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Abbas admired his mentor for many reasons, but that was not one.

And Dolf had known that, too.

"That's good," the man had once told him. "That's how it should be. You are my apprentice, not my clone. A copycat is never as good as the original. So take what I have to teach, and then pursue further knowledge in your own way." And he'd laughed. "Who knows? Maybe one day, my accomplishments will look quaint compared to yours!"

Abbas remembered thinking, at the time, that he'd been sarcastic in saying that last part. But now, all these years later, and after having had a couple apprentices of his own, Abbas felt differently.

As a teacher, the idea that his students might one day achieve wondrous or remarkable feats--that was one of the most appealing thoughts in the world.

Dolf hadn't been joking, Abbas had come to believe.

Somehow, that seemed more relevant than ever.

It had been some time since Abbas felt that familiar burn of ambition within himself. As a young man, it had been there all the time. A constant pressure to prove himself to his elders and his peers.

When had that changed, exactly? The slow grinding of age had whittled him down, it seemed. He might've liked to think of it as "growing," but was that really so? Was it growth when the motivation deep within one's soul had diminished so greatly?

Hmm.

Perhaps the gods were giving him another chance. If he allowed it to, perhaps this Forge could reawaken his ambitions from all those years ago.

Heh. He felt like such an old man.

A thud arrived from outside, heavy enough that he could feel the ground tremble briefly beneath his feet. He stood up to go take a look, while still holding onto the book in his hands and turning pages for Worwal.

He opened the primitive wooden door and saw Hector there in the distance, standing in the middle of an elongated crater.