Phasma
Xander took out a metal dragon from within his inner pocket to look at it once more. He turned it over in his hand and stared at the intricate pattern that made its scales.
“Prince Alexander, the class is about to end, and yet it seems like you haven’t heard a single word from your professor,” said Mordecai who sat to his right.
“I just noticed,” Xander replied, ignoring his comment. “Dorin works on metal by thinning it out and striking it at one side, like stamping on a sheet of tin.”
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