The Aztec Blade Forge

In elder days, when the sunne yet ruled high over the stone temples of Tenochtitlan, there was a forge set apart from the dwellings of men. There, upon hard stone anvil, did work one called Xolotl, a smith of great renown. No magick guided his hande, nor whispered charm bore strength to his fire; one hammer, flame, and patient wit were his companions.

He sought not gold, nor jewel, but the shaping of obsidian and steel together, a blade that should not break in war, nor rust in rain. Day by day he struck, his hammer ringing as a bell that told the hours. Sweat rave down his brow, and sparks rose as stars from the dark pit.

At length, from fire and stone, he wrought a blade most straight, keen at edge, yet tempered with craft so that it bent not in the strife of men. He laid it on the ground before his fellows, who marveled, saying: “Here is no sorcerer’s toy, but the true work of hand and heart.”

Thus was the Aztec blade forge remembered—not by spell or legend of shadow, but by the sound of hammer on anvil, and the steadfast labour of one man’s will.