The trek back to Hollow Bend stretched into the night, the red walls of the gulch fading behind Kade Shen and Lila Mei as stars pricked through a blackening sky. Kade’s shoulder ached where the bullet had grazed him, a dull throb matched by the bruises blooming across his ribs, but he kept pace, the saber’s weight at his hip a steady anchor. Lila limped ahead, her duster stained dark with blood from her cracked rib, though she’d snarled him off every time he offered help. The map from the Red Talon riders burned in his pack—a lead to Vane, a step closer to the reckoning—but first, they needed rest, and Kade needed to wield this blade like it mattered.

Old Wei was waiting when they stumbled into the smithy, the forge’s glow painting his cragged face in flickering orange. He leaned on his hammer, eyes narrowing as they dragged in—Kade blood-streaked and grim, Lila favoring her side. “Trouble found you quick,” he rasped, tossing a rag at Kade. “Red Talon?”

“Yeah,” Kade said, catching it and wiping his hands. The blood smeared, tacky and stubborn, a reminder of the gulch’s chaos. “Six of ‘em. Ambushed us in Red Gulch. They’re down.”

Wei grunted, glancing at Lila. “You look like hell, girl.”

“Feel like it,” she muttered, easing onto a stool with a wince. “Bruised rib. Nothing new.”

“Stubborn as ever,” Wei said, shaking his head. He jerked a thumb toward the back. “Bunk’s yours. Rest up—I ain’t patching you.”

Lila smirked faintly, limping past the curtain, leaving Kade alone with the blacksmith. Wei turned to him, sizing up the saber still sheathed at his hip. “Blade held, huh? Saw blood already?”

“Plenty,” Kade said, drawing it slow. The steel gleamed, its edge unmarred despite the fight, the Starfall etchings sharp in the forge light. “Cut through ‘em like butter. You did good.”

“Didn’t do it for praise,” Wei snapped, snatching the saber from his grip. He ran a finger along the blade, testing its balance, then thrust it back. “It’s strong—stronger than before. But you swing it like a club, I bet. All fury, no finesse.”

Kade bristled, sheathing it. “Got the job done.”

“Barely,” Wei shot back, stepping closer. “Vane’s men ain’t grunts forever. You’ll face blades that bite back—real fighters, not canyon rats. You wanna bury that steel in him, you learn it proper.”

Kade’s jaw tightened, the ambush flashing through his mind—wild swings, close calls, Lila’s blood on the stone. Wei was right, damn him. The saber was whole, but he wasn’t—not yet. “Fine,” he said, voice low. “Show me.”

Wei’s lips twitched, a rare ghost of a smile. “Good. Outside—dawn. Bring your guts.”

The sun rose cold and thin, frost crunching under Kade’s boots as he stepped into the smithy’s yard—a patch of dirt ringed by crumbling shacks, the windmill creaking overhead. Wei waited, a wooden staff in hand, its ends worn smooth from use. He wore no coat, just a threadbare shirt, his scarred arms bared to the chill like it didn’t touch him. Kade gripped the saber, its weight familiar now, a partner he was still learning to trust.

“Starfall steel ain’t just metal,” Wei began, planting the staff in the dirt. “It’s alive—forged with a rhythm, a flow. You don’t hack with it; you dance. Show me your stance.”

Kade widened his feet, raising the saber two-handed, its tip angled up. Wei circled, eyes sharp, then lashed out—staff cracking against Kade’s wrist. The saber dipped, pain flaring, and Kade cursed, stepping back.

“Loose,” Wei barked. “You’re stiff as a corpse. Relax—let the blade move with you, not against.”

Kade shook out his hand, resetting. This time, he softened his grip, knees bending, feeling the saber’s balance shift. Wei swung again, low at his legs, and Kade jumped, the staff whistling beneath. He landed, slashing down—Wei parried, wood meeting steel, but the blow flowed smoother, less forced.

“Better,” Wei grunted. “Again.”

Hours bled into a blur—Wei’s staff striking, Kade dodging, swinging, stumbling. The old man was relentless, his moves precise despite his age, barking corrections with every miss. “Head up—eyes on me, not the dirt!” “Step light—don’t plant like a damn ox!” “Flow, boy—cut the air, not yourself!” Kade’s muscles screamed, sweat stinging his eyes, but the saber began to sing—a hum with each swing, its edge parting the frost-laden air like a whisper.

By noon, Wei called a halt, leaning on his staff as Kade panted, steam rising from his skin. “You’re raw,” Wei said, “but there’s something there. Starfall’s in your blood—Jian’s, now yours. Feel it?”

Kade nodded, wiping his brow. “Yeah. It’s… lighter, somehow. Like it wants to move.”

“It does,” Wei said, tossing the staff aside. “That’s the tempering—old tricks I learned from a Starfall smith, long gone. Gave it a soul again.” He squinted at Kade. “Your pa knew that dance. Saw it once—cut a man’s blade in half, smooth as splitting silk.”

Kade’s throat tightened, picturing Jian—steady, quiet Jian—wielding this saber with a grace he’d never shown at the ranch. “Why didn’t he teach me?”

“Dunno,” Wei said, shrugging. “Maybe thought you’d never need it. Or maybe he hoped you wouldn’t.” He turned, heading for the smithy. “Practice it—leaf on the ground, there. Split it clean.”

Kade glanced down—a brittle leaf, caught in the dirt. He raised the saber, exhaling slow, and swung—a single, fluid arc. The blade flashed, the leaf parted in two, halves fluttering apart. He stared, a grin tugging at his lips. “Hell,” he muttered. “That’s new.”

Wei chuckled from the doorway. “Keep at it, pup. You’re not Jian yet.”

Lila emerged as the sun dipped, her limp eased but her face pale, the bloodstain on her duster dried to a dull brown. She leaned against the smithy wall, watching Kade swing the saber in slow, deliberate arcs—each cut sharper, more sure. “Looking fancy,” she called, voice dry. “Wei beat some sense into you?”

“Some,” Kade said, sheathing the blade mid-motion, a trick Wei had drilled. “You holding up?”

“Well enough,” she said, brushing off his stare. “Rib’s sore, but I’ll live. You?”

“Bruised,” he admitted, rolling his grazed shoulder. “Saber’s good, though. Better than me.”

“Give it time,” she said, stepping closer. Her eyes flicked to the blade, then away, a shadow crossing her face. “Wei tell you more about that Starfall nonsense?”

“Some,” Kade said, leaning on a post. “Guardians, old order—my pa was tied to ‘em. Vane might’ve broken ‘em years back. You think it’s nonsense?”

She shrugged, too casual. “Old men love old stories. Doesn’t mean it’s real.” But her tone was off, clipped, and Kade caught it—the same distance he’d sensed in the forge.

“You know something,” he said, straightening. “About Vane, Starfall—something you’re not saying.”

Lila’s smirk faltered, her hand pausing on her sticks. “I know plenty, Shen. Doesn’t mean it’s your business.”

“It is if it’s Vane,” he pressed, stepping into her space. “He’s why I’m here—why you’re here, bleeding for me. Spill it.”

She met his gaze, sharp and steady, then sighed, looking away. “Later,” she said, voice low. “When I’m sure. Not now.”

Kade’s fists clenched, but he backed off. “Fine. But I’ll ask again.”

“Bet you will,” she muttered, limping back inside. “Rest up—we’ve got that map to chase.”

He watched her go, the saber warm at his side. The leaf’s halves lay split in the dirt, a small victory, but Vane loomed larger now—a shadow with roots in Starfall’s ruin, in his father’s silence. Kade swung the blade again, its hum filling the dusk, and vowed to master it—blade and truth alike—before that shadow swallowed him whole.