The sword

Koth sat in the corner, watching the smith forge his new sword from the materials he had gathered. The smith had given Koth specific directions on how and where to collect these materials, and it had taken well over a month for him to do so. But he hoped it would be worth it. This smith was known far and wide to be the best in the land, and hand gathering the supplies ensured that they were of the highest quality. It was said that the swords forged in this shop were unbreakable, and needed to be sharpened once a decade. Though Koth found such claims to be ridiculous and implausible, it was hard to deny that they spoke of high reliability. 

The fire burned with a savage wrath, and the sweat on his brow was soaking through Koth's clothes. There was no particular reason that he needed to be there, watching the master at work. But, having gathered the materials, he had sworn to see it all through to the end. He was in desperate need of a blade, and a good one at that, and he wasn't going to leave anything to chance along the way. 

The ringing pounds resonated through the air, loud, sharp, and rythmic. One beat a second, on the dot. You could practically tell the time by it, it was so accurate. Koth could feel the shockwave of each swing of the hammer coursing through his body, tearing through him as if he weren't even there. 

It was a number of hours into that, the third day, when the blacksmith called out as the hammer's blows died down. "Come," he called. "Hold your blade. Tell me if the weight is right so that I may begin preparations on the final form."

Koth approached quickly and took the outstretched blade by the handle. It was still hot, but not so much that it couldn't be held. He lifted, turned, and swung the rough beginnings of the sword, yet already it felt as if it were little more than a natural extension of his arm. "It feels..." he murmered, looking for the words, "perfect already."

"Yeah, yeah," the smith gruffly replied, taking the metal back. "That's what they say, but they hardly even know what they're holding." He examined the edges and length, making sure that all was as he desired it to be. "I suppose that means it's time to start sharpening."

Without letting Koth say another word, the smith took the forged blade to another part of his shop, and started to pump the grinding wheel so that it turned faster and faster, until it was a blur. He pushed the edge of the sword against it, and sparks flew through the air as a grating and high-putched noise ripped into Koth's ears.

Koth returned to his seat. Though his ears felt as though they were going to rupture at any moment, still, he would not leave.