smithy barely legible under years of grime. A faint clang echoed from inside, rhythmic and sharp, steel on steel.

“Stay sharp,” Lila murmured, pushing the door open with her stick. “Wei don’t take kindly to strangers.”

The heat hit Kade first, a dry blast that stung his eyes, followed by the tang of coal and molten metal. The smithy was dim, lit by the orange glow of a forge in the corner, its bellows wheezing as a figure hunched over an anvil. Old Wei was a wiry knot of a man, his hair a wild gray tangle, face creased like cracked leather. His arms were bare, corded with muscle despite his age, and scarred from wrist to elbow—burns, cuts, the map of a life spent bending fire. He didn’t look up, just kept hammering a glowing rod, each strike ringing out like a bell.

Lila cleared her throat. “Wei. Still alive, I see.”

The hammering stopped. Wei straightened, slow and deliberate, and turned. His eyes were small, black beads sunk deep in his skull, piercing through the gloom. He wiped soot from his hands on a rag, sizing them up. “Lila Mei,” he rasped, voice rough as sandstone. “Thought you’d be dead by now. Who’s the pup?”

“Kade Shen,” Kade said, stepping forward. “I’m no pup.”

Wei snorted, tossing the rag aside. “You’re green as spring grass, boy. Smell like trouble, too.” His gaze dropped to the saber, and something shifted in his face—recognition, fleeting but real. “Where’d you get that?”

Kade hesitated, then drew the blade, holding it out. The broken edge gleamed in the forge light, its etched hilt catching Wei’s eye. “My father’s. All I’ve got left of him.”

Wei took it, calloused fingers tracing the steel with a reverence Kade hadn’t expected. He muttered something under his breath—words Kade didn’t catch, sharp and guttural—then looked up, sharper now. “Your father, huh? Shen, you said? Jian Shen?”

Kade’s breath caught. “You knew him?”

“Knew of him.” Wei handed the saber back, his stare heavy. “This ain’t just a blade. It’s Starfall work—old, rare. Forged by men who guarded more than land.” He tapped the anvil, a dull clang. “Heard Jian carried one. Never thought I’d see it snapped.”

“Starfall?” Kade frowned, the scout’s dying words—the star—echoing in his head. “What’s that mean?”

Wei waved a hand, dismissive. “Old tales. Order of warriors, long gone. Fought for something bigger than themselves. Your pa must’ve been one—or crossed paths with ‘em.” He squinted at Kade. “You don’t know, do you? What it’s worth?”

“I know it’s mine,” Kade said, voice hard. “And I know Darius Vane broke it when he killed my family. I’m gonna bury it in him.”

Wei barked a laugh, short and harsh. “Vane? You’re chasing a devil with a stick, boy. He’d snap you like this blade.”

“Then fix it,” Kade shot back, stepping closer. “Make it whole. I’ll do the rest.”

Wei’s laugh died, his eyes narrowing. “Fix it? This ain’t some plowshare. Starfall steel’s tricky—needs more than heat and a hammer. Needs a reason.” He leaned forward, voice dropping. “Why should I waste my time on a fool’s errand?”

Kade met his gaze, unflinching. “Because it’s not just a blade. It’s my kin, my blood. Vane took everything—I’ll take it back with this or die trying.”

Silence stretched, thick as the heat. Wei studied him, then glanced at Lila, who shrugged. “He’s stubborn,” she said. “Dumb, too. But he’s got fire.”

“Fire burns out,” Wei muttered, but he turned to the forge, poking the coals. “Alright, Shen. I’ll reforge it—maybe. But you prove it first.”

“Prove what?” Kade asked, gripping the saber tighter.

“Worth,” Wei said, grabbing a hammer. “There’s a thug in these hills—Iron Hand. Runs a gang, preys on stragglers. Been a thorn in my side too long. You take him down, show me you’re more than talk, and I’ll fix your damn blade.”

Kade’s jaw tightened. Another fight, another delay—but a chance. “Where?”

“Old mine, east of here. Half-day’s walk.” Wei smirked, showing yellowed teeth. “Bring me his gauntlet—iron thing he wears. Proof he’s done.”

“Deal,” Kade said, sheathing the saber. He turned to Lila. “You in?”

She sighed, twirling a stick. “Guess I’m stuck with you. But this Iron Hand’s no scout, Shen. He’s a brute. You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll be,” he said, the saber’s weight a promise at his side.

Wei chuckled, low and dark. “Good luck, pup. Don’t come back in pieces.”

Kade stepped out into the gray light, Lila at his flank, the ghost town looming silent around them. The saber hung broken but alive, its past a whisper he couldn’t yet hear. Iron Hand waited, and beyond him, Vane. One step at a time, one fight at a time—he’d carve his way through. The forge’s clang followed them out, a rhythm of steel and fate.