Master Shila had, over her 70 years in the trade, accrued a great many skills related to the blacksmith's art, all of which she had tried to pass on to Lee before her time came.

Smelting was one of them, although it was one he didn't do lightly. It had to be right for the weapon, the right person; and a custom order for the Avatar's swordsman and tactician? Yeah, that was the right person. Shila had taught Lee to always build the furnace himself whenever he smelted, and to construct it the traditional way. Disposable after every use. Lee had cheated slightly in this regard, as he had picked up the habit of having one prepared. It can take a week to construct a traditional furnace, after all.

He'd built it in the backyard of the shop, away from prying eyes and interference. He'd closed the shop for the day to focus on cultivating the steel he needed for the custom blade. The furnace itself was made mainly out of clay and it resembled a rough chimney pot that was almost as high as his chest. It was taller than Little Lee by several inches, a fact that the boy was vaguely indignant about.

Lee had waited until the weekend, when Little Lee wasn't at school, to begin the smelting process. He built up the fire, using charcoal as a fuel source. Little Lee watched from the sidelines. He'd not seen his master use the furnace before, though he had assisted in building it.

The blacksmith allowed his mind to go blank and his breathing to become slow and steady as he waited for the heat to build up to the appropriate smelting temperature. He could feel his chi mimicking the fire; his inner flame mirroring the furnace and vice versa, each egging the other one on.

For appearances sake he told Little Lee, "Work the bellows, same as the forge."

The boy jumped to obey, coming over and cranking the bellows, feeding air into the furnace and building up the temperature within. Lee could feel it happening, and his chi practically sang in response.

Lee began shovelling iron-sand into the furnace from a bucket at his feet, adding more charcoal at various intervals, intermingling the two and building up the necessary layers needed to construct a high-carbon steel bloom, one large enough to forge Sokka's blade. All the while, his breathing remained slow and rhythmic, his actions well-practiced and steady.

Quietly he explained to Little Lee what he was doing, and why, his voice low and almost dream-like. His eyes never left the furnace; he barely even blinked.

"It's all about timing. The timing, and the layering. You add the iron-sand and the charcoal repeatedly as they breakdown in the furnace, fashioning hundreds, thousands, of layers that will form into a bloom of steel, one capable of creating a strong blade.

"The bloom is where the blade begins. Without the bloom, the sword is nothing. And the bloom is made with care and time and—"

"—Layering!" the boy exclaimed. "You were gonna say layering, right?"

Lee sighed quietly, but nodded. "Correct. The layering. Layers of charcoal and iron-sand form the bloom, which will be worked and folded again and again until it is stable. We'll make layers of steel, which will make the blade. Layers make the sword."

Little Lee took all of this in, nodding as his master spoke.

Eventually Lee grabbed a thin iron pole and a small hammer and began chiselling through the bottom of the furnace, forming a small hole. Immediately a bright orange ooze emerged, pooling on the ground and cooling quickly.

"The slag." Lee explained. He watched a smile threaten to break out on the young boy's face, as it did every time Lee said that word or any other that could be potentially rude.

He sighed good-naturedly and said, "The run-off from the iron-sand, the parts we don't want entering the blade-steel. The stone particles and other debris. If we left this in the bloom, then the blade would be weak and it would break. A weak sword has no purpose, and purpose is everything."

The words were ones that his own master had said to him over the years; a philosophy of bladesmithing that had been passed down to Shila by her father, who had taught her the craft when she was just a girl. A heritage that had travelled through Shila's family for generations, one that she had chosen to share with Lee on the condition that he pass it on as well. It was one of many reasons he took Little Lee on as his part-time apprentice.

He allowed a few more hours to pass, and chiselled several more holes in the furnace, before saying, "Time to break it open fully. Extract the bloom. Step back."

Little Lee did as he was told, though it was reluctantly. He wanted to see what the 'bloom' would look like. He kept picturing a flower, like the sort his Mom used to grow before they moved to the city. It seemed so long ago now.

Lee grabbed a large, heavy sledgehammer that he'd placed nearby, hefted it up onto his shoulder, and then swung it around and slammed it into the side of the furnace, smashing it open. He struck it again to fully open it up, sending up a shower of ash and sparks.

"Tongs." He commanded, placing the hammer down and holding out his hand, eyes never leaving the open furnace.

His apprentice snatched them up and passed them across quickly, and Lee pushed them into the ash and pulled them out holding a large bloom of glowing steel.

It looked like rock, Little Lee thought. He was vaguely disappointed that it didn't look like a flower. It just looked like a glowing rock; which, admittedly, was pretty cool, but still.

Lee carried it over to the secondary anvil he kept in the backyard, smaller than the one up front, and grabbed the small lump hammer resting on it. He worked the hot metal, turning it over and over with the tongs as he struck it with the hammer. The ringing and clanging echoed through the yard as sparks flew with each blow of the hammer. Sweat glistened on Lee's brow and began to drip down his face.

Finally, as the steel began to cool, Lee said, almost to himself, "That should enough for today."

He set the hammer back down on top of the anvil, beside the dull red of the cooling steel. He'd shaped into a more workable billet, having knocked off as much of the scale as he could before it cooled too much. It would need working more before he began forging it out into a blade-shape, though; at least another day, he thought. Lee also planned to add more steel to the build, pre-made steel that he'd bought. He'd forge-weld them together, with the bloom in the centre. The blade would be stronger that way.

He turned his attention to the shattered remains of the furnace, along with his apprentice who was staring at him expectantly, albeit with fatigue around his eyes. Lee glanced up at the sky and saw that it was approaching late afternoon; they'd begun not long after breakfast. The boy hadn't eaten since then, and was less inclined to skip meals than his master.

He reached into his apron pocket and removed a few coins, passing them to the boy, who took them a little too willingly.

"Go buy lunch for us both. By the time you get back the furnace will have cooled down and we can clean it up."

Little Lee nodded, smiling down at the money gleefully. "Any requests?"

Lee shook his head, smiling slightly. "Get what you like." He said. Spoiling the boy's fun a little, he continued, "I expect change, though."

The boy grinned, shook his head, and then took off through the side gate, which led into an alleyway behind the shop. Lee didn't keep anything out here that was worth stealing, or easily stolen. The anvil was heavy and bolted down, and there was little else out here, especially with the furnace now in pieces. It was often easier for Little Lee to come in and out that way than through the main shop.

Lee examined the mess he'd made of the backyard and then his eyes fell on the steel he'd created. Sometimes, a little mess was needed to make something beautiful.


Sokka was sat in the Jasmine Dragon, idling doodling on a napkin. He looked over to his sister, who was sipping from a cup of mint tea.

He said, "Think the sword's done yet?"

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Sokka. He said six weeks. Minimum. It's been a couple of days."

Sokka eyed her. "So… no?"

She sighed again, louder this time. "No, Sokka. I do not think your sword is done yet."