The rhythmic clang of metal striking metal and the soft crackle of burning coals filled the forge.
Jin Shu wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, smearing a dark streak of ash across his forehead. Without qi to regulate his internal temperature, he was, for all intents and purposes, a very sturdy mortal in the heat of the forge. He could have used fire-elemental energy to insulate himself, but focusing on both tasks was more trouble than it was worth—and besides, he didn’t mind the heat. It reminded him of the days he worked beside his father.
The thought brought a pang of longing. He missed his father. But knowing what he did now about his parents’ relationship, he felt little urge to return home. He would be the first to admit he was a mama’s boy. So was Gold—despite never knowing his biological parents on Earth. Gold had always yearned for a mother’s love more than a father’s. In fact, he’d had a few father figures throughout his life, but never a motherly one.
Gold’s adoptive father was the one who’d set him on the path to the military—an old, retired Army Major who’d taken him in as his only child. The man had died not long after the adoption, so they'd never really had the chance to bond. Still, Gold had been grateful. The opportunity alone had been life-changing. He’d thrown himself into the army to honor the old man’s spirit—or at least, he liked to think he had.
Jin Shu drifted between hammer strikes, lost in the rhythm of the forge and the pull of old memories. It wasn’t until he struck the final blow and the metal gave a satisfying ring that he snapped back to the present. He blinked down at the piece in surprise, realizing it was finished.
Setting it aside to cool, he turned to the already-tempered pieces and began assembling them into weapons, accessories, and ammunition. Before long, a veritable arsenal lay before him.
In the past, this would’ve been excessive. He would’ve made a weapon or two, maybe a few rounds of ammunition, mostly just for fun—with no clear intent to use any of it. But things were different now. He wasn’t just thinking about himself anymore. He wanted to arm his family as well.
He still didn’t know if he’d ever regain access to his qi. If he couldn’t, these weapons would be his only defense in a world where death could come in the blink of an eye—a lesson he’d learned the hard way… twice.
He was lucky. The world—or perhaps the ancient dragon buried within him—had plans for his survival. It hadn’t let him die, not really. But others weren’t so fortunate. They didn’t have a five-hundred-year-old dragon to drag them back from the brink, or nanobots from a futuristic world to stitch their shattered bodies back together.
What he could give them, though, was power—his power—in the form of rune-etched weapons forged by his own hands.
“Are you sure?” Shuang asked.
“You know I am.”
“Still, I want to hear you say it. You never know—you might change your mind once the words are out.”
“I… I don’t know,” Jin Shu admitted. “I just don’t know what’s going to happen. According to the dragon, we’re free to choose our own future now. This is the only path I can think of that might break what was supposed to be a predestined fate… but maybe I’m just playing into it anyway. I’m confused. So I’m going to trust my gut—and it says this is the right thing… maybe.”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” Shuang said with a nod, the soul space rippling gently around them. “We trust you.”
“We should check if this thing even works,” Gold cut in, redirecting them back to the weapons.
Jin Shu glanced down at the weapon Gold was referring to. It was experimental—not something from Gold’s world or even Nano’s. Instead, it fused theories from both of their realities, combined with rune formations native to this one.
The result looked like a cross between a harpoon gun and an assault rifle. Gold and Nano called it a railgun, though it wasn’t the kind from Gold’s sci-fi movies, nor the massive ship-mounted ones from Nano’s world. Those were colossal weapons, impossible to carry by hand. Their version was sleek, compact—almost elegant. But its function was untested.
According to Nano, it could very well explode in their faces.
If it didn’t? It would be devastatingly powerful, born of three worlds’ worth of innovation.
“Let’s save that for later,” Jin Shu said, pushing the railgun aside. “If it does explode, I’d rather it happen somewhere far from people.”
“Right. Someone could get hurt.”
“That, and it’d be really embarrassing if my own weapon blew up in my hands,” Jin Shu added with a smug grin. “Gotta keep up appearances now. I have fans, you know?”
“Uh-huh,” Gold replied dryly. “Anyway, time for the inscription. You sure you’re up for it?”
“I’ll have to be,” Jin Shu said with a shrug, unrolling a scroll that Xi Yue had given him.
There were no words on it—just a detailed painting that mapped out the new meridian pathways inside his body. He spent several quiet minutes studying it, memorizing the flow and position of each channel, making sure he understood how to move his qi through them.
Finally, he nodded, rolled the scroll back up, and closed his eyes.
Then he turned his focus inward—toward the qi coursing calmly through his blood.
“Nano, do you think you can control my blood flow for a few minutes?”
“In theory, yes. In practice? I'm unsure—and I wouldn’t dare attempt it without your permission.”
“Then… let’s do it!”
Jin Shu’s blood flow halted—just for a moment, but it was enough. With the sudden stillness inside his body, he seized control of his qi and directed it as swiftly as possible toward the nearest meridian—one within his right arm.
The qi wrapped around the channel and began to sink into it. But then the blood surged back through his veins, chasing after the qi and slamming into it, dislodging the flow.
He groaned, clutching his chest as his heart thundered back to life, pumping blood violently through him. The pain was sharp and sudden—but through it, a wide grin stretched across his face.
It had worked.
Those few seconds of stilled circulation had been just enough to guide a thread of qi into one of his meridians.
“Damn, that hurt more than I expected. But, it worked!”
He hadn’t realized how excruciating it would be to stop and restart his own blood flow. But now that he knew, he could prepare.
Glancing down at his right arm, he felt it—the faintest strand of qi, undisturbed by the rushing blood. A foothold. A beginning.
His grin widened. If he could do this a few more times, he might be able to fully reclaim control over his qi.
“Let’s do it again!”
“I… I can’t,” Nano replied, voice tight with strain. “Apparently, I can feel pain now. Which is strange, considering I have no nerves… but if I try that again, I think something will go wrong.”
Jin Shu blinked. He understood Nano’s words, but not the sentiment behind them. Maybe he’d simply endured too much pain in his own life. He didn’t want Nano to suffer, but if a little pain was all it took to stop him, Jin Shu wasn’t going to coddle him.
“Alright… I’ll work with what I’ve got for now. But we will have to do it again. So figure something out, Nano. Either you find a workaround… or you learn to handle the pain like I did.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Jin Shu realized how cynical they sounded, and instantly regretted saying them.
“No. I didn’t mean that… Well, I did, but I didn’t mean for it to come out so… harsh,” he said, fumbling for a better explanation. “I’m sorry, Nano.”
“It’s fine. I took no offense,” Nano replied calmly. “I understand how much stress you’ve been under lately.”
That only made Jin Shu feel worse. He almost wished Nano had gotten angry—it would’ve felt more… human. But that was probably hard for a being who technically wasn’t supposed to have emotions. Or at least hadn’t—until recently. Maybe.
“Anyway… I’ll try inscribing with this bit of qi,” he said, eager to change the subject.
He reached for one of the weapons from his growing arsenal. The one he picked up was a newly designed pistol—meant to replace his earlier models, which had been crafted before he’d learned how to embed full formations instead of singular runes.
Gold had dubbed it a Desert Eagle—a name that still confused Jin Shu. It didn’t look like a bird, and certainly not one from a desert. But according to Gold, it was considered one of the most powerful handguns—at least among non-revolvers—in his world. They had debated making a revolver, but Shuang had pointed out the limitations of its smaller ammo capacity. In the end, they’d gone with the Desert Eagle. Technically, it only held one more round, but that could be solved with an accessory called an extended magazine.
Setting the pistol on a nearby table, Jin Shu picked up an inscribing needle and exhaled slowly, steadying his hand. This was his first time attempting to inscribe with such a minuscule amount of qi. He knew it would be hard—but he hoped it wouldn’t be too hard.
He pressed the tip of the needle to the weapon’s frame and took one last breath. Then, with careful focus, he guided the qi from his right arm down into his hand and channeled it into the needle.
It turned out to be just enough for a single rune.
Disappointing—but not entirely discouraging.
On the bright side, his qi seemed to recover quickly, likely because there was so little of it to replenish. If he paced himself, it would take time—but it wasn’t impossible. He could inscribe an entire formation this way.
It would just take patience.