The Least Common Denominator

III.II Remainder

"Hey! Newbies!"

"Coming!"

I shouted at an elder Den as I grabbed Olivia along with me to our shared anvil. My shoulder-length hair matted against my bare neck as we walked for a mere few seconds in the constant blistering heat, as was the constant when living in these insane conditions, before reaching our destination.

"You have another job, the both of you." The older man barked out, half-panting at the constant heat from the numerous furnaces. "Some big-shot Num requested you specifically so you better make it count, Crimson."

I nodded in affirmation as the built elder left us to our own devices. With a sigh, I pulled out one of the numerous molten pieces of metal from the nearby furnace. I turned towards Olivia, the kid visibly huffing with her large hammer already raised high in preparation.

"Just like I taught you, okay?"

"O..kay..."

With a flourish, I laid the glowing piece of metal on the anvil. My left hand burned as it held the metal in place, my right arm raised in order to strike at my signal.

"On me."

*CLANG!*

Sparks flew as my initial strike chipped away a good portion of the metal.

*CLANG!*

A subsequent strike followed, made to flatten the would-be blade. Courtesy of my unofficial apprentice.

*CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!*

Olivia and I fell into a steady rhythm, a feat only possible after spending a week drilling Olivia on smithing-101 once we got settled in. I took it upon myself to teach the girl the fundamentals, seeing as she was barely thirteen before she got picked up from the orphanage, and thus lacked vital information as to even the basics of smithing, let alone Runecraft. Now that I thought about it, I really have to start showing her how to channel Runic Essence soon.

Maybe later.

*CLANG!*

With practiced efficiency, I went through the motions of it all; the tempering, the oxidizing, the folding of metal. Meanwhile, my mind wandered towards what few details I had organized in my headspace.

*CLANG!*

It's been a month after I first found myself walking into this massive furnace. What constitutes as the clothes on my back was all I had left of my parents; once a modest dark blue dress now torn at the hems and stained with splotches of brown, courtesy of my own blood. In front of me, Olivia still sported the same ragged dress that she came in with. She was still a joy to be with, at least; like a little sister that I never had.

She helped me with the nightmares, even if she didn't really know about it. I'd probably already be a husk of my former self if I didn't have someone like her to take care of.

*CLANG!*

We've also been immediately conscripted by what amounted to be the 'Elders' of this place; the oldest and most experienced Denominators working in what they called a 'Den Furnace.' They were a helpful lot, at least, helping us find our place in this communal hell we now all live in. There were the other women too, almost crying at the thought of Olivia being picked up at such a young age. Apparently, the Empire never recruited young before; with the vast majority of my colleagues here being drafted during their late teens...

That's a thought and a half.

*CLANG!*

They also gave us the rundown on how things worked in the Empire. Apparently, only unpartnered Dens got to work in the Furnaces. Numerators supposedly knew which Denominator made each weapon, and thus if the work was consistently to their liking, they can opt to partner up with their chosen Denominator; essentially becoming a personal smith at their beck and call. It was a way to get away from the furnaces if one was good enough to be chosen, and everyone I that I've talked to briefly all stated their desire to get chosen by at least someone just to get out of the heat.

*CLANG!*

But I knew from keeping an ear out that there were some that were more than happy to spend the rest of their lives in the furnace; their experience with their once partners too harrowing for them to even consider going out of the safety of being a mere factory worker.

*CLANG!*

I wiped a sweat of my brow as my thoughts returned to present day. I nodded absently as I surveyed our work; what was once a solid rectangular block of iron was now in the shape of an Imperial-standard shortsword. I slid it back into the furnace for one last round of tempering as I leaned on my hammer while we waited. The fires crackled around the blade, embers that never seemed to end heating up what I considered to be a subpar product all around.

Frankly, I don't get why they wanted their swords' guards to be few centimeters longer than the usual fare that I was used to, but I don't get to complain now, don't I?

"Keeping up?" I asked my apprentice as we stared at the glowing fires. "You can take a break if you want, 'Livia."

"It's.. Fine.." The brunette panted, her short hair also sticking to her face as she sweated up a storm. "I can.. Keep going..."

I clicked my tongue at my adopted little sister's state. She was clearly dehydrated, as was I. But unfortunately, the rations worked at a commission system; you get a request, you make the thing, you hand it over, and only then do you get your paltry portion of bread and water for the day.

It was draconian, to say the least.

"Crimson... I think the... sword's ready..."

I pulled the glowing sword out with my tongs before immediately submerging it on the Imperial-standard dirty water designated as the quenching fluid. Steam erupted from the trough as the sword rapidly cooled down, raising the temperature billowing on my face up a few notches before I took it out and placed the blade back on the anvil.

"Well spotted." I praised, causing Olivia to preen from my words.

It was still heart-warming even after a month of witnessing it firsthand.

"So," I brandished my hammer once more before turning back to my apprentice. "What comes next?"

"Runic... Application. Right?"

I nodded as I beckoned her closer towards the anvil. There was no time better to show her how to do it than now. I've been teaching her all the theory but I've been caught up in my own work to even consider actually telling her the actual process.

With the years of practice that I had with Father in the workshop, I effortlessly infused my hammer with Runic Essence; the hammer glowing with power as I showed it to a bright-eyed Olivia.

"Woah..." The brunette marveled at the sight of it. "I can... do that too?"

I stopped channeling the energy as I cringed at my own incompetence at teaching. I should've shown her this over a week ago.

"Yes. And you do this by focusing on your heartbeat."

"Heartbeat?"

Fuck me.

I put on my best smile as I realized I wasn't exactly in the presence of people that know basic biology. "Place your hand on your chest. Can you feel something thumping?"

"Yes... And it's... Moving really fast..."

"That's your heartbeat, Olivia. That's where you should focus on."

My apprentice put on a confused expression before nodding. "Okay?"

"A Denominator's Runic Essence comes from the power of their heart." Father forgive me for embellishing your teachings with modern sensibilities. "Focusing on it will allow you to build up energy inside you."

I watched as Olivia scrunched up her brows in concentration. Immediately, I felt the telltale pressure of Runic Essence gathering in her position.

"That's it, 'Livia. Now try making it go towards your hammer."

I looked on as my apprentice sweated even harder, a dull glow in her body visibly flowing slowly from the center of her chest towards her hammer. In no time, the hammer finally glowed a dull blue; a sign of Runic Essence flowing inside it.

"It... Burns..." She was panting now.

"You can stop now."

Olivia immediately fell on one knee, her breathing labored as the glow of energy dissipated.

"You're a natural, 'Livia," I smiled while helping her get back up. "You can take a break."

The kid simply smiled. A labored, yet heartwarming grin of pride and accomplishment.

Laying her on a nearby bench, I returned to the task at hand. There was still a lot of work to be done.

I stared at the unfinished blade as I mentally mapped out the necessary etchings and runework required to make the damn thing function on a Numerator's hands. Normally, it would take at least an hour to manually carve out the runes onto the blade. But since I have a propensity for cheating...

*CLANG!*

I discovered a way to shave a whole hour out of my process by using the Runic Essence to the job for me. It worked by mentally mapping the etched runes anyway. So if I can imagine the runes I want on the blade down to a tee, I figured it should work theoretically. I laughed so hard the moment I had the idea during one of my prototype-making sessions.

I laughed even harder when it actually worked.

The blade glowed as my Runic Essence did its magic; runes searing itself onto the metal in sharp twists and angles as the blue glow flowed throughout the sword.

"Easy, clap."

I gripped the sword on one hand as I inspected it for any dumb etchings or minor mistakes. That's one drawback of not doing it the proper way; it was prone to over-runing and possible misfires. I learned that the hard way when five of my blades spontaneously combusted when I didn't notice that the rune for heat ran a few centimeters longer than it should've been.

Needless to say, I got paranoid after that debacle.

With a once-over, I scanned the thing from tip to hilt, ending on the ugly-ass insignia of the Numenorian Empire. Maybe the basic symbols of Mathematics weren't invented yet, thus justifying its usage on a banner.

But then again, who am I to judge?

Twirling the sword in my hand, I roused Olivia from her short nap before making our way to the exchange booth where they'll test my product for Elemental Channeling before giving us our meals for the day. It might not be much, but it's honest work so far.

At least until I get some form of an idea on how to get out of this place unharmed.

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