A broken sword for a broken man, or rather an elf for that matter. How fitting. His homeland is far away and not a place he believes he could ever come back to. Too much blood between him and those he left behind. Too much hatred.

Home is not on his mind when he works and Mio is right about one thing. His love of the work borders on obsession. It would be so easy to lose himself in it. He has to stop even if the effect is far from satisfactory. Everyone else would consider it perfect but Fëanor can see the places where deserve more attention. If only he had a month or two more, he would have made it into a true masterpiece.

And yet even if he's not exactly content he'll agree that the sword never looked better.
There's one addition that was not part of the original design but Fëanor wouldn't be himself if he was satisfied by merely recreating what was there.
A thin line of delicate flames now runs down the blade. This sword went through fire with him, even if he had little chance to use it, it deserves to have it recorded in its history.

"Thank you," he says. For the help and for leaving him alone when he worked.