One Month Later, Early Training

Victor - POV

The hammer felt balanced in my hands as I followed Thrain's demonstration. My arms ached after an hour of work, but the fatigue was satisfying rather than overwhelming. The practice iron was taking shape: a simple hook that looked like what it was supposed to be.

"Better." Thrain rumbled, watching my technique. "You're learning to work with the metal instead of fighting it. Good progress for seven years old."

I set down the hammer and wiped sweat from my forehead. The expanded forge was magnificent. Thrain, Borin, and Vera had worked miracles in just weeks, but more importantly, I was finally big enough and strong enough to use the equipment properly.

"It still doesn't look as good as yours." I compared my work to Thrain's elegant demonstration piece.

"That's experience. I've been working metal for over two centuries. You've been training for one month. The fact that your hook will actually hold weight and serve its purpose? That's what matters."

"But I want to make beautiful things too."

"Beauty comes with understanding." Thrain picked up my hook, examining it. "And this shows real understanding. Your hammer marks are even, your curves smooth, your proportions correct. The beauty is there, you just need to learn to see it."

He was right. Looking more carefully, I noticed that while it wasn't as polished as Thrain's, it had a solid, honest quality that sat well in my hands.

"What's next?" Eager to continue.

"Next, you learn that smithing isn't just about making one good piece. It's about making ten good pieces, then a hundred. Consistency is more valuable than perfection."

Two Months Later, Community Integration

Lyra - POV

I watched from the cottage window as Victor helped Vera organize the tool storage system. At seven, nearly eight after three months of training, he was tall enough to reach higher shelves and strong enough to lift heavier equipment without strain.

"The boy's progressing remarkably." Borin approached with baby Naelira. "Faster than expected, even accounting for his magical sensitivity."

"How much faster?" I took Naelira.

"Most apprentices take six months to produce their first functional piece. Victor made that hook after four weeks. Yesterday, he forged nails so uniform I thought Vera had made them."

"Is that normal for someone with his abilities?"

Borin considered carefully. "We've never trained anyone quite like him. His magical connection gives him insights that normally take years to develop, but he's also seven with the focus of someone much older."

Through the window, Victor organized chisels while Vera explained edge geometry. His movements were careful and purposeful, showing the maturity he'd developed over the past months.

"How are the other villagers adjusting to the training?"

"Mixed reactions, as expected. The practical folks appreciate the improved tools and Victor's obvious progress. Henrik's been commissioning better weapons for the guards, and he's impressed with the quality."

"But?"

"Some people worry we're pushing him too hard. Nearly eight years old working with forge fires and sharp tools makes them nervous, even though he's demonstrably capable and careful."

"And the others?"

"Want him trained faster. The refugees who've seen what untrained magic can do want guarantees that he'll never lose control."

A commotion outside caught our attention. Mrs. Aldrin was approaching with several other newer refugees, their expressions concerned.

"Time for community diplomacy." I sighed.

The Forge, That Afternoon

Gregor - POV

"Seven years old is too young for this work." Mrs. Aldrin said as I approached. "Forge fires, heavy hammers, sharp tools. It's dangerous."

"More dangerous than untrained magical abilities?" Henrik countered. "I'd rather have Victor learning control through training than discovering limits through accidents."

"But he's still just a child!"

"A child who helped rescue half the refugees in this village." I joined the conversation. "Mrs. Aldrin, Victor isn't ordinary. His abilities are real and growing. The question isn't whether he should train, it's whether that training should be guided or left to chance."

"What if he gets hurt?"

"Then we treat his injuries and adjust accordingly." Thrain emerged from the forge with soot streaked hands. "The boy's not made of glass. He's more careful than most adult apprentices I've worked with."

"Show them." Victor said quietly, appearing beside Thrain. "Words aren't as convincing as demonstrations."

He walked to the scrap pile and selected a bent iron rod, then moved to the anvil. "May I, Thrain?"

"Go ahead, lad. Show them what proper training looks like."

Victor held the rod, studying the bend. "Smithing uses all four elements working together." He explained to Mrs. Aldrin. "Earth gives us the metal and anvil. Fire provides heat. Air feeds flames and helps control temperature. And oil, well, you'll see."

He placed his right hand along the bent section. Slowly, a warm glow began from his palm. But instead of just heating the metal directly, he cupped his left hand near the rod and began moving air around it, creating a controlled draft that intensified and focused the heat.

"Fire alone burns wild." Victor concentrated. "But air shaped properly makes the heat work exactly where you need it." The metal started changing color more evenly than it would with just flame: first dark red, then cherry red, then orange.

Meanwhile, his feet pressed firmly against the stone floor, and the anvil beneath seemed to become more solid, more stable. "Earth magic doesn't just strengthen tools. It helps me feel exactly how hard to strike, where the stress points are."

When the section reached working temperature, he picked up his small hammer. Each blow was perfectly controlled, the heated metal moving precisely while the reinforced anvil absorbed every impact without the slightest vibration.

After several minutes of careful work, he carried the straightened rod to the quench station. Instead of using water, he held it over the oil bath. "Oil quenches slower than water, less shock to the metal."

He didn't just dunk the rod. His fingers traced along its length as he lowered it, controlling how oil flowed around it, ensuring even cooling. The metal hissed and oil shimmered with controlled heat exchange.

"Four elements, working as one system." Victor examined the finished rod. It was straight, properly tempered, with minimal stress marks. "That's what Thrain is teaching me. Not just to use power, but to understand how everything connects."

He looked up at Mrs. Aldrin, slightly winded from maintaining such precise control over multiple elements simultaneously. "Without proper training, I might overheat with fire, choke the flames with too much air, crack the anvil with earth magic, or ruin the tempering with uncontrolled oil quenching. This is why I need guidance."

Mrs. Aldrin took the metal, examining it with obvious surprise. "This was completely bent."

"Victor has a gift for restoration." Thrain's pride was unmistakable. "Not just making new things, but healing what others would throw away. It's a rare talent, even among experienced smiths."

"I understand your concerns." Victor continued, his voice carrying a maturity that always surprised people. "But I'd rather spend my childhood learning to help people than hiding from what I can do. Wouldn't you want the same for your children?"

The crowd began to disperse, most appearing satisfied if not entirely convinced. Mrs. Aldrin lingered, still studying the repaired metal.

"You're very wise for seven." She said finally.

"I have excellent teachers." Victor glanced at Thrain with obvious affection.

Four Months Later, Growing Mastery

Victor - POV

The knife taking shape under my hammer was the most complex project I'd attempted yet. In two weeks, I would turn eight years old, and Thrain had promised this blade would be my birthday present to myself: the first piece I'd made entirely without guidance.

"Almost there." I murmured, checking the edge.

"Temperature check." Thrain called from across the forge.

"Cherry red transitioning to orange. Ready for the first quench."

"Good eye. Take it to the oil bath."

I carefully transferred the glowing blade with proper tongs, watching as the oil hissed and bubbled around the hot steel. When the reaction subsided, I lifted the blade to examine the results.

"Clean quench." Vera observed approvingly. "No warping, no stress cracks. Your heat control is becoming very reliable."

The early months had been filled with disasters: warped blades, cracked handles, tools that failed under use. But gradually, through patient instruction and practice pieces, I'd learned to read the subtle signs that determined success or failure.

"How do you assess the edge geometry?" Borin asked.

I held the blade up to catch the light. "Maybe slightly thick behind the edge on the right side. I can correct that during final sharpening."

"Excellent analysis. What's your next step?"

"Tempering at low heat until I see straw yellow color, then final sharpening and handle fitting."

"And if the tempering goes wrong?"

"Start over completely." I said with hard earned wisdom. "Better to remake a blade properly than finish one that won't hold an edge."

Thrain nodded with satisfaction. "Six months ago, you would have tried to salvage a failed blade rather than admit it needed remaking. That honesty marks a true craftsman."

As I carefully heated the blade for tempering, I reflected on how much had changed since training began. My hands were calloused now, my arms strong enough to work for hours without fatigue. The forge complex had become as familiar as my own bedroom.

But beyond the physical changes, I'd learned patience and persistence. The early frustration of slow progress had given way to satisfaction in steady improvement. Each successful piece built confidence, each failure taught valuable lessons.

"Victor, we need more charcoal for the main forge." Vera called from the storage area. "Can you help me move some from the supply shed?"

"Of course." I set my blade aside to cool properly.

As we walked to the supply shed, I marveled at how comfortable I'd become in this environment that had once seemed impossibly large and intimidating.

"Vera, do you think I'm progressing normally?" I asked as we loaded charcoal.

She paused, considering seriously. "Normally for who? Compared to typical seven year old apprentices, which don't exist, you're advancing impossibly fast. Compared to someone with your magical sensitivity, you're developing exactly as expected."

"What do you mean?"

"Your connection to metal gives you advantages others don't have. You can sense what iron needs, feel when temperature is right, understand properties that normally take years to develop. But you're still limited by coordination and strength that come with age."

"So I'm ahead in some ways but still learning in others?"

"Exactly. Which is why Thrain focuses on skills you can master now while building foundation for techniques you'll learn as you grow stronger."

As we carried the charcoal back to the forge, a deep sense of belonging settled over me. This wasn't just training anymore. It was becoming who I was meant to be. Not just Victor Hearthborn the boy with unusual abilities, but Victor Hearthborn the smith, the creator, the one who could repair what was broken and craft what was needed.

The knife waiting on my workbench would be finished tomorrow, and it would be good work: honest, functional, and made with skill I'd earned through months of dedicated effort.

Some things were truly worth the time and patience they required to do them right.

Eight Years Old, A Milestone Reached

Victor - POV

December 6th dawned crisp and clear, with frost painting the cottage windows. I woke before anyone else, as I always did on my birthday, taking a moment to appreciate the quiet before celebration began.

Eight years old. In the forge, that meant I was old enough to work unsupervised on simple projects. In the village, it meant people had stopped questioning whether I was too young for training. In my heart, it meant another year of belonging to this family that had chosen to love me.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart." Mother said softly from the doorway, carrying a steaming mug of cider. "How does eight feel?"

"Taller." I stretched dramatically, which made her laugh.

"Well, you'll need to be taller to reach what Thrain left on your workbench."

I bounded out of bed and threw on my clothes, curiosity overtaking everything else. Mother followed, smiling at my excitement as we made our way to the forge.

On my personal workbench sat a leather tool roll, beautifully crafted. Inside, nestled in individual slots, were my own complete set of smithing tools. Hammer, tongs, files, punches, everything sized perfectly for my hands.

"They're really mine?" I ran my fingers over the smooth handles.

"Every apprentice needs their own tools." Thrain emerged from the storage room with a grin. "These will grow with you. The handles can be extended as your hands get bigger, the heads reshaped as your technique improves."

"They're perfect." I breathed. "Thank you."

"Thank yourself, lad. You've earned them through months of dedicated work. These tools are just recognition of what you've accomplished."

Father appeared with baby Naelira in his arms, her chubby hands reaching for the shiny tools. "Careful, little one." He said gently. "These are your brother's now."

"Mine." I agreed, then immediately felt selfish. "But I'll make things for you with them, Naelira. Pretty things."

She gurgled happily, which I chose to interpret as approval.

"What's first?" Mother asked. "Birthday breakfast, or testing the new tools?"

"Tools." I said without hesitation, then caught myself. "I mean, if that's okay?"

"It's your birthday. You decide how to spend it."

I picked up my new hammer, feeling the perfect weight and balance. At eight years old, with months of training behind me, I was ready for whatever came next. The scared little boy who'd once hidden his abilities was gone, replaced by someone who could create, protect, and belong.

"Let's make beautiful work." I said, and meant it.