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Fire burned, molten hot, scorching and charring, burning and singeing. The resounding thumps of a hammer, metal on metal resounded through the workshop. Great, powerfully resonating reverberations through the stone and metal forges that were packed into the shop, ringing out like a bell. Every strike, as powerful and raw as they were, were timed to perfection.

This was Carver's craft. A craft he had tempered over many long years. In these lands, his smithing abilities, coupled with his knowledge of old, arcane arts made him one part master, one part artist. His name was one that was known across the lands. Kings, armies, warriors, in the past, all came to him, practically bowing at his feet for him to make something, anything.

It was a practice he'd spent a lifetime honing. And he had long since carved his name into the history books no doubt. His name was whispered. The smith who could make a weapon fit to slay gods. His services were begged for, admired, and talked about all across the lands. Steel landed on steel and embers blazed across his eyes.

The great resounding thumps of a hammer, his hammer, his tool, his weapon, and some days he jokingly referred to as his love, ceased. Now replaced with small, precise pings, as precise and delicate as before. The tink of shaping the metal. And at last, the prize was done. Grabbing his tongs and cooling it, watching as steam rose and burning hot metal cooled, he raised his prize up into the air, sliding his goggles off with a smile.

It was perfect.

Unrivaled in its craft above all others, as always. But he was never satisfied. And while he personally wasn't satisfied with it, and would have thrown it in the garbage, he knew that others would want it. He knew others would claim its perfection. So he sighed, pushing his pride away. He was the smith but the client, well, what the client wanted, the client got.

Letting it cool off, Carver set about to letting the stoves and furnaces of his forge die down as he removed his thick apron and wiped himself off as best he could with stains and ashes. He had taken to growing a beard lately, which was showing signs of turning gray just like his hair. But all the ash and soot had permanently singed it black, eluding to his older temperament.

Tossing a coat over himself, Carver reached over to the client's request. He was never satisfied personally. But there was satisfaction in knowing, that they would be very pleased with what he'd made. Even more so. He didn't charge for garbage. He chased perfection, always. But he was always happy to see the glint in other men's and women's eyes when they looked upon their wish.

Scooping up the small ring, Carver tossed it into his pocket, checked his forges one last time, and stepped outside.

He liked it up here in the mountains. The cold air, a stark contrast as always to the heat of his forges. And he was fond of this village. Extremely remote. Small population. And very, very reclusive. These people were close knit. And he was fond of that. Because they kept his name quiet. They let him work, and live here in peace. And the community was always warm and welcoming to him for his services. Life was good. He could think of no better way than to spend his waning years in quiet and peace.

Snow crunched on his boots as he passed villagers by, all of them, young or old greeting him with smiles and waves. Carver was a recluse. And seeing him outside meant only one thing. He had made something. Crafted something fine and was on his way to deliver it in person.

Leaving the cold air behind him as he stepped into a shop, a young woman smiled as she stepped out from around her counter.

"You did it!? You made it!?"

Carver nodded, slipping the ring out of his pocket. He watched the woman's eyes light up. Gold tempered metal, etched with bright blue stones, individual shards and fragments of a crystal that had shattered and then been delivered to him that he had painstakingly inserted into the new ring, piece by piece. The woman's hands clasped at her mouth and she couldn't help but hug him.

"Thank you so much! He'll love it!"

Carver nodded.

"No charge. Could've done it better."

"Oh but we have to give you something! Please Carver.....it's my husband's wedding ring. You fixed it. It's even better than it was before!"

Carver shook his head.

"No miss. I'll take your thanks. Good day now."

Carver turned on the spot to leave but was stopped.

"Oh but Carver, hold on. There was a man in town today. He was looking for you I think. He was asking all sorts of questions."

Carver's old features creased as he turned on the spot.

"Who. Who was it?"

The woman looked surprised as the mood on Carver's face quickly changed.

"I....I don't know. But I heard he was staying at the inn. He was asking questions about a blacksmith. We didn't tell him anything...because....well you told us not to. But I don't think you can stay out of his way for long when you've got the biggest smoke trail in the town."

Carver nodded, pulling on his beard.

"Thank you."

Before the woman could say anything else Carver turned and left the small little shop, closing the door gently behind him. But as soon as he got outside his boots made way for the inn in quick strides filled with intent. The town's center was small and packed, an assortment of wooden log homes all huddled together under the snowfall of the mountain.

Stepping up to the deck of the inn Carver pulled the door open and stepped inside, his eyes catching sight of the stranger instantly. Stepping up in sure strides as the stranger sat at a table alone, marked out clear as day by his clothes which weren't rugged mountain clothes in any sense, Carver grabbed the man with both hands by the shoulders and ripped him from his seat.

Carver was getting older. But he was a smith and his strength was not to be tested. The man yelped in surprise as Carver hauled him along and practically threw him out the door of the inn and into the snow. The stranger rolled over in the snow and Carver stepped out to him.

"Get out of this town. NOW!"

Carver's voice echoed through town and any outside turned at the commotion as the man shook himself off of snow and tried to get up. Carver placed his boot down on his back, pinning him.

"How'd you bloody find me!"

The man shook his head.

"Please! I'm here for help. I just want help!"

"I don't do that sort of help anymore. Get your ass out of here!"

"No, please you don't understand I've been trying to find you for years!"

Carver snarled and took his boot off the man, lifting him up by the shoulders. He brought his face close to the man's.

"Anybody who can find me is after what I can make. And I told you. I don't make weapons anymore."

The man shook his head.

"I know! I know please just listen to me! I know that!"

Carver inhaled sharply, closing his eyes before opening them again. He set the man down onto his feet, dropping him rather hard.

"You have five minutes. Prove it."

The man nodded hurriedly.

The man tried to explain things, in a hurried manner but Carver didn't listen, simply following the man as he went back into the inn. Through the main tavern to looks from the other drinkers, up the old creaky stairs to the rooms, Carver sighed as the man stopped at the room he had no doubt rented.

".......I don't know if you've ever seen anything like this before but please keep your surprise stifled. It makes her nervous."

Carver rolled his eyes.

"Get on with it then."

The man pushed open the door to his room and stood aside, letting Carver step in. Carver's eyebrows shot up in interest as he looked over to the bed of the room. Sitting on the bed was a suit of armour, a shiny metal that was shaped well for its purpose. But there were abnormalities. Carver walked over to inspect the suit.

The suit was shaped for a woman. But more than that. It was as if the smith who forged and tempered the metal not only made the suit to fit a woman, but they made the suit to look like a woman. But beyond their skills of assembling fine armour to a seemingly decent degree, their skills in the fine art department were.....lacking.

Not to say that the suit didn't emulate a woman. But Carver knew there were better ways to do it. The suit sat motionless with its arms folded politely, the entire thing being a full body work of armour, with overlapping plates for some flexibility. While the metal took on the vague resemblance of a woman's shape, carver noticed that the suit itself, despite its shine, was worn. Very worn. It had seen many fights.

Carver stood up, turning to the stranger.

"You want me to fix it?"

"No, I'm sorry you didn't see it yet. She's very shy."

The man looked over to the suit.

"Its fine, Elise. Mister Carver here wouldn't bite, to be sure."

The man ruffled his coat and brushed it off of snow discreetly. The suit of armour suddenly sprang to life, standing up as it reached out a gauntleted hand to Carver. From inside the suit echoed a voice that reverberated through the metal rather shyly.

"Hello Mister Carver. It's nice to finally meet you!"

Carver reached his hand out, taking the gauntleted glove in his and shaking. He turned his head back to the man.

"A Construct. Aye and not even a golem but a true Construct. A very rare find you have here, sir."

The suit of armour paused, releasing its hand from his and resting both on its hips.

"Excuse me sir. I am no Construct. I am from House Donvarial of York."

Carver's brows shot up as the man walked past him, standing beside the suit of armour before bowing.

"I apologize mister Carver. But she is right. Elise is not a Construct. She's my daughter."

Carver sat beside one of the few remaining forges he kept burning, a fine substitute for a fireplace. Across from him sat the suit of armour, Elise, and her father which Carver had since come to know on better terms as Mr. York. Elise sat politely in silence while York spoke.

"It was all an accident. Where I, we, come from Mr. Carver, the politics are dangerous. I come from a noble house and hold a position of high esteem in my homeland's court."

Carver shook his head, pulling on his beard.

"That doesn't explain why you turned your own flesh and blood into a Construct, York."

"If you'd let me finish I could tell you the story."

Carver sighed.

"Now then. There was an attempt on my life. A play of power to remove me from my position. My food was spiked with poison. And it was only by chance that when I let my daughter have the first piece.....I found out."

Carver nodded.

"I take it your court had a very powerful one trained in the old arts then?"

"Yes. The man did all he could but there was no time and no cure that could be procured fast enough. It was only under pressure did I accept that there still was a way to save her."

Carver nodded.

"Why the armour? Why not a ring? Something you could carry with you at all times?"

York paused, and Elise raised a gauntleted hand up in the air, speaking softly through the echoes of her suit.

"Father wanted me to have something. Something I could move in."

York held his hand up to Elise.

"Yes. I couldn't bear the thought of Elise being stuck to an object. She is my daughter Carver."

York wiped his eyes.

"I want only the world for her."

Carver looked over Elise's form. Simple, shining armour, shaped for a woman, shaped to look like that of a woman, shifted uncomfortably in silence. The metal of her suit was worn greatly. It was breaking down even. Carvers eyes could make out patchwork, impurities in the metal where patches had been made, makeshift welds and joining's.

"Mr. York. It looks like you want the world for your daughter but the world is actively unkind to her. Where do my services come into play?"

York looked up.

"I want you to build her a new body."

"You realize that for even me, this sort of art is no easy task? What you're asking, York-"

"Will take years. I know. And I want you to do it Carver. I want you to build her a new body. One that will never break, or tire, or wear down. I will pay you my fortunes if I have to."

Carver's eyes always fell back to Elise. She was extremely quiet in front of her father. Something didn't seem right.

"You realize York, that I could just build her a suit? But you're asking for more aren't you? You want more than a suit. Why?"

Carver watched Elise's metal fingers fidget with each other. York sighed.

"The attempts on my life, while being all for naught, are now irrelevant because I am sick. I've contracted a disease in my age. And in a few years it will soon begin to eat away at me. I want my daughter to succeed me. I want to give her the world Carver."

York looked over to Elise. Carver closed his eyes, thinking as he spoke.

"You know that this will take time. Maybe even years. I know what to build for your daughter. I know where to go to find it. I know how to transfer her essence. But by the time she arrives home, it might be too late for you."

York nodded.

"If I can give my daughter this before leaving, then I will take the chance. I understand what this means. And I trust you, Carver. I trust that what I ask of you for her is in good hands. The tales, the stories of what you've made are proof of that."

Carver let out a long sigh.

"Very well. I'll pack tonight."

Carver sat back and watched as York and Elise both stood up together, Elise moving to hug her father. Carver stroked his beard. York was legitimate. Elise, his daughter, was legitimate. But something was wrong. He couldn't place it. But for now he was going to play it quietly. Elise was too quiet beside her father. Perhaps on the road ahead he could speak to her.

Carver had no doubt that after York and Elise left, there was some sort of heartfelt break up. York would be going back to his homeland, his court and duty, for the last time, and leaving his daughter in the hands of Carver. Carver packed his things, tossing clothing into a pack. He stopped, turning over his hands.

Wrinkles were creeping across them over the years. His hands were scarred, burned, cuts from sharpened edges, being smashed with a missed hammer strike. His hands had created so much. His hands that could work forges and steel, and were even so skilled that magic bent for him over an anvil.

And they were getting old.

Like York, Carver was headed into the twilight years of his life. In fact he was practically already in them. Carver curled a hand up, watching his fingers close. He was okay with twilight. He was okay with vanishing into the shadows. But his hands, his legacy, would never leave him. He sighed. York was old but Carver could smell it on him. Ambition. Drive. The fire, the desire for power. To be power itself. Carver shook his head as he was pulled back to things by a knock on his door.

"Um, mister Carver?"

Elise stood in the doorway to his room, somehow finding a way to look as if she were liable to slink away in that armour of hers.

"What?"

The suit stepped over softly, clinking quietly as she held out a pouch to him.

"Here. Father wanted you to have it. The expense for the trip."

Carver reached out for the bag, opening it up to look at the contents. He shook his head, chuckling.

"That man has no idea where we're going. Gold......"

Carver handed the bag back to Elise.

"Keep it safe. We might need it. But were we're going gold means nothing."

Elise clutched the bag tightly, as if she was holding an insult delivered to her by Carver. Carver sighed.

"I mean no disrespect. But your father doesn't know much about smithing. He knows what he wants for you but he doesn't know how far we'll have to travel to get it."

Elise's helmet tilted.

"Where are we going, mister Carver?"

"Somewhere far. I'll tell you about it on the way there. But tonight is over with. Get some sleep. We leave at dawn."

Elise nodded, fingers still clutched around the bag as they fidgeted.

"Um, mister Carver......I don't sleep."

Carver nodded as he stroked his beard.

"Then gods help you if I wake and find you've touched anything in my shop."

Elise took her cue and nodded silently, her armour clinking softly as she closed the door behind her. Carver sighed. One last time. Just this one, last time.

Dawn rose and Carver shut down his forges, letting the flames sputter and die completely. He had one last breakfast in his home, threw on his heavy winter gear, tossed his pack over his back, and rooted through his tools to find his best friend. He never went anywhere without that hammer. In the barely orange, dim glow of the morning sun, Carver locked and barred his home shut. And then he left.

The small hamlet he called home up in the mountains here knew the deal. Carver was there when he was there. And if he wasn't, he was somewhere else. He couldn't help but take one last look at it though. It would be some time again before he saw this place. The road ahead was going to be long. And with that he set out.

The air was still and today the winds were calm. There was a bite in the air as snow fell slowly. The road, or more accurately, the path along the mountain, winding and snaking downwards through the rock and trees, had fresh snow that crunched on boots alongside the clinking of Elise's armour. Elise walked behind Carver, silent the entire time. Carver took the opportunity to talk.

"So. Elise. Do you know where we're going?"

The soft voice echoed in the suit behind him.

"No mister Carver."

Carver closed his eyes and stopped. Elise stopped with him.

"First. Don't call me mister Carver. Just Carver. Second. Your father isn't here watching over your every move. Out here pleasantries are not needed. Out here, it'll be just you and me."

Carver turned on the spot to look over at Elise who had crossed her hands together and hung them in front of her.

"This is not a game. This is not an errand. This is a journey. And it'll be hard. Much harder than life in your courts, life in wealth, and life under your father. Do you understand?"

Elise's helmet clinked as she nodded. Carver nodded back before turning around and resuming his walk down the path.

"Now then. You don't know where we're going. But where do you think we're going?"

Elise's armour clinked as ever as she stayed behind Carver.

"Mist- Carver. Are we going somewhere with magic?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"You said father doesn't want just another suit for me. You could build one in your shop if you wanted."

Carver nodded, smiling.

"Good lass. Good lass! Yes. We are. Why do you think we're going that way?"

More silence as the clinking of armour followed Carver's footsteps.

"Father says magic is old. My suit. The magic used to give me my suit is old."

Carver nodded.

"Right. Very old. So what do you know about the old magic?"

"Um.....old magic is powerful?"

"Close enough. Old magic is powerful. It's the strongest. It's the survivor of the ages. So. Elise. Why would your father want me to use old magic to build you a new suit? Why not just smith you one of my fine armours that could easily accomplish surviving wear and tear, unlike your rubbish suit?"

"Well, father says-"

"I don't want what your father says. I want what you think."

Elise's armour clinked along the path with Carver. She remained silent. Carver let her stay silent. The road was long. There would be time for talk when she was ready. The sun had started to grow brighter now, lighting the winding path down the mountain, a path traveled by many, through carved rock and passes, cliff faces, and sheered in ice and snow.

Carver's bones complained already. And this was the easy part. Going downhill. Carver's hand found the hammer dangling from a sling at his side. He gripped the handle of the tool, feeling the leather straps of the hilt. Silver was etched into the simple old slab of iron. He smiled as he walked.

One always remembered the first time.

By nightfall the duo found a patch of trees to nestle under, part of the snow covered pine forests that covered this region. Carver rounded out a pit in the snow, placing fur mats down in the dying light of the night, before pulling something special from out of his backpack. An old lantern, a metal box, rather wide set and tall. Elise watched in silent fascination as Carver set the box down in the middle of their camping pit in the snow, turning a dial on the roof of the lantern. Blue flame ignited and sprang to life, contained in the box.

Elise's armour clinked as she bent down to inspect the box in awe. The coating of ice on her suit began to fade and frost retreated from the metal of her now pale white armour as heat from the lantern warmed things. Carver sat down and watched her study the lantern.

"Wow mist-"

Elise shook her helmeted head.

"Sorry. What is that?"

Carver started pulling things from out of his large pack, kettles and pots, beckoning for Elise to sit down.

"It's a lantern. Uses the old arts, obviously."

"How does it work?"

Carver pointed to the metal struts that encased the blue flame like a cage.

"The metal is infused with a special mineral. Very, very rare. The inside is lined with it. Turn the dial and it grates with gears in the roof. Sparks agitate the mineral and it turns the air into fire."

Elise's helmet tilted as she watched the blue flame flicker and burn like a normal fire, providing a comforting aura of heat around the pit of snow.

"Does it ever go out?"

"Once the mineral relaxes, the fire goes out. Spark it again and the fire returns."

"Wow mister-"

Two gauntleted hands cupped themselves over Elise's faceplate. Carver looked over to the suit.

"You should be careful. Your suit's brittle in the cold. Move too fast and you'll shatter the metal."

Elise nodded silently back, her suit clinking quietly. Carver sighed. Elementary knowledge. And her father never taught her that. Carver had since set up a pot and started mixing things together, getting ready to make a soup of sorts for the night. Elise remained cross legged, watching blue flame intently in silence.

"Elise. My question earlier."

Elise looked up.

"About why father wants you to make something for me with the old arts?"

"Yes."

Elise held the chin of her helmet in her hands as she slumped.

"Well, the old arts are really powerful right?"

"That they can be."

"But not a lot of people know about them. They're a dying art. So......when you meet somebody who knows about them. They're kind of dangerous, aren't they?"

"Those with the old knowledge are respected. Feared. You are right. So what do you make of that?"

"I think father never wants me to be hurt again."

Carver paused. That would be true. That was....true. Carver looked over to the dented and scarred suit that sat across from him, stroking his beard.

"How old are you?"

"Oh! I'm 19!"

Carver nodded.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Elise tilted her helmet.

"Um...I remember going to see father for the night at the table. Everything smelled so good. He gave me a piece of his food to try and then I woke up in here. A big grown up body."

"How old were you?"

"I think....I was 4."

Carver sighed. To be fair....if it were him. He would never want to see his daughter hurt ever again either. But to risk so much. To spend so much, just to travel all the way out here to find him. Carver's name wasn't known because he was a great smith. He wasn't known because he was a weaver of the old arts. He shook his head.

"Elise. I'm sorry, about what happened to you."

"That's okay mist-"

Elise covered her faceplate once more. Carver waved his hand.

"It's fine. Old habits Elise. We don't forget them so easily."

"Thank you mister Carver. Thank you for helping me. You know, when I was little I grew up hearing stories about you."

Carver chuckled.

"You're brave, for coming out here alone with me. But you're young, Elise. Too young to be wound up in the politics of old men like me and your father."

"Well, one day I'll be old like you right?"

Carver nodded, smiling.

"Oh you'll be much more than that Elise. You'll be ancient. No body means you don't age."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the blue fire as Elise shifted in her suit. It was some time before Elise broke the silence.

"Mister Carver? Can I tell you something?"

Carver poured soup from his pot into a simple bowl.

"Shoot."

"Never dying seems scary. What if I'm alone or I have no friends? What if I outlive everybody in my family?"

Carver nodded silently, closing his eyes. Those were questions he couldn't answer. Constructs were something different. Constructs could be deactivated. Elise was something more. Looking across the dim light of the fire to the suit of armour that clinked and rattled, echoed with a soft voice, Carver realized something.

Elise was innocent. Where other men would vie for eternal life, for the chance of unlimited power and time, here she was, proclaiming that she was scared of living alone and without friends. Something inside Carver hurt. Watching her. Listening to her. She was unburdened and free, yet trapped like a pawn in the games of men.

While it was true. Her father wanted the world for her. Wanted her to never be hurt again. Carver could smell it on that man. He'd seen those eyes. Known those eyes. The eyes and words of men who wanted power. Control. Revenge. York would never live to see it. But Carver had a feeling that Elise was a pawn on his game board even after his passing.

And why wouldn't she be? For he had suckered in the old smith, the old master forger, Carver himself, to create a nigh indestructible body for Elise. The history books and stories of decades past were all the same to Carver. His hands carried a weight on them. His back, his shoulders, carried a weight on them. In some way, looking at Elise, he was suddenly ashamed of himself.

She did not bend and break for the world. She was pure. Intelligent. And it was easy to see that even in her naïve youth she was a kind soul. And then Carved decided it.

York would have his untouchable daughter. But not before Carver played his own hand.

Just this one last time.

Carver's eyes opened. The blue flame of the lantern was growing dim. He looked around the small clearing and found himself sitting, wrapped up in blankets. He shook his head quietly. He must have nodded off. His things were packed. Everything tucked away into his pack. And out beyond the light of the fire stood Elise.

Frost coated her armour as she stood watch, leaning like a statue against the tree they rested under. He sighed quietly. Old fool. He'd nodded off in the middle of a conversation with her. But the foggy haze of his thoughts returned. Yes. That was the plan. He was going to teach Elise.

Just this once, he'd give something good to the world.

1 Month Later

Snow and ice faded, giving way to vast stretches of forest, as the air warmed and the two traveled in the shadow of the mountains now, happily free of nights spent in cold and snow, now less worried about the freezing cold that gnawed on them in the nights. Since then Elise had grown more comfortable with Carver, and was always curious.

For once, Carver was a bit of a tour guide on the journey, pointing things out to her and answering Elise's endless curiosity. None the less a journey was still a journey. Carver never spoke much unless spoken to and silence often passed the time by. Silence was Carver's friend and enemy. Silence meant the forges weren't going. The feeling of swinging his instruments was absent. He was glad he'd brought his old friend along. Even just having it in his presence was good.

But there were other worries than just old habits and routines. While Elise never ate or slept, Carver's supplies were dwindling. They'd either have to trap something, or, gods forbid, travel the well-known roads to an encampment or village. In the silence of thinking about it, Elise was incredibly hard to work with if he was going to trap anything.

Her armour clinked and made too much noise. And even then, Carver didn't have time to wait for something to catch his snares. So it was with furrowed brows and a sigh along the roads that he decided they'd make for a settlement. It was a good thing that York had paid for Carver's services. And better that he had given the gold to Elise. He had no care for coin and would have probably lost it by now.

The forest grew thicker now, dense and packed over the sparse, snow covered pine of the mountains. Thick blankets of moss and ferns were beginning to appear and the old footpath was suddenly rather absent, the trail being oppressed by the thick trees around them. Carver remembered the way. Through these woods and this expanse, the forest would eventually thin out to wide plains. That was the destination. An old farming community.

But for now the shadow of the mountains loomed over them on the old path. Carver's eyes watched the forest as the two traveled, following the footpath alongside a shallow river and crossing it through some points. Carver didn't like this. They were being watched. As the trail began to widen, Carver's suspicions held true. The trail was wide for a reason. Carver slowed his pace and started walking alongside Elise.

"So. Elise. Your suit's battered. Patchwork and scars. Armour never looks like that unless it's gone through fights. You know how to fight?"

Elise turned her helmet.

"Father taught me hand to hand combat extensively."

Carver nodded.

"Because you don't have to worry so much about weapons anymore right?"

Carver winked, looking ahead down the road, hoping Elise would catch it. Elise's helmet turned as she looked down the widening path.

"Oh! Mister Carver. Do you know how to fight?"

Carver chuckled.

"Front lines were never any place for an old smith."

Through the ferns of the forest and alongside the shallow river, Carver caught something. Four legs, moving fast. Galloping. No. Pawing. Claws. Carver inhaled deeply, his hand resting on the hilt of his hammer. Ferns and plant growth exploded beside him and a large creature bashed into Carver, sending him flying off the trail and tumbling down the small gulley down towards the river. Elise had no time to turn as shouts and war cries could be heard.

Through the growth of ferns and trees men stepped out, clad in the remnants of old clothes, sporting animal skins for clothing and adorning layers of bones in patchwork armour. Elise was surrounded from all sides as they brandished weapons, either traditional steel or more patchwork assemblies of bones. The ring of robbers boxed her in but didn't attack, as one lone man, decorated in feathers and more ornate bones, skulls both Human and animal approached.

Judging by the paint on his face and across bones this man was someone of importance. Through the visor of her helmet Elise spotted a sword in his hand. But it was no ordinary sword. It was.....a fencing sword? Her gauntleted fists curled and raised as the man approached her with his weapon drawn. The man smiled coyly, almost laughing.

"An old man and an escort. A knight with no weapons but her fists."

The man spread his arms wide and spun on the spot, laughing as the crowd surrounding Elise laughed as well.

"Truly, escort services today must be in a bit of a slum. That or we're just robbing the poorest bloke in the land!"

The man continued to laugh as Elise stepped forward with her gauntlets still raised.

"Don't you talk about mister Carver like that!"

The man turned on Elise, still with a smile as his brows raised. The men surrounding her were doing nothing but laughing. The man kept his sword drawn but made no attempts of attacking Elise.

"Are you serious? You must be out of your mind!"

The man shook his head, looking around to the assembled crowd surrounding him. He turned his back on Elise once more.

"Is she crazy or what!?"

Elise stopped in her tracks. She needed to do something. Carver needed help. Bringing her gauntlets up to her helmet, Elise unfastened the straps holding it to her armour, removing her helmet and holding it in one hand. Father had taught her hand to hand but she had since discovered that her own body could be used in unique ways.

Rearing her arm back she took aim, whipping her arm sideways as she let her helmet fly, watching as it curved through the air and struck the man in the back of the head at full speed. The man dropped to the dirt like a sack of rocks and suddenly the crowd around her went silent.

Carver rolled downwards through ferns and growth, tumbling until finally he came to a stop on the rocks in the shallow river at the bottom of the hill he had rolled down from. Cold water snapped him out of his stupor and he picked himself up as a creature snarled and jumped him. A long snout bared multiple fangs like a snake as the creature went for Carvers face.

Grabbing the jaws of the river hound and fighting to hold them away, Carver wrung its neck and tossed the animal aside off of him. It rolled into the stream and was already back on all fours as Carver struggled to get up. He stood, his hand finding the hammer at his side, slipping it from its belt.

The river hound circled him, the four legged creature, resembling an aquatic, scaled dog, bared its mouth full of jagged fangs at him and bristled even more spines on its back, snarling as dark black eyes tracked him, multiple eyelids blinking rapidly. Carver held his hammer at his side.

"Smart one aren't ya? Trained you up good they did."

Carver raised his hammer.

"Come on then you runt!"

The river hound snarled and charged through the water as did Carver.

A mace impacted off of Elise and staggered her, to which she recovered for the next swing, catching the mace in her gauntleted hand, smashing the elbow of the arm upwards and breaking it as a shout of pain rang out. Multiple men had jumped her, the ones brave enough to fight after discovering that she had no head to speak of.

Swords impacted off her armour and arrows splintered, as she moved through one man at a time, using her reinforced gauntlets to inflict easily accomplished dislocations and breaks, or smashing them so hard upside the head that they fell, unconscious. She was gaining the upper hand slowly person by person, gaining ground as one after the other was beaten into submission.

As the last man fell into the dirt, having his knee shattered from a kick, a sword, small and thin, pierced straight through her armoured suit and poked out through the other side. Elise looked down to her chest piece as the fencing sword had cut through her armour as if it were paper.

There was no pain to speak of. No body to puncture. But fear, the first time in a long time, paid a visit to Elise as she spun around on her attacker, the apparent leader or showman of the group. No sword had ever cut through her armour so easily before. No sword had ever cut through her armour before.

Carver felt a lance of pain travel up his arm as the river hound jumped and found its jaws around Carver's arm. Carver staggered and fell into the water as the hound over top of him began to shake its head as its fangs dug into skin and began to shred it.

With his free hand Carver swung his hammer into the side of the hound's head, smashing its gills shut as the creature howled in pain and rolled off of him. Another swing and the hammer sent the hound reeling back, smashing through bones in its jaw as it staggered on all fours.

Rolling over onto his knees, Carver pushed himself back up to his feet with his hammer, as the hound bared the spines on its back. Another swing from his good arm sent the hound rolling through the shallow water where it slumped, unmoving. Carver stood in the shallow water, breathing heavily.

Blood ran down one of his arms freely into the water, leaving red in its wake.

The man attacking Elise no longer held any smile or sense of carelessness as his face bore all the intent of a man out to kill. The fencing sword swung through the air at her as she adeptly avoided it, the blade seemingly singing, sounding like a tune as it arced through the air. She had sustained multiple punctures to her suit and in trying to block the blade Elise was horrified when it cut through the gauntleted fingers of her armour like it was nothing.

As the man lashed out through the air Elise ducked under the blade's swing, sweeping her legs out and catching the man by surprise, sending him toppling to the ground. Elise was faster to recover, and seeing her chance, dove onto the man. The man reacted on instinct, holding his sword out as she impaled herself on it, to her own advantage.

With her free hand Elise curled her gauntleted fingers and raised her arm, impacting metal straight into the man's forehead, once, twice, three times, before the man went limp, unconscious. With a sigh of relief, Elise stood up. All along the road laid several of her attackers, all unconscious. All the others had fled. Looking down to the sword impaled in her breast plate, she grabbed it by the handle and pulled it out.

The sword caught her eye, and made a sound like an instrument even as it swung so delicately and gently through the air. Her eyes couldn't look away from it. The sword was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. It was almost like......it was perfect. The weight. The grip. The handle. The blade was as sharp as could be and bore no signs of wear.

Elise looked away. Carver! She needed to see if he was okay.

Carver stood in the water, still breathing heavily as he stood still, staring out downstream. The sound of Elise's voice taking a different tune without her helmet on brought him back.

"Mister Carver are you okay!?"

Carver inhaled sharply, slipping his hammer back into his belt. He looked over to Elise, missing her helmet and filled with puncture holes.

"I'm fine. What happened to you?"

Elise ran down through the ferns and into the water.

"Mister Carver you're bleeding!"

"I'm FINE. What happened to you? What punctured your armour?"

"There was a man....he had a sword...."

Elise held up one of her gauntlets to reveal missing fingers.

"It cut through my armour mister Carver! I've never been cut by a sword before!"

Carver looked back up the small hill.

"I know. Only one thing that can cut through your armour like that. Show me."

Carver pushed past Elise, leaving a trail of blood in his wake as he hurried up the hill.

"Mister Carver you're really bleeding! You need help!"

Carver pushed up the hill.

"Show me the man who used it. Show me the sword! This is important!"

Elise hurried after Carver up the hill, back onto the road where the unconscious robbers still laid. Elise hurried over to the shining sword which she had set down gently on the road.

"Here!"

Carver stepped over to the sword, stopping cold in his tracks.

"No."

Carver looked up to Elise, something frightening in his eyes like a glint of madness.

"Show me the man."

Elise held her gauntlets up.

"I don't-"

"SHOW ME THE MAN!"

Elise moved quickly, hurrying over to the unconscious form of the person she had fought with. Carver was breathing heavily once more.

"He's alive then?"

"I knocked him out cold."

Carver stepped forward, the same glint in his eyes that frightened Elise.

Carver forced the man's head under the cold water of the river and pulled it back up, watching as the man came to, choking and gasping for air. Carver hurled the man into the water onto his back.

"Where did you get that sword!?"

The man held up his hands, still in a daze. Carver slid the hammer off his belt and raised it into the air.

"WHERE DID YOU GET THAT SWORD FROM!?"

The man sputtered, holding his hands up in the air. Carver snarled, swinging his hammer down onto the man's knee. Bone snapped and shattered and the man howled in pain, falling back into the water.

"IF YOU DON'T ANSWER ME I'LL BREAK EVERY LAST BONE! WHERE!?"

The man spoke through a combination of tears and clenched teeth.

"I DON'T KNOW!"

Carver swung his hammer into the other knee of the man, watching the same reaction play out again as the man fell back into the water. Elise came running down the hill, having fit her helmet back on.

"Mister Carver!"

Carver turned on Elise.

"STAY OUT OF THIS!"

Carver swung his hammer again, smashing into the ankle of the man, before setting the hammer down and pulling the man up by the hair, looking him dead set in the eyes.

"If you don't tell me where you got that sword, I'm going to kill you."

The man stuttered in pain.

"I-I-I took it. F-f-rom some old w-woman! S-she wouldn't g-give it up or us-se it to fight!"

Carver forced the man back down into the water in silence, picking up his hammer as he stepped down onto the man with his boot and swung once more, into the sword hand of the man. Howls of pain rang out and Carver raised the hammer above his head. An armoured gauntlet caught his arm as he brought the hammer down aimed square for the man's head.

"MISTER CARVER PLEASE STOP!!!"

The gauntlet contested Carver's own strength, as he turned and snarled, ripping his arm away from Elise, his hammer arced out and impacted her torso, crumpling her armour and sending her reeling back into the water. Carver's hammer dropped into the water as he realized what he'd done. Elise backed away from him as he approached.

Silence filled the forest save for only the river as all went quiet. Carver looked back up to the hill. Before he even knew it he was moving. Back up the hill through the ferns, to claim the sword out on the road. Carver's hands found the hilt. His ears rung as the sword sang through the air as it moved. But it was broken. It was broken and twisted and he could hear it.

The sword sang but no longer did it sing for the sake of singing like an instrument. Blood had been spilled by this sword and corrupted it. Hurt it, stung it and killed it. Carver slogged through the river towards the man who was now only able to lay back in the water, shaking. He held out the sword.

"YOU! YOU TOOK THIS SWORD. AND YOU DESTROYED IT! MURDED IT! I WANT YOU TO WATCH. I WANT YOU TO WATCH WHAT YOU DID TO IT!"

Carver found a rock sticking out of the water, setting the blade down on it and holding it with his foot as he reached for his hammer. Carver raised his hammer, shaking. He was fighting back tears as he closed his eyes. He brought his hammer down onto the sword once and only once. But it was a sound he'd heard before. It was a sound that haunted him.

Even the forest seemed to go still as the sword crumpled and bent, shattered into shards. The sing along sound it created when it moved through the air twisted on itself, like that of an instrument being frayed and broken. Light bloomed from the sword's remains, like fire, at first, pure and white, and then consumed as the flame devoured itself.

Elise watched in silent fear, as the light devoured itself and struggled to stay alive, struggled to play its song, twisting and failing. The sound resonated in her armour, resonated in her and she understood. It was screaming. It was broken and dying and the only thing it had ever wanted to do was play its song to its master.

The broken song that emanated from the white flame that consumed itself faded, dying and collapsing and at last, the broken strings of sound faded and died, leaving one, singular note behind. One long chorus, one long note, one last note.

Elise brought a hand to her face plate. She had no mouth. No eyes with which to cry with but the pain that resonated through her armour, resonated through anything living that watched it die. She understood what the note was.

It was a question.

Why?

Did it not perform well? Why was its song disliked so? Why did its master no longer sing with it as it danced through the air?

Why was it a failure?

And then, it died. Silence fell as the last notes ended and flame faded. The last note echoing the question eternally, unanswered. Why had it failed? What did it do wrong?

Carver slid his hammer back into his belt. The man's head fell and he covered his eyes. The man in the water was stunned into silence. Even through shattered bones and pain his eyes fell to the remains of the sword, elegant shards of metal that now washed away in the water, lifeless and dead.

Elise was the only one able to stand. She pushed herself up to her feet and waded through the water towards Carver. Blood still spilled from the gashes in his arm and he was shaking. Elise stepped towards him slowly. For all his bite. His anger. How much he frightened her. Elise understood. The man, standing before her now, Carver the Weaver.

Carver the legendary smith. The creator of weapons unparalleled. Weapons that could slay gods.

He wasn't a weapon smith.

In complete silence Elise helped Carver along the path, leaving their attempted robbers behind to whatever fate awaited them. Carver was completely silent and so too was Elise. The day wound down, as the sun began to sink below the horizon and night began to creep across the forest. On any other day, Elise would have been bustling with questions.

The forest took on a new life as the sun went down. Green plants shut down for the night, and new plants emerged, opening petals and leaves in the darkness that glowed like fireflies. In the darkness under the canopy of the ancient trees lights of golden colour spilled out from plants in a rainbow of displays as insect life began to emerge in the night, mimicking the glow of the plant life and a thick fog rolled in, blanketing everything.

In a small clearing off the old path, Carver stopped, sitting down. Elise helped him slide his pack off, pulling out the old lantern and twisting the gear on the top of the box, watching blue fire spring to life and warm the area around them. Dried blood clung to Carver's arm and Elise rooted through his pack, finding bandages.

Carver stayed silent but held no protest as Elise pulled away at his shirt, finding deeper gashes up near his shoulder. The river hound had done more to Carver than he let on. But Elise could see it now. Carver was tired. He wasn't exactly out of his prime, nor an elderly man. But the strain was there.

Through stinging bandages laced with herbs to help wounds close and the bite of cold water from the ever present river close by, Carver said nothing. Through stiches, the man didn't flinch. Elise knew her way around injuries. Old training instructors, fleshy, fragile people that had gotten hurt when she trained or accidentally hit them too hard.

But the strain Elise saw wasn't from Carver's age or the wounds he'd sustained. The being he'd killed today. The magic he'd erased, the work and care, the life of the blade he'd extinguished. Elise knew it. That blade was perfect. Perfect weight. Perfect fit, grip, swing. Carver was unrivaled in his tales for chasing after perfection. That sword,

No, that instrument.

It was his. He'd made it, long ago in his youth. It was like murdering a friend. Because Elise could feel it as it resonated in her armour. That blade wasn't just a blade. Carver created it. Carver gave it life. A soul. A purpose. He gave it to a master who cherished it, loved it and took care of it.

Who sung back to it as it sung to them on the wind in sparring practice.

Metal pressed against the back of Carver as Elise slid close, wrapping her arms around Carver as he sat in total silence. The suit of armour, shaped to that of a woman, now dented from his own hammer, broken and punctured, by another of his creations. Elise understood Carver's old questions now. But now was not the time for talk.

Wrapping a blanket over herself and around Carver, she held him close until he fell asleep in the night. And it was there she remained in place, all night long.

Carver was silent for days. But with a stubborn grittiness the man pressed on. Elise remained at his side and followed, but couldn't find anything to talk about that didn't seem blatantly obvious that she was trying to comfort him. Elise watched Carver push on through the forest along the old trail. He was still going. Still trying. Maybe she should try then too.

Elise's armour clinked as she picked up her pace and found herself alongside Carver. Her voice was slightly distorted now, echoing through her suit and through the punctures of her armour, yet it still retained its soft spoken tone.

"Um....Mister Carver?"

Carver's eyes strayed over to Elise but he said nothing.

"Back there. At the river crossing. I'm sorry..."

Carver pressed forward silently. Elise looked down to the bent, ruptured and crumpled mark on her armour where Carver's hammer had struck.

"You scared me back there Mister Carver. You looked like you'd gone mad. And your hammer. Your hammer scared me more than that man when his sword cut through my armour."

Carver picked up his pace in silence, trying to gain ground ahead of Elise. Elise moved faster, matching Carver's pace before armoured, gauntleted fingers grabbed Carver's hand.

"But I know why you asked those questions now mister Carver. That sword you made. The one you killed back there. It was never supposed to be a weapon, was it?"

Carver sighed.

"No."

"And you're worried about me. You think father will try to use me. Or others will. I can't die.....I don't age. And maybe soon I'll have a stronger body."

Carver stopped in his tracks. The man's fingers held tight to the gauntlet of Elise. She could tell speaking his mind was difficult now.

"I'm not worried about what people will do to you Elise. You're made of tougher stuff than I've seen of most even if your body is a suit of armour. And you're a smart girl. But it's not them I'm worried about. It's what you'll do to them."

"What do you mean?"

"If I give you a new body. A new form. And one made by my own hands. How will I know that you won't abuse it? How do I know that I won't one day have to be responsible for destroying you?"

Elise slid her armoured fingers away and stepped around to face Carver. She pointed to the crumpled and ruptured dent in her suit.

"Because I forgive you mister Carver."

Elise was taken by surprise as Carver moved forward and hugged her with his good arm. Something short and simple as he patted her on the back.

"Thank you."

Carver broke the awkward hug and started walking quickly ahead once more. He turned back to Elise as she remained standing still.

"Come on then. We've still got a long way ahead."

Elise nodded her helmet and clinked her armour as she stepped ahead once more.

2 Weeks Later

Ancient green forest began to thin, slowly receding back as Carver and Elise walked the old trail. The old forest, starkly cold on its own but not of ice and snow like Carver's home, began to warm as the two drew closer to their current destination. An old farming community. The two pressed onwards, and the last of the forest vanished behind them.

Golden set rolling fields met them, and now a road, well traveled, greeted them. As far as the eye could see lush fields rolled forwards, separated by ancient wooden fences, marking the boundaries of who owned what. And in the vast swaying fields on warm air that greeted the two even on nights, where the fields were beset with the glow of fireflies, sat the old town.

A clearing in the vast hills and valleys, a sight that was new to Elise and although Carver was not fond of towns or groups, even he had to appreciate it. The old weathered community was small, but a cheerful one at that. Elise could see the cheer of the people even in their architecture, great exaggerated buildings with huge sloped roofs carved and made from the ancient trees that were cut down here.

Buildings that had no fear of snow or intruders, large and open under a roof, inviting any to come inside. The first stop Carver made was the local blacksmith. And it was there that for once gold was required. Soon enough, Carver was working the forge and anvil, while the owner of the shop stood aside in silent admiration, of course, never admitting that whoever this stranger was, he was a better smith.

A replacement gauntlet for the cleanly cut fingers of Elise's hand, and the forging of a new chest piece for the one that still barely held together. Carver and Elise quickly became the talk of the small town, the two being weathered outsiders and both strange. An aging man who could work a hammer better than the town's blacksmith would care to admit and his companion, who never left her battered armour.

The second stop was the local pub and bar, a large building, featuring the token open underside for all to see the inside. Cobble floors and bar tables, regular customers and parties, lights hanging from the ceiling or entwined around the support posts around the building created a mood of song and dance every night. Truly, this village had never experienced anything to destroy its mood. The fear of harm was absent.

Carver rented a room upstairs, and it was there that he retreated to it to rest. Elise could see why. Carver's arm was slow to heal and it took something out of him. As curious as Elise was, as delightfully happy she was as her armour clinked as she danced alongside the many children who had come to look at her, she eventually retired for the night as well, going up the steps to the loft upstairs in the great bowed roof of the pub.

Carver's words had rung true. This trip was tiring and long to be sure. And even she would have liked to enjoy time to rest for a while.

A knock on the door and Elise slipped through, closing it shut behind her to see Carver at work, tinkering with her new replacement pieces. She shook her helmet.

"Mister Carver I thought you were going to rest."

Carver continued working, paying Elise no mind as she stepped around the room and eventually sat down on the bed he was sitting on.

"It's not rest. But it is relaxing. Fingers haven't moved like this in a while. I missed it."

"Are you sure you don't want to go downstairs and dance? They're really friendly people mister Carver."

"I don't dance."

Elise looked over Carver's shoulder to see what he was doing, before taking note that he was still using one arm. Looking for the pack Carver carried with him, finding it at the foot of the bed, she pulled it up and began searching for the supplies he kept in it.

"Mister Carver I need to check your arm."

Carver grunted as he began work on adjusting leather straps. Lamps lit the small room and through the floor boards, down below the muffled sound of dance and music could be heard. Carver worked in silence and likewise, so did Elise. Through either the trimming of leather or the unwinding of bandages, the silence was broken as Elise giggled. Carver turned his head back.

"What?"

"You're working on some replacements for me with one arm. I'm working on your arm with one arm."

Elise waved her shattered gauntlet up that was devoid of fingers before going back to work. Elise heard something she'd never heard before. Carver chuckled as he went back to work.

"Where'd you learn to stitch like you do?"

Elise's shoulder armour shrugged.

"Training instructors. Sometimes I hit a little too hard."

"Your father trained you well. Why hand to hand?"

"People see a knight with a weapon and they're intimidated. Father says they plot. They come up with ways to hit the knight in the back. But when they see a knight with only her fists......"

Carver nodded.

"They think you're crazy."

Elise's helmet nodded as she giggled once more.

"You like hand to hand fighting Elise?"

"I do mister Carver."

"Why?"

"It makes me feel....homey."

"Homey."

"It feels like this is my body."

Elise scrunched the fingers up of her hand. Carver nodded silently, before turning on the bed to face Elise as he held up a new chest plate.

"Speaking of you. We need to replace that broken piece. It won't hold long."

"Mister Carver. Um....can I do it myself?"

"You've one hand. You need two to strap everything in place."

"But you've got only one too mister Carver."

Carver scrunched his other hand together, watching her.

"As long as I can move I've got both arms girl."

Elise scrunched her legs together and her hand fidgeted.

"Um....mister Carver? Can I do it myself please? I want......some privacy."

Carver's eyebrows shot up as he understood. Underneath her armour there was nothing. Seemingly nothing but thin air. But to Elise it would be like disrobing in front of him. Carver smiled.

"All right then. Here. Your new gauntlet. You'll need both hands."

Carver passed the new gauntlet, a perfect replica of Elise's old hand, albeit new shining steel over to Elise, and he watched as with the removal of the old shattered hand, the new gauntlet slipped into place perfectly. Elise wiggled her fingers in response, watching the metal plates move with ease and the thin interlocking chainmail gloves clink against metal.

Elise nodded and turned around, holding her new chest piece while undoing the straps of her old one. With a heavy thud on the wooden floor her steel breast plate fell. Carver watched as she began working, tying the new straps to her waist and then working upwards. Carver smiled. It was funny, really. Even after all this time Elise felt vulnerable.

Then again, the girl before him wasn't a true Construct. Carver shook his head. Elise wasn't a girl. She was soft spoken and naïve. Curious and adventurous. But Carver saw it, under her armour. Through the thin air under the armour where supposedly empty space filled it. Someday she'd be a woman. Maybe she already was. Carver watched her fiddle and fight with the straps on her back before he stood up.

"You know the first thing they teach knights?"

Elise's helmet turned.

"What mister Carver?"

Carver reached up with one hand, and a little stiffer and slower with the other, quickly untying the straps of her back plate, watching it fall to the floor. Elise's armour shuddered and shifted, seeming to stiffen and lock in place. Even to Carver it was strange. Her armour was shaped to rudimentarily reflect and emulate a woman. The back plate of her armour curved like that of a gentle sloping back.

Carver's eyes expected a form, a shape to fill the armour beyond it but he knew otherwise. And he saw otherwise. Thin air. He moved quickly, fitting the new plate he'd forged into place, tying the straps up securely.

"The first thing they teach a knight, is that the back plate goes on first. With all your armour on, your shoulder plates, your breast plate, your arms can only move forwards. They lose backwards flexibility."

Carver patted Elise on the shoulder, watching as she relaxed now, no longer exposed to the world. She turned around, her new armour shining and perfect compared to the rest of her old suit. Elise's hands crossed themselves as she stood awkwardly.

"Thank you mister Carver."

Carver waved her off.

"We all start somewhere Elise. Now then. It's late. I should rest. We should pack up and head out tomorrow."

Elise tilted her helmet.

"Mister Carver I think you should rest a few days while we're here. You can fix armour but you can't fix your arm."

Carver sighed as he sat down on the bed. Elise crossed her arms.

"Mister Carver. Can I ask you something?"

Carver looked up, stroking his beard.

"Shoot."

"That sword. The one you made. Why did you destroy it?"

Carver leaned down onto the bed and laid back on it, sighing.

"It was broken, Elise. That sword was never meant to cut. Never meant to kill."

"But it was a sparring sword."

"Elise. When you weave magic. When you tune it to a weapon, when you tune and temper the metal to match the magic inside of it, you need to look beyond what your eyes see."

"I don't understand."

"That fencing sword. It was not sharp because it was a weapon. It was sharp because the sword wanted to sing. The client I created it for, a duelist. She wanted not a weapon, but an instrument to match her practice. The sword was sharp because the magic was sharp. But not for cutting."

"But I still don't understand mister Carver. Couldn't you have fixed it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"That sword, Elise. It had a master. The client I gave it to. She was its master. The sword isn't just a piece of metal and magic. The two are one. When you weave, the weapon and magic merge together to make one. And it is alive. That sword loved its master. Loved to sing to her. When it was taken, its heart was broken. It felt hands on its hilt but they weren't the hands of its master. It tried to sing to those new hands but they didn't appreciate it."

Carver sighed heavily.

"And those new hands abused it. Used it as a weapon. Blood touched its blade and that sword knew what it was like to kill unwillingly. Knew what it was like to hurt something. I could hear it. It was out of tune. It was broken. But you can't just fix a Construct Elise. You can't just temper the metal and start over. Because a construct is alive."

"So you killed it? Why?"

"Elise. That sword's master was dead. That man wouldn't have spared her. And he attacked because she would not fight, not with that sword in hand. She respected what she held, loved it, cared for it. That sword would never again find the hands of its true master. And it would have been abused if I left it there. I gave it an end to pain, misery, and being alone."

Carver sighed once more.

"I am done for tonight, Elise. Get some rest. We move out tomorrow."

"Mister Carver please....you don't have to push yourself. We can stay here a few days. Rest for a while. I'm not worth all the trouble you've gotten into."

"I'll think about it."

"Really?"

"Yes. Now goodnight Elise."

Carver blew out the lamp, leaving the room in darkness. Elise never slept. She'd leave Carver to his privacy. She could go downstairs for the night. Pushing open his door slowly, Elise left. Carver was already fast asleep, unable to hear Elise as she closed the door behind her gently.

"Goodnight Carver."

For once Carver slowed down. Stopped and rested. Spent days idly by, giving himself time to recover. Elise was elated and excited that he'd listened, and in her own way helped Carver kill his boredom. He wasn't one to sit down and rest. So he walked the fields with her in the day. Explored the valley. But it was relaxed and easy going. Early one morning the two traveled up a great gentle sloping hill and sat at the top, staring down at the golden fields below and the village nestled in them and patch of small trees it resided in.

Beyond and behind them the horizon stretched, seemingly endless. Carver pointed out to the vast beyond.

"We're going out there Elise. Out to the sea. To the Isle of Monoliths."

Elise looked out beyond the early morning sun to the horizon.

"What's out there mister Carver?"

"Something old. Something ancient. Pure, raw magic. Undiluted. I need pure magic for your new suit."

"How far away is it?"

Carver stroked his beard.

"Far."

"How much longer?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"We're going to be passing through the lowlands. My home, up in the Shard Mountains. It all slopes downwards as we travel from there to get to the ocean."

"What's in the lowlands?"

"The Shrouded Lands. Swamps and bogs. Men do not call that place home."

"Why not?"

"The closer we get to the Isle, the more magic seeps into the land. There are powerful creatures in the Shroud. Some are magical beings, ghosts, wraiths. Some are twisted creatures, warped by exposure to magic. There are men. Very old and ancient. They look of men but they are not. Infused with magic and driven by something else. Tribals."

"Is there a way around it mister Carver?"

"No. The Shroud surrounds the Isle. Only the most devoted ever make it."

"You made it, right mister Carver?"

"Once, when I was young."

"You think you can do it again?"

Carver paused, looking to the horizon.

"As a smith. As a weaver, I've been trained to know that nothing is impossible. The two of us can do it."

Elise looked out beyond the horizon, in wonder at what was coming. Carver pushed himself back up to his feet, holding his hand out to Elise.

"Come on then. We should pack. Gather the supplies we'll need."

Elise stood up with Carver as he pulled her up to her feet.

"This isn't going to be very pleasant, is it mister Carver?"

"The Shroud? Most likely, no."

"Before we go, can I ask something?"

Carver smiled, his aged face creasing.

"Shoot."

"Before we go tonight, would you care for a dance?"

Carver's brows raised.

"I've two good hands but no good feet Elise. Not for me."

Elise tilted her helmet.

"Have you ever tried dancing in a suit of armour?"

Carver chuckled.

"That I haven't. Fine. One dance. Just for fun. Come on then. You're going to need a pack too. We'll need more supplies for this than I can carry alone."

Carver started walking back down the rolling hill towards the village down below, and Elise looked out to the horizon one last time before going with him. Her armour clinked down the hill in a livelier fashion than usual. The day was spent as Carver searched for materials and things they'd need, stuffing them into packs and getting ready. The sun fell on the golden set fields and rolling hills, fires were lit in the barely cool night, sending up gentle plumes of smoke from chimneys.

And in the night at the homely old tavern, the two strangers in town became the talk of the hour as children danced with them. The smith with two left feet and the knight who never removed her suit. Awkward shambles and shuffles, but all the same, fun shared in a brief moment.

And when the sun rose at dawn, and Carver donned his pack as did Elise, the two set out on the road once more.

4 Months Later

Through dark trenches and bog water up to their knees and beyond, Carver and Elise pushed through the Shroud. Vegetation, plant life twisting and winding, entrapping and snaring fought to pull them down into the bog and slow their progress. Creatures, out beyond the fog howled and snarled, hunting them through the bogs.

Carver wielded his hammer once more, not only an instrument of creating but one of destroying, and Elise had his back, always. In nights spent in utter silence and darkness for fear of drawing the attention of eyes that resided in the fog, Elise bandaged Carver's wounds and stood guard in the night as he slept, always.

Dark creatures, infused with magic and warped, the dead and deceased, wraiths in tattered cloaks and scraps of clothes howled through the fog and reached forward with their claws of death and decay, yearning for the life they smelled, clawing at it. Some fights were too much. Carver stumbled and fell, and Elise was always there to pick him up from the mud and dark waters.

Elise saw things her eyes had never seen before, things that would have made her skin crawl and even under her armour she was afraid, afraid of the twisted visage stumbling through the fog and murky water at her, but always, Carver's hand found her gauntlet and pulled, as the only word on his mouth was "run." And so they ran.

They ran through high water and murky darkness, through oppressive fog that clung to everything and made it damp and cold, beyond the claws of the warped ones behind them, and finally, escape. Through thinning trees and the lessening grip of fog, the lowlands began to rise and give way to clean forest, no longer obscured in darkness, and finally, to the sound of the ocean.

Elise stepped out onto smooth sands, sand that was white and pure, onto a beach, to see the crashing of waves rolling over in tides. Carver stepped out with her, patting her on the shoulder as she looked out to the ocean beyond with excitement, hugging him with glee. Like the tour guide he was, Carver pointed down the beach, to a sight that made everything worth it.

Like a great shelf, stretching beyond along the beach, was rock. A sheer rock wall that stood miles tall, immense stone pillars of white. The Isle of Monoliths. Out beyond, the sky changed as it ruptured, a crack in reality and the sky itself that bled blue, a blue as deep as the bluest oceans, with tendrils twisting and winding, merging with the clouds and twisting them in a display of colour and wonder.

Elise stood in awe at the white cliffs that looked as if they were perfectly chiseled rectangles of all sizes, monoliths carved into the walls miles high. Stared at the sky which bent and twisted, wrapped around itself and then exploded like paint on a canvas as pure, untempered magic bled into the sky itself.

Carver pushed onwards, turning back to Elise with a smile as he waved for her to come along. And like a giddy child as her suit clinked and she jumped on her feet before running along after Carver, the two pressed forwards into the shadow of the Monoliths.

Days were spent along the white beaches of pure smooth sand, past the crashing of the waves. Nights were spent under the blue glow of the rupture in the sky, now growing stronger and larger as Carver and Elise made their way towards it. Tendrils of lightening arced out into the sky in vibrant displays that contested the swirling colours of blue, and in the evening a blood red sky clashed with the rupture as the sun went down across the ocean.

Elise loved it here. She could feel it in her armour with every step she took towards the great rupture in the sky. It resonated through the metal of her suit, like the waves of the ocean crashing on the beach. Out here, there was no stress. No rush. No pain or hassle. Carver had taken to fishing along the shores in the evening when they made camp and Elise's eyes were always drawn to the monumental pillars of the cliffs that towered above them.

Elise could feel it with every step. Like this was it. This was the end. Everything she'd gone through, everything she'd seen, paled in comparison to what she walked towards. This place felt pure. It felt raw and unrestrained, forever unbroken by time or the world. As she walked along the beach with Carver, her thoughts returned to home.

Of her house and court. Of her own homeland, so very far away now, of her father and his dreams for her. It all seemed so far now. Carver walked forwards along the sand in the shade of the cliffs above as the sun beat down across the beach. Elise walked along beside him.

"I wish father could see this."

Carver looked up to the gash in the sky above.

"I'd forgotten this place. It's been a long time. Humbling, isn't it?"

Elise watched the ever swirling mass of blue light up above.

"What is it?"

"Just a light show. A display for all to see. The real power lives inside, at the heart of the Isle."

"What do you mean "lives" mister Carver?"

"Can you feel it in your suit Elise? You feel something right?"

"Um....yes."

"Magic isn't just a force Elise. All magical beings, and all who know its power and how to wield it, understand and feel that magic is alive. We are part of it, and it is part of us."

"But if that's true, why is magic dying? Why are there less and less who know about it?"

Carver pointed to the rupture in the sky.

"Does that look like its dying Elise?"

Elise watched the blue tendrils swirl in the sky, entwining with clouds as cracks of lightening tore out across the sky.

"No."

"Magic isn't dying Elise. It's changing. Men's hearts are changing. Magic is dying because we're letting it. Because men abuse its power. Those that don't wield its power are afraid. So they shun it. Out of fear. Men of ignorance abuse magic and use its power, claiming it to be their own. Men of simple nature, fear it and shun it, block it out, because of the actions of the ignorant."

Elise stopped in the sand, looking down at her boots as they sunk in the warm sand.

"Mister Carver. Do you think it'll disappear one day?"

Carver stopped alongside her.

"Not as long as there are men in the world who believe. Not as long as there are people in the world who wish to learn. Remember Elise. Magic is not an outside force. It's a part of who we are. But it's only those who look inside themselves who can truly see it and understand."

"Mister Carver, who taught you about magic?"

"It doesn't matter Elise. I started out as a blacksmith. I chased after the perfect craft. And in my youth, I began to yearn for more. Something to enhance the mundane blades I forged. And I found magic. Magic, has a way of finding you, if you seek it Elise."

"So.....you're a weaver then? Like the stories say?"

"In the sense of titles. Weaver. Threader. But, yes. My abilities lie in tuning magic."

"Do you know any other people out there? Any other titles?"

Carver chuckled.

"The titles and names are almost endless Elise. Magic is what one wishes it to be. The only limits are your imagination and your will to shape it."

"Is there an order to it all, like a court?"

"No. No man who knows the old arts is higher than the other. But it is, generally agreed that arguably the strongest out there is one who claims the title of Voidwalker."

"What's a Voidwalker?"

"Legends, Elise. Very, very rare is it for one to have that gift. Legends say that a Voidwalker can peer beyond time. They can cross the gaps of our world into others. They can bend time itself. They are one."

"One with what?"

Carver tugged on his beard.

"Hard to say. One with magic itself. One with themselves. They say that when one becomes a Voidwalker every possible version of you meets and becomes one. It's why they're so powerful. But, they're old legends Elise. Legends don't get things done."

Carver patted Elise on the shoulder.

"It's brave people who aren't afraid to jump forward and try."

Elise stopped once more, listening to the sound of the ocean on the sand.

"Carver. Thank you. For everything."

Carver pushed forward.

"Don't thank me yet. We've still a ways to go. But soon. Almost there."

Elise nodded her helmet, pushing onwards.

The tear in the sky loomed above them now, bright and powerful, immense as the entire sky above them was now a spectacle, and finally, the end of the road met them. A great crack in the isle, a sliver of open space among the monoliths, loomed like a great gash. The crack was miles tall, running all the way up as far as Elise could see.

Carver made camp, setting up on the sandy shores for a few days outside the crack, and when he was finally ready, when Elise was ready, they stepped towards the gaping maw. As the two approached the sliver, the ground quaked, as blue veins forced themselves through the stone walls around them. White rock splintered and shattered, ripping free from the walls, taking shape and form. Carver pushed Elise back.

"Stay back! They're not enemies! They're guardians."

Elise slunk far away as Carver stood tall in the face of two immense, towering pillars of white stone that shaped itself into a simple, vaguely humanoid frame. Magic coiled and burned into the rock as it swirled around the two giant guardians, which stood many stories above Carver. They blocked the entrance to the gap, standing tall. Elise clenched her hands as Carver approached the giants.

"Guardians of the Isle, I am Carver, of the Threads, Weaver and Tuner! I seek passage and await your judgment!"

Carver stood on the sand, as the wind blew through his beard and he stared up in silence to the towering guardians. They didn't move. Carver closed his eyes. He knew, then. This was always coming. With a great sigh, Carver turned his back on the guardians and left, walking down the beach back to the camp to Elise. The great stone guardians stood, as sentinels, blocking the way. Elise came running along, to see the look on Carver's face.

"What's wrong mister Carver!?"

Carver plodded over to the fire pit, sitting down to rest.

"It's me, Elise. I am no longer allowed to pass."

Elise looked back to the guardians in the distance.

"Why!?"

Carver turned solemnly out to the ocean, watching the sun shine on the waters.

"In the past, I abused magic. I abused the gifts I gleamed here. This place knows what I've done."

"Mister Carver......we came all this way....."

Carver smiled, nodding. His eyes were solemn but held a spark of something more.

"No, Elise. You did."

Elise's armour clinked as she sat down with Carver.

"What do you mean by that?"

Carver looked over to Elise's face plate.

"It means, Elise, that if you seek magic, you will find it."

Carver looked back to the sentinels in the distance.

"It has to be you Elise."

Elise shook her helmet.

"What? No!"

Carver smiled.

"I didn't lie to your father. I know what you need to have a new body. A new form. But I can't shape it Elise. I'm old. I'm tired. And I would fail."

"No, you agreed that you could do it."

Carver shook his head.

"I agreed that I could protect you. That I could get you here. Elise. Listen to me. I can forge a blade. I can forge armour. I can tune magic into the metal, I can temper the metal and shape it to the magic that runs in it. I can make Constructs. Living weapons. But you......you're beyond my ability."

Elise's hands scrunched themselves up in the sand.

"I don't.....I don't understand."

Carver sighed.

"You ever hear the legend of The Twin Swords? The battle under the mountain?"

Elise nodded silently.

"Two brothers. In my youth I made a sword for one. He went on to become a scourge. The sword I made for him.....it was powerful. The man held the blade and he grew stronger. And in return he fed the blade. The two of them, partners. Master and Sword. Kingdoms bowed for him. He was a false god."

Carver looked out the oceans beyond.

"When I was young, Elise. I chased after the perfect craft. The end all, be all. As a smith, my swords, no matter how finely made, were never enough. And with magic, I got closer, every time. But that's all I saw. The perfect blade."

Carver hung his head.

"I didn't see what I caused. I didn't see what my creations did. And one day, another man approached me. The brother. He wanted a sword. A blade to contest the might of his brother. To stop the madness. And I built one. Those two men waged war. Armies, and slaughter, death. My blades brought that into this world. Those twin blades clashed under a mountain and their power sundered the mountain. Those men, their armies, and my blades. All buried now."

Carver pulled his hammer off of his belt, holding it in his hands. Old iron, etched and embedded with curved runes of silver.

"My sense of perfection. It's broken, Elise. I forgot who I was. Why I started. And I abused my gift. Selfishly. Foolishly. Blindly. The dead killed by my weapons, whether I made them in peace or for war..........it's my fault."

Carver held out his hammer to Elise. He nodded.

"Take it."

Elise's gauntlet found the handle, grasping the old hammer.

"What do you feel Elise?"

Elise looked at the silver runes across the old iron.

"Nothing......"

"That hammer, is just an old hammer. It was the first hammer I ever built for myself. It is not alive Elise. It's not alive, because I don't want to hear it screaming when it destroys."

Elise shook her helmet.

"No.....that can't be right mister Carver. You dented my armour. I'm part magical. Other forms of magic can hurt me."

Carver shook his head.

"Oh if only Elise. When you take magic, and you shape it. When you wield it, it becomes a part of you. Magic, the old arts, are limited only by the limits you put on yourself. So what does that tell you?"

"I......I don't know."

"I broke your armour, because of my will. Because of my intent. That blade. I destroyed it because I couldn't see it or listen to it anymore. No more, Elise. I wanted no more......... But I'm a weaver. Magic runs through me and it will until the day I die. My will. My intent is strong, that drive to chase perfection. I don't need an anvil or hammer laced with special minerals or raw magic."

Elise rolled the hammer in her gauntlets.

"So......"

"It's a gift, and a burden Elise. I made mine a burden to sleep with every night. My point is......I can't fulfill your father's wish. Because if I laid my hands on you, crafted a body for you, it would tarnish you. You're.........living perfection."

Carver's hammer dropped into the sand. Elise shook her helmet.

"Carver....."

The old smith smiled, patting her on the shoulder.

"You did this yourself Elise. I was just along for the ride. To help if I could."

Elise turned to look back at the stone sentinels behind them.

"Carver........I can't....I can't do it alone."

Carver smiled.

"Don't ever believe that Elise. You can do anything if you believe it. And more than that. You're more connected to magic than I ever will be. You've no body. You move that suit like it's yours. You are pure, unrestrained willpower. Your father is wrong. He doesn't need to give you the world because you can do it yourself."

Elise leaned close, hugging Carver.

"Thank you....."

Carver chuckled.

"No. Thank you Elise. The world's not gone all bad if you're in it. Now go on. Go get what you came for. I'll wait."

Carver hugged her back, patting her on the shoulder plate.

"Remember Elise. It's what you want it to be."

Carver stood, as did Elise. She nodded her helmet to Carver, breaking her hug. The suit of armour turned to the fracture in the wall behind their camp, to the two sentinels standing guard. Carver watched her go, slowly, cautiously, afraid of the immense stone giants that now shifted to greet her presence. But Carver watched it. Under the fear, under the soft spoken nature, under the armour, Elise stood tall.

"Guardians of the Isle, I am Elise, of House Donvarial of York! I seek passage and await your judgment!"

Carver's hand found his hammer, gripping the hilt. The immense, white stoned guardians stood tall. And then parted. Crumbling and falling to the sand in ruin as Elise stepped forwards. Forwards into the crack in the wall, to the long winding canyon beyond, to the rupture and heart of this place that awaited her.

Carver smiled.

10 Years Later

Metal reverberated on metal, resonating through the old shop as a hammer found its target. The fire from the forges burned hot and metal sparked, sending embers past his face and goggles. With the last strikes of the hammer, Carver set it down, lifting his goggles as he inspected his work. It wasn't perfect. But it would do.

Steam rose from the barrel of water and at last, Carver pulled the finished piece up. And there it was. Just a simple knee pad. Carver set the finished piece down for now as a knock on his door greeted him. Carver sighed. Nobody ever read the signs.

"Busy."

Another knock on his door and he heard the creaking of hinges and felt cold wind in his shop, followed by a voice.

"Excuse me sir. Somebody pointed me over here. Said you were the blacksmith. I need someone to take a look at my sword."

Carver turned on the spot.

"Can't you read the signs? I don't do wep-"

Carver set his hammer down, staring at the figure in his doorway. He didn't even recognize her voice. Elise held her armoured hands out wide.

"Carver!"

Carver surged forwards with a laugh and a smile, hugging the suit that stood before him.

"Very long time no see Elise!"

Elise patted Carver on the back.

"Knew you'd still be here. You're too stubborn to quit aren't you?"

Carver looked at Elise's faceplate with a smile.

"A smith's work-"

Elise raised an armoured finger.

"Is never done."

Both laughed together as Carver started moving around, closing the door behind Elise.

"Well come on in then! Have a seat!"

Carver pulled out another chair, sitting down on his. Elise stood in the doorway, arms folded down politely in front of her. Carver looked over Elise. It had been a long time. Standing before him now was a knight in shining armour. His armour to be precise. Elegant steel that he had forged to match her form and gracefully display and accentuate it. Now decorated with the markings and banners of Elise's court, a bright red and yellow loin cloth to match the tatters of a cape held by a chain across her breastplate.

"It's good to see you again Carver."

Elise strode forwards, sitting across from Carver in a chair. Carver let his forge die down, leaning back to rest on his chair, tugging on the bundled together length of his beard, no longer dark but showing more signs of grey. He smiled as he watched Elise's gauntlets fidget.

"So, Knight Elise of House Donvarial. Let's hear some stories."

It had been a decade since Carver had seen Elise. And since then time had changed her. No longer was there a quiet, echoing voice in her armour. There was a woman, confident, sure, but still well mannered. The armour he'd made for her before their parting had nary a scratch on it. Carver's last, true, great work. For the shining steel emulated her form perfectly, both protecting it, not that it needed protection, but also hiding it under ornate layers. The armour was Carver's greatest work for it fit around the form underneath it that only he knew.

In the quiet of Carver's forge, Elise began to tell him her stories. Of the trip back to her homeland alone. Returning to her court in high esteem. Some treasured years spent with her father before he finally passed. She inherited her father's position of esteem in her court. And then politely abandoned it, granting her title on someone she deemed worthy of it.

And from there Elise traveled. Walked the lands as a wandering knight, bearing the insignia of her house and family, of which she was the last. Carver smiled at her stories. The woman was still as awestruck and curious as before, telling him her encounters with fascination and wonder. The danger. The fun. And, even the bad days. But through all of it, here she was now.

Kind and just, pure of heart and free. Not a family legacy steeped in blood or old grudges. Not a weapon. Not a suit of armour. Just her. Elise finished her story, tilting her helmet as she leaned forward.

"So. Do you have any stories to share?"

Carver shook his head.

"No. I've just been here, spending my days in peace and quiet."

"Not even one?"

Carver shook his head.

"Nothing that would compare to the trip we took, right?"

Elise nodded. Carver chuckled.

"So. What brings you out here? Where are you planning on traveling to next?"

Carver watched as Elise's armour stiffened, her fingers wound up in themselves as they fidgeted nervously. He smiled. Still so shy.

"Well.....I was thinking about taking a ship. Going across the ocean."

Carver nodded.

"Far off lands those are. Strange places I hear."

Elise looked away from her hands up to Carver.

"But I wanted to come back here. See if you were still around first."

Carver smiled.

"I'll be smithing until I drop Elise. In my blood."

Carver chuckled.

"Maybe even after I drop."

Elise stared out at Carver. 10 years ago he could have passed for an older man, but still in his prime. Today he still looked able bodied. But even through the soot and ash of his forges, grey was creeping across hair and his eyes looked a little worn. Elise sighed.

"I missed you, Carver."

The man's eyebrows went up.

"Oh?"

"Traveling, out there. It was fun. You made a good tour guide."

Elise shifted in her armour.

"What would you say if I asked you to come with me?"

"What, out there on the ocean?"

"Yes."

Carver shook his head.

"My traveling days are over Elise. That last trip. My arms not as good as it was. And that god awful bog did a number on me too. I'm in no shape to travel anymore."

Elise nodded.

"Can you still dance?"

Carver chuckled.

"Only as bad as I did last time."

Elise stood up from her chair, extending a hand out.

"Right then. Up you go. Come on."

Carver was dragged reluctantly up to his feet by Elise, who assumed the leading position. One hand raised high with Carver's good arm, and the other closer to center, as two armored gauntlets grasped Carver's hands. Elise started slowly, stepping her feet around the stone floor of Carver's shop. Carver looked at the faceplate of Elise who was now laughing.

"There you go! Your feet still remember!"

Elise led Carver along as the two slowly swirled around the shop together. Carver couldn't help but laugh.

"I should have picked that little town as my retirement villa."

Elise shook her helmet.

"Not for you Carver. Spending your days fixing farm equipment."

Carver nodded back.

"Guess not. But the nights were nice, weren't they?"

Elise's armour clinked as she picked up her pace.

"It's good to see you again Carver. Really. I really missed you, out there."

Carver struggled with misplaced steps to keep up with Elise.

"I guess I missed your questions too. You're a rare one, you are."

Elise tilted her helmet.

"Are you just saying that because I'm a Construct?"

Carver chuckled.

"Are you asking that just for old time's sake?"

The slow, awkward dance came to a pause as Elise unwound her metal fingers from Carver's, reaching around to hug him.

"Carver. I've traveled all across the lands. I've no family left. No friends. You were the only one, other than father, who looked at me differently."

Elise paused.

"You told me I could do anything. Why can't I make them understand?"

Carver closed his eyes with a sigh, returning the hug.

"You're different, Elise. People fear magic. People fear what it can do."

"They look at me Carver. Like I'm something else instead of somebody. I don't want to walk the world if I have to do it alone."

Carver sighed.

"Elise. I'm not going to be here forever either."

"I know. So why are you wasting your time out here? Why?"

"I've seen a lot of things. And I'm tired, Elise. All I want is some peace. To do what a true smith would. Help."

Elise pulled away from Carver.

"You've given enough Carver. For good or bad, you made what you did. Swords that sing to their masters. You help people with their problems in this village. And you helped me."

Elise stepped back, headed towards the door to the outside.

"I'll be leaving in the morning Carver. I have to move if I want to make it to that boat. I'm staying at the inn."

Elise opened the door to Carver's shop and left, closing it shut gently behind her. Carver sighed as he sat back down in his chair.

Times had changed.

Carver tossed around in his bed in the night before finally rousing. Something bothered him and he knew what it was. With a heavy overcoat on under the blowing snow of the night, Carver stepped into the old inn, regular, nightly faces turning to see him and then quickly returning to their business. If Carver was up and about so late then something was up. Most knew by now to let the man do his thing.

To which he did, asking for the suit of armour and where she was staying, before heading up the stairs to the rooms and knocking on Elise's door. No sooner had he knocked before Elise opened it for him, standing back to sit on her room's bed. Carver leaned against the door as he closed it.

"Why'd you come here Elise?"

Elise was curt in her response, firm in standing her ground.

"I missed you Carver. I don't know what to do with myself, on my own."

Carver nodded slowly.

"Sometimes you've got to take a chance with your life. Take a jump. Look at me. I'm here now because I did."

Elise stood up, moving over to Carver.

"No, you don't understand Carver. This isn't a lesson to teach me. I'm already here because I am taking a jump."

Elise's gauntlets found one of Carver's hands. Carver's brows furrowed.

"Oh. OH."

Carver looked at Elise's faceplate.

"When did this happen?"

"When I traveled with you. On the roads. I was young and impressionable. Take a girl and show her somebody who looks at her like she's not a suit of armour and......"

Carver nodded.

"You came back because you missed me."

Elise nodded her helmet.

"In the village. Out in those fields. When you fixed my armour. I wasn't nervous because you were taking away bits of my body. When you looked at me......it was like you were looking at me. Not the suit. I never met anybody who looked at me like you do."

Carver shook his head.

"Elise. I should-"

Elise put her gauntlets over Carver's shoulders on the door.

"No you shouldn't Carver. We went through the shroud together! I watched you kill one of your own creations in front of me! And then when we got to the Isle, you just......gave up. You sat there.......and you told me that you did this just to help me......"

Carver shook his head.

"You're seeing things that aren't there Elise."

Elise shook her helmet.

"No. No Carver! Any man would have turned around after what happened at that river crossing. No money would have been worth it. And all just to see me reach the Isle with nothing for yourself? Why? Why are you afraid Carver?"

Elise kept her gauntlets against the door, effectively pinning Carver in front of her helmet. Carver let out a long sigh as he closed his eyes.

"At the crossing. That man, punctured your armour. He could have killed you. Cut your armour into so many pieces that you couldn't be fixed, even by me. He murdered how many others with that sword, killed its owner and destroyed something pure. I swung that hammer at his head and you caught me."

Carver opened his eyes to stare at the silver visor across from his face.

"With one hand you caught me. I'm no pushover Elise. You've all that strength in you and you keep it in check. Not even the man who could've killed you got any wrath from you. And you saved him. You showed restraint. Mercy."

Carver shook his head.

"And even after what happened at the crossing. You stayed. I decided it, on that first night when you looked at my arm. I'd see it through to the end if it meant you got what you needed. But me? I would only ever disappoint you. You're too good for me Elise."

Elise shook her helmet and an armoured gauntlet met his cheek as she slapped him.

"You stubborn man............when are you going to stop punishing yourself!?"

Carver's hand found the skin on his cheek where metal found its mark. It wouldn't even be a bruise. Elise stepped back as Carver started laughing. Carver moved forwards to Elise's surprise and hugged her. The man hugged her tight as her suit scrunched and squeaked.

"Thank you, Elise. I missed you too."

Carver broke the hug before turning around to leave.

"It's getting late. I should-"

Elise pushed her gauntlet down against the door as Carver opened it, tilting her helmet.

"And just where do you think you're going, mister Carver?"

Carver remembered the day Elise walked out from the heart of the Isle. She had strapped on her old armour, in some vain attempt to cover herself. Because she had a body. But her old armour wasn't shaped for it. With some ingenuity Carver reshaped her armour into a rough work around. But he remembered glimpses of her now tangible form. If she wasn't perfection before, Elise had made sure that she was now.

The inn had gone quiet in the night now, leaving them in peace and quiet. In the dark of the room under the only candle that provided a dim, warm orange light, Elise began to reveal herself. Unlocking the chain around her breastplate and hanging up the ornamental tatters of her cape and the cloth that dangled from her waist, Elise turned her back on Carver.

Straps were undone as the front portion of her suit fell away, before more straps were freed and the back plate of Elise's armour, so finely crafted, curved to reflect the body that now resided underneath it, fell free to the floor. And there it was. No longer thin air. But stone. White stone from the Isle of Monoliths itself, from the very heart of it.

Elise's body emanated a woman in its purest form, as if it were carved by hand by a master. Veins of blue magic ran across the white stone, having forced themselves into the rock itself and carving it. More armour fell to the floor as Elise unstrapped it in bits and pieces, revealing her back to Carver. The white stone had no flaws in it, no cracks or gouges, anything imperfect.

It was pale and smooth, curved with the arch of Elise's back and neck. Where key joints were, her body separated, floating and held in place by visible tendrils of magic. Elise had fed off pure raw magic itself and gained a form. A form that was pure magic. But she wanted more than that. So she forced herself into the rock. Carved stone so perfectly that as the last of her armour fell to the floor the backside of a woman, pale and white, etched in veins of blue, carved in stone, revealed itself to Carver.

Gone were Elise's reservations of Carver seeing beyond her armour as she turned to face him. Every joint of her body was separated, but held in perfect place by the visible strands of raw power that Elise had gained. Elise could move in perfect harmony with her form, every curved part of her body moving in unison and flexibility. Where a face would stare out at the world Elise had left soft, gentle, undefined features as a simple blank slate, with two strong shades of blue forming and pooling together for eyes.

It was Carver, ironically who was reluctant to touch. And it was Elise's fingers, segmented joints of stone that roamed across him so affectionately. Cold stone that quickly grew warm and vibrated gently, giving off the feeling that it was a source of something. But through Elise's gentle sweeps of stone hands Carver eventually found himself more receptive to her, eventually even, allured.

Stone that was so smooth to the touch in every curve no matter where his hands found themselves, addicting in its curves and slopes that traced along the hands so smoothly. Elise was so precise with her sculpted form that she had created everything, every ridge, every part. Her form was solid rock, unbreakable with a hard exterior, but under Elise's control it was soft, smooth, and easily warmed to the touch.

In the silence of the night under the dull warmth of a candle Elise wrapped herself around Carver under blankets. Something was different this time. Carver remembered nights, in the bog when she had cradled herself around him, cold steel and armour plating, gauntlets that held him tightly, reassuring him that his wounds would recover and that she herself was safe in his presence.

Now stone hands roamed with affection and abandon, in an exchange between the two of them, before Elise discovered that even though her body was made of stone, there were still ways to be intimate. Parts of her form were so smooth that rubbing was possible, grating her hips gently, or closing her legs and sliding herself against certain parts. Likewise, Carver found a way as well.

Elise was pure magic, and therefore susceptible to feeling its presence. For once, Carver's old art revived like a flame. Rather than swing a hammer and shape a blade, and tune magic, Carver listened to Elise's frequency. Listened to her body sing through the stone she embedded herself into, and suddenly opened himself up to her entirely.

Through giggles or affectionate grips with her stone hands, grating parts of herself against him in a warm, yet stubborn smoothness that came from her stone body, Carver felt ripples. Ripples like strings and chords that told him about her. She had no physical form. She was once normal, a human being like he was, filled with impulses and feelings. But through what was left of her, he felt it. All Elise wanted to do was stay close to him.

If there were a heart it would be beating strongly in excitement as she entwined herself with him. If there was flesh where Carver's hands found themselves she would grow hot and wanting. But Carver was a Weaver. Magic was a part of him as much as he was a part of it. And with careful instincts, a lifetime of experience, Carver stumbled into something new.

Will and intent was the key to creating. Care and dedication. And after all these years, Carver learned that he could follow his own teachings. The limits of the old arts were what one wanted them to be. Where Carver's hands found smooth curves and supple stone, he played and tuned those chords. Elise's strings, belonging to the will of a mind but a body no longer.

Even through stone Elise felt something. Not simple touch against her stone form. But warmth. Pleasure. A new feeling, rediscovered after having been long, long forgotten. Elise's body became receptive to Carver and her grip only grew tighter on him as she entwined herself completely with him in the night. Her old, quiet voice, shy and wanting to be hidden returned, in the form of pleased moans, surprised gasps, all wanting to remain hidden, embarrassed.

But Elise was something more now. Beyond the old confines of her suit and beyond the limits she had once shackled herself to. Carver could make her feel so deeply, want so much, love so much. And she could too. Magic, strong and bright, now the only light in the dark of the loft under the sheets, forced itself out through the rock. Pooling in deep blue hues, lips, just as gentle as the rock itself, pressed so longingly against Carver's.

To Carver, there was nothing else. The stone body wrapped around him, smooth and contoured to perfection, curling toes, gripping sheets and pressing gently to him, cold at first but then warm and relaxing. And finally, lips that wanted his for so long, lips that wanted to be real, to have shape and form found his, a feeling so deep as Elise overpowered him with herself.

That one kiss, that first kiss, followed by more as Elise's blue eyes that burned pure and bright always wanted more, told him everything. Made him understand everything. She would always, be there for him. Always, to no exception, love him. Not because his name was in legends. Not because he could show her the world and teach her. Not even because her body, pure and curved, carved to perfection and overflowing with raw power was granted to her by him.

Because he understood her. And she understood him. Through counted years Elise was young compared to him. But she felt much older. She had grown up into a woman and not a weapon. A person and not a game piece on the board. A saint, not a sinner.

And likewise, Carver defied age. Wanted to be younger. Wanted to return to the fire and drive of youth and carried a stubborn spark that reignited his burnt out body, and his tired mind against a world he'd long come to regret meeting.

Elise changed all that. And it was decided, in the dark night as snow blew over the mountains of the quiet village that slept. Carver was going with her. Carver would go wherever she went. And she wanted to go wherever he led.

Maybe it always led up to this. Being entwined with Elise. Gentle, frail, shy, and curiously alive. Stronger than she gave herself credit for. And him. Stubborn. Resistant, mournful, but yearning. He had left his mark on the world. He had made mistakes. But he had done his share of good things. Holding onto the body of Elise in the dark of night as he slept, while she held him closer than she ever possibly did before, he knew he was ready.

Time to restart. Time to leave his old life behind. Time to break free of his own shackles like Elise once did. But he wouldn't do it alone. Because Elise would be there to make it fun. Make him safe. Make him feel young again.

Travel the road with him no matter where it led.

No longer his road, his end. But theirs.

Their road, set in stone.