With the forge coming up to temperature, Jim started laying out his equipment, the small hammer at the end of the table. He paused as his eyes came to it, still unsure while being fully drawn to it.

"Well, it's not like they're going to win anyway," Jim muttered to himself, grabbing the hammer from the table.

In a week's time, the Quartermaster pulled through town, stopping by Jim's shop and calling him out. The soldiers were tired, their demeanor befitting of those, knowing their war would soon be over. Even the Quartermaster on his horse was clearly disheveled. The man, usually groomed and looking the part of a career soldier waiting for his next promotion, was dirty, unshaved, and even failed to discipline his troops when they dropped their packs without orders.

"Good morning, sir!" Jim chimed out, more cheerily than usual.

"And to you," the Quartermaster almost growled. "Just get it loaded in the wagon. We need to be off quickly. McClellan is planning and attack and we need all the help we can get."

Jim was surprised he was being told about Union plans, but what good is keeping secrets anymore anyway. He motioned to the soldiers to grab the bundles and help him load up the equipment. It took a few minutes, but eventually the cart was full and Jim walked up to the Quartermaster and handed him the ledger.

"500 sets of horseshoes, 100 sabers, and 300 bayonets, all accounted for. And sir, if I do say so myself, this may be my best work yet" Jim said dryly, knowing he was about to lose the next few hours as the soldiers counted and recounted their order.

"Very well, here's your payment," the Quartermaster said as he signed the ledger.

Jim was taken aback, almost not even realizing the caravan had already started to depart. He realized the situation must be even worse than he realized and ran to catch up once his stupor wore off.

"Sir! Did you not have another order for me?" Jim asked breathlessly as he caught up to the wagon.

"We won't need another order if we're all dead."

Jim stopped and watched on, muttering a silent prayer for the doomed men.

A month went by with no real news on the war until eventually a newspaper from the city came through town. Somewhere out East, the Union had won a hard fought victory near a town called Antietam. Apparently, this could be a major turning point in the war, but for Jim, nothing had changed.

Jim had returned to his normal duties, but this time everything seemed... easier. His work was just better, and it wasn't nearly as difficult. He was taking a break from his work as he saw a small band crest over the hill. He could only identify them by the time he realized they were heading directly for his workshop. He recognized the Quartermaster's unmistakable sideburns and was impressed by the extra stripe he wore on his sleeve.

"Good day, Jim! I hope you enjoyed your break, but I pray you are ready to get back to work," the Quartermaster said as a smile spread across his face.

"Of course, sir. I heard the news about the battle. Congratulations on the victory!"

"The thanks should be given to you! Your equipment made all the difference. I know it may seem arbitrary, but I ensured all the shoes and sabers went to a single cavalry regiment, the same for the bayonets. Our men claim their horses sped faster than ever, their blades cut through rifles and steel, and that every bayonet struck true. I wouldn't have believed it had I not read the reports. The men we outfitted with your equipment saw the last amount of casualties and were the most effective units on the field! Whatever you do, Mr. Jim, do not put away that hammer!

His words struck Jim to the core. Jim realized that there must be something he had missed that day at Rusty's shop. Something must have been said or implied, and Rusty must know about it. He hadn't been to the shop since that day and knew he had to talk to him right away.

"I'm sorry sir, I have an urgent matter to attend to. You can discuss the details with my assistant, and I will be back with you as soon as I can," Jim stammered out.

Jim could feel the eyes on him as he ran toward the town, but he couldn't care less as he was driven by a singular purpose. Breathlessly, he burst through the door and locked eyes with Rusty. He could see the initial burst of anger dissipate, and a sly smile came over Rusty's face.

"What can I do you for Jim?" Rusty asked as he leaned back in his chair.

"I'm keeping the hammer," Jim blurted out, realizing he hadn't planned on what else to say.

"I'm glad you like it."

"What do you know about it? You must know something?" Jim was almost hyperventilating at this point, the need to understand consuming him.

Rusty stares at Jim for a few moments, contemplating his next move. He seems to make a decision and walks up to Jim. Jim recoils but realizes that Rusty is putting his arm over his shoulder. Rusty motions to the back room, and they walk in together.

The room is extremely dark, save for one corner lit up by a small candle. Amidst the dancing shadows, Jim can make out what looks to be a decent sized forge and a small book placed on top. Rusty grabs the book and hands it to Jim, the pages filled with a language he had never seen. Jim looks awestruck through the pages and around the room and is pulled from his reverie once Rusty begins to speak.

"What do you know of Hephaestus?"

Pushing through the double doors, Jim pulls out the tattered handkerchief to wipe the sweat pouring through his brow. The shade of the dusty shop provides only meager respite as the heat of the noonday sun radiates the stale air. It's not the best shop in town by a long shot, hell, most of the citizens hardly call it a shop.

There have always been rumors about the owner, Rusty McTavish. He's the sort to keep away from, the kind of man who always seems to have an empty seat next to him at the saloon. No one has ever overtly accused him of a crime, but it always seems to happen that anytime a train or stagecoach is robbed, his shop is filled with new wares.

Jim knew all of this, of course. If it were up to him He'd be trading over at Haggarty's or even the General Store, but the war had put a stop to all of that. If it were normal times, Jim would be making a comfortable living shoeing horses, mending pots, and all the duties of the town Blacksmith. Now, the Union Quartermaster has him pumping out swords, bayonets, horseshoes, and all manner of equipment needed to supply an army on its last legs. They took his good steel and his bad steel, leaving him with old nails and fittings to cobble up what he could.

Of course, he gets paid, but only enough for Rusty's shop.

Most people who enter grab their items, pay, and leave quickly to avoid any conversation. Whether he was a braver man than most or just too tired, Jim just didn't care. Rusty was just a man, flesh and blood like everyone else.

"Mornin' Rusty," he said through the damp handkerchief.

"It's afternoon," came a low voice from the back of the shop.

"I suppose it is," said Jim as he peered through the window. "You have any tools come through lately? My hammers busted and I could use some new blocks and oil if you have it."

Rusty waved him over and walked toward the shelves on the back wall.

"Lucky for you, I've got a full stock of everything you could need, most of it brand new," he said, a slight grin on his face. Everyone knew a military convoy had been nearby a few days ago and stripped of their equipment, but these days no one seemed to care.

Jim walked over, unhappy about the prospect of spending more money, but there were orders to fill. Despite that, he was pleased with the available stock. At least he would be able to get back to his craft quickly. He had lost half the day already.

"I'll take these two, the can of oil over there and..." his voice trailed off.

Jim leaned down and rummaged through a pile of rusted and rotten equipment while Rusty looked on curiously. At the bottom of the pile, Jim pulled out a plain hammer. It was unassuming, not falling apart, but definitely old.

Jim couldn't wrap his mind around the thoughts in his head. The hammer reminded him of the first hammer his father had handed to him as he was learning the family trade. It wasn't completely that, though. There was something else about it. Something that made him want to work.

"... and this," Jim said, not taking his eyes from the hammer.

"Why in the hell would you want that?" Rusty asked, brow still furrowed inquisitively.

"Does that really matter? I can tell this has been sitting for a while. You should be happy I'm willing to take it off your hands," Jim spat out. He was surprised with himself at the tone of his voice. He had never been one quick to anger, but he could feel his blood rising at the thought of not going home with the hammer.

Rusty's expression changed from curiosity to amusement as he walked away from the wall back to the front of the store.

"I tell you what, you can have the hammer."

Jim looked up quickly at him, inhaling quickly as he could feel his excitement rising.

"There's a catch, though. I want you to make your next order with it, and if you don't like it, you have to give it back," Rusty said," almost as a challenge.

Jim wasn't very pleased with this outcome. Sure, he would get it for free, but there's no way this old, average hammer would be able to keep up with his rate of work. Despite his reservations, Jim agreed and quickly paid, eager to get home.