He rides into a mountain village, his horse's hooves echoing against cobblestones muted with years of wear, the clip-clop of his horse's hooves blending with the distant echo of a hammer shaping metal. The afternoon sun casts long shadows over the cobblestone paths lined with rustic homes, each adorned with vibrant flowers. The famous Metamancer dismounts in front of a humble forge at the village's edge, where the air hums with the rhythmic sounds of a blacksmith at work.

The village blacksmith wipes sweat from his brow as he notices the stranger. His forge, a flurry of sparks and flames, dims as he steps outside to greet his visitor. The blacksmith's gaze, sharp and assessing, meets the stranger's earnest expression.

Greetings, blacksmith,” he says, “I come seeking Alonso, the Princesmith of these lands, known not only for his unparalleled skill with the hammer and anvil but also for a unique ability that is said to inspire and empower.”

Alonso nods, his expression deepening into a curious frown. “I am Alonso, Prince is for Melders. And you are?”

Gaius approaches, his cloak swirling around him, the insignia of the Roman Senate is visible in the dim light. He leans closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “They call me Gaius, the Loremaster. Like you, I'm far from my beginnings, drawn here pursuing stories of a blacksmith whose hammer's echo stirs the ancients themselves.”

Alonso pauses, the clang of his hammer ceasing momentarily. “And why do tales of old concern a Roman senator?” he asks, skepticism threading his tone.

Gaius glances around, ensuring no prying ears are near. “Because, my friend, the shadows that stir in Dark Venice threaten more than your quiet life. They whisper of Alonso, whose light can pierce even their deepest gloom.”

Alonso sets down his tools, the firelight casting long shadows. “Dark Venice... I had hoped those shadows had forgotten my name.”

Gaius steps closer, his expression earnest. “But remember, Alonso, the brighter the light, the darker the shadow it casts. Your gift, the light within you, is needed once more. It's more than tales—I've seen it, the creeping dark, and how even good men like Al-Hakam fall under its sway.”

Alonso's eyes narrow, his usual warmth tinged with hesitation. “You speak of old wars and older magic, Metamancer. I have left that life behind to forge a simpler existence here among these mountains and meadows.”

Gaius steps closer, his voice low and compelling. “I understand your desire for peace, my mischievous dreamer. The shadows we turn away from often grow, unchecked, until they darken the skies we cherish. Your power could save many, bring hope where there is none. They will need you there in the right time to conquer with command, and a commander you are.”

Alonso turns back to his forge, looking into the flames as if seeking answers. “Dark Venice... I have not heard that name in many turns of the seasons. What you ask of me...”

“It's not what I ask,” Gaius interjects, “it's what the realms might need. You have a gift that could unite and strengthen us. Join them, and together, we could light up the shadows.”

Alonso sighs, his large hands clenching and unclenching. “I will need time to think about this. My life here is simple, but it's mine. The battles you speak of; I can't give you an answer now.”

Gaius nods, “Then I will leave you to your thoughts, Alonso. But remember, sometimes the forge of destiny heats up when we least expect it, and heroes are shaped in its flames.”

“That devil's hole, deep in the dark dimension, surpasses us both. It's a lost cause, I'm afraid. Perhaps the Ineffable One will dispatch Emissaries to resolve it, but I fear the worst for us.”

Gaius rides off. Alonso stands alone, the echo of hooves fading alongside the forge's crackle—caught between his past and the uncertain future.

Alonso's fingers trace the cool metal of a half-finished sword, its surface catching the flicker of the forge's flame. He pauses, the tool in his hand a silent witness to years of solitude and mastery, now interrupted. With each touch, his hesitation is palpable, the gleam of the blade casting shadows across his furrowed brow.

He steps outside, the evening air crisp against his skin. The village lies quiet, save for the distant laughter of children—a stark contrast to the battle lines Gaius sketches in hushed tones. Alonso watches a mother shepherd her children inside, their innocent eyes wide, and unburdened of the weight of dark prophecies. The sight tightens his chest.

Turning back to the forge, Alonso grips the handle of the unfinished sword. The cool metal pulse with potential, like a heartbeat urging him towards a fate he had sidestepped long ago. The steel's unfinished edge mirrors his own unresolved path, a sharp reminder of the destiny whispering through the flames.

He slams his ax into the wood, the winds of fate unveiling his disgusting face, freezing his mind, remembering his tale in this hidden world of Melders…

In a quaint village on the Al-Andalus peninsula, Alonso, a humble and skilled blacksmith, works in his workshop nestled in the scenic outskirts. Lush meadows and towering mountains; the gentle river murmurs and birds sing, harmonizing with the rhythmic clanging of his forge.

In the eyes of the Melders, the devoted blacksmith works at his forge. His weathered hands and steadfast spirit shape metals into dazzling forms, drawing village children to watch the flames' mesmerizing dance. On occasion, when the crowd swells, he enchants the metals, casting sparks to delight the young onlookers from their hidden village between Barcelona and Ribagorza.

Alonso's reputation as a master blacksmith extends beyond his village, recognized across neighboring caliphates for his exceptional craftsmanship and mysterious origins. Nobles and warriors seek his unparalleled weapons, while locals admire his skill and kindness. Respected for his generosity and wisdom, Alonso demonstrates his creations' power, enriching those around him with his sparse but valuable words.

Alonso's village is a peaceful sanctuary, where meadows bloom and majestic mountains protect its people's dreams. Time is lazy there, life is simple and grateful. 

His supernatural powers flow through his blood, enabling him to forge with magic. He excels as a blacksmith and storyteller, enchanting listeners with tales of knights, wizards, and true love, all enhanced through magical metals. His stories, rich in imagination, give him an edge over medieval Melders. On sunny afternoons and starry nights, he captivates young and old in the central square, his voice bringing forgotten times to life.

The sound of Alonso's hammer striking metal heralds his workday, captivating onlookers as his skilled hands shape metal. Each spark tells a story, and the rhythmic hammering, syncing with his heartbeat, a symphony filling the workshop.

Townsfolk admire Alonso's craftsmanship, yearning for his creations—swords, gleaming like the sun, sparkling armor, and sturdy shields. Each unique piece, crafted with love, carries a story, giving townspeople a sense of protection and empowerment. His horseshoes last forever, passed from one generation of horses to the next.

Passion and routine forge his days. Each morning begins with golden sunrises, as he steps into his workshop, filled with tools and materials, ready to infuse life into his creations. While he embeds each piece with a fragment of his essence, he's mindful; his Metamancer enchantments might draw dark forces. 

Over the years, Alonso's reputation grows; his name is revered across the peninsula, and noble knights seek his legendary skills and counsel. Despite his fame, Alonso maintains his humility, dedicating his days to his craft and sharing his stories, always wary of the shadows.

His forge became a training ground for aspiring blacksmiths, valuing the art of forging as a means of sustenance. Alonso teaches, knowing his legacy will be carried on through eager young blacksmiths, though aware they'll never wield his magical abilities. Under his influence, his village thrives, with Alonso at its heart, inspiring generations with his tales and craftsmanship. After the fall of Granada, however, his stories fade, remembered only in children's tales, but his legacy endures in the craftsmanship he passed on and the impact he made on Al-Andalus.

Every day before dawn, Alonso wakes to the early birds' songs and heads to his forge, its magical fire lighting up his face. Dressed in his soot-stained apron, he shapes metal, each hammer strike creating a symphony of crackles and echoes, revealing his centuries of perfecting this craft.

His powerful arms manipulate the metal, crafting radiant swords and detailed armor imbued with legendary power. Lost in focus, Alonso becomes one with the elements around him, the fire's flicker reflecting his ambition to transcend the mundane.

The forge resonates with ancient tales, its sparks carrying the magic of a place where dreams and legends are forged. His relentless pursuit of perfection and the temple-like reverence of his forge drive him to surpass each challenge, seeing in them chances to excel.

After finishing each piece, Alonso admires his work in the sunlight streaming through the windows, feeling a deep satisfaction, knowing his creations embody courage and hope. 

He immerses himself back into his craft. His forge inspires apprentices, and draws town's wise admiration, who find in Alonso's fire a place for deep philosophical and theological discussions.

On a sunlit day, as Alonso immerses himself in the arduous task of forging a sword, the air quivers with an unfamiliar whisper slithering amidst the flickering flames of his forge. Mysterious sound intriguing, the smith drops his hammer and rushes to the door of his workshop. His gaze beholds a wondrous sight: a figure shrouded in shadows races along the cobblestone path.

He traces the swift advance of the mysterious rider. The steed he rides is black as ebony, exuding an imposing and enigmatic presence. The wind stirs in his wake. The rider arrives at the forge's door, where he comes to a sudden halt. Alonso's instincts as a Metamancer, flare to life, his hands and arms igniting like logs in a fiery heart.

It is nothing more than a messenger from the caliph. Alonso extends his arm to receive the message. The letter, adorned with a shining red wax seal under the sunlight, exudes unsettling intrigue. The blacksmith senses the weight of importance concealed within its folds, and his curiosity mingles with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Without uttering a single word, the messenger hands the letter to Alonso and, without a farewell glance, vanishes into a whirlwind of shadows. The blacksmith watches in awe as the enigmatic rider melds with the horizon, as if they had never been there. A sense of mystery and urgency seizes him as he holds the letter in his dusty hands.

The red wax seal burns with an invisible fire, imbuing the message with solemnity. As Alonso breaks the seal amidst rising tension, his skin ignites, dusting his hands with ash. He unfolds the letter with caution, the words written in black ink, dance and beckon. As he reads, the paper vibrates with urgency, and Alonso's worry grows; his secrets might be exposed, forcing him to leave his village.

The caliph's elegant script announces a unique competition. Alonso's heart quickens as he reads about a tournament seeking the finest blacksmiths and artisans in southern Al-Andalus to demonstrate their skills. He confirms the letter's authenticity as the final word is in Catalan and the numerical sum of the letters holds secretive significance for Metamancers, indicating the caliph's deeper connection to their world.

The promised reward could be tempting for the Melders: unimaginable wealth, the honor of being recognized as the forge-master of the caliph's army, and the opportunity to etch their name in the annals of history. For Alonso, this is more than a mere challenge; he sees it as a gateway to the caliph and an excuse for an exploratory journey to uncover the whereabouts of the Shadow Demons.

Despite his prowess as a skilled Metamancer, he feels a sense of inadequacy as he stands in his workshop, surrounded with familiar tools of a simple blacksmith. 

His passion for the craft, an intricate blend of ambition and a thirst for adventure, is shadowed through a lingering fear; the tournament might expose him to the dark forces he has long sought to avoid. 

He harbors a hope; the caliph might provide the answers he seeks or present a challenge worthy of his mettle.

In the dim light of his workshop, he prepares for the competition with meticulous care. He selects tools used to shape countless creations, each imbued with years of experience and a touch of magic. He sharpens his chisels until they gleam, polishes the handles of his hammers until they fit his grip like an extension of his own hand, and oils the surface of his anvil until it shines. Every tool shows his dedication, each infused with the magical powders derived from rare metals, essential for the upcoming competition.

The night before leaving, the blacksmith struggles to sleep, haunted with visions of dark fairies with flaming swords, and his own metallic creations. At dawn, he mounts his horse and departs for the distant Caliphate of Cordoba, leaving his beloved town and its lush meadows...

Continue reading the book...