My mouth hangs open as ‘John’ and ‘James’ smile proudly returning their vials to me. This was supposed to be just another meeting to discuss the saber profile...

  "Already?" I mumble.

  The duo smile wider.

  "Sorry, but are you sure? It’s just too fast."

  Did I fuck up? Was the mixture faulty or were the ingredients just bad?

  No. It can’t be.

  I checked everything many, many times over because I was afraid to mess up my first real big order.

  "Uh... could you please demonstrate?"

  They pause but oblige.

  Their mana manifests and starts moving into the vials, slowly disappearing into them, only to start dissipating and returning to the ambient mana a few seconds later.

  They did it.

  They saturated the binding material in just under a week. Just how much mana do they have?

  "Uh. Yeah. It seems to have been saturated. Sorry for doubting... I never saw this amount of binding material to... uh... it’s just too fast." I say slowly, bowing my head slightly.

  A small and proud smile breaks on the face of the older man standing behind them.

  "Um. I regret saying this, but it seems that we don’t have much time. We’ll have to complete the design within a few days. Any longer and the binding material will start losing its properties." I start but quickly add, "But if we don’t, that’s also fine! I can prepare another batch if it becomes necessary!"

  The twins freeze with their eyes shooting wide in fear.

  Oh.... I see.

  Thank god.

  Whatever they did to complete it so fast, it seems that it wasn’t an easy or pleasant experience.

  I cough slightly to return to the important subject.

  "Did you have time to discuss the design with-"

  The older man, behind the twins, interrupts me by passing over a long rectangular suitcase. After getting confirmation from the man I open it and find a single saber, with some minor engravings in a few places, and a small stack of papers with a detailed description of the dimensions of everything, including the engravings and even the pathways.

  "It was decided that it’s better to provide the physical model and the blueprints together so that you can cross-check everything, and no mistakes would occur."

  I slowly nod and ignore the jab and the possibility that I mess up the measurements.

  The slight discontent of the twins is noticeable, but I think that they were the only ones who believed that they had the full freedom to design their sabers.

  And in the end, a decision was made, but not by them.

  "Um, the four templates you gave us, do you need them back?" asks John while I continue to study the blueprints.

  "Uh... No... You can keep them if you want. They’re not bound and not sharpened as you’re aware, so I’m not sure how useful they can be."

  A smile returns to their faces as they nod.

  Do they want them? Why? They’re not-

  Oh.

  I see. Toys.

  "The sabers will be ready in a few days, right?" asks James.

  "Um, yes, more likely. It will take about a day to make them, maybe two but no more. I’ll need to go over the blueprints later again to give you the exact time. Um." I say flipping over the blueprints, which are missing any mention of daggers.

  Huh?

  What?

  "We still haven’t discussed the details about daggers with the phoenix cores infused into them. Depending on their size and complexity they may take another day. We would also need to verify that the cores themselves weren’t damaged during extraction."

  The twins smile again and each brings out a tiny chest, which they open a moment later, presenting perfect red orbs. I tenderly pick up each of them and my mana travels over their bodies studying for possible defects. A moment later I nod.

  "Yep. They seem to be in perfect condition, without any defects."

  I return the cores to their respective chests and continue.

  "What about the design?" I inquire.

  The duo synchronously takes out a small stack of paper from their internal pockets and hands them to me. A heartbeat later they devolve into an enthusiastic narration of what they want, while I study the... sketches... I would even go as far as to call these things doodles, as there isn’t any mention of dimensions.

  I quickly nod and start writing down everything they say in my journal. They interrupt one another from time to time, but I do my best not to miss anything that is said.

  After the children finished their explanations, I started with my own questions and requests for clarification, nodding from time to time while the pen in my hand moved hastily.

  So it was a compromise.

  They get to choose daggers but not sabers.

  Makes sense.

  ...

  I look at the two daggers with utterly impractical and ridiculous profiles with a pause.

  One has a wavy body with the open mouth of a lion on the bottom of the pommel, while the other looks like a standard dagger, which in place of a sharp edge has a series of metal snake fangs on either side. Like a particularly over-engineered arrowhead. If the first one could at least be used offensively somehow, the second one is a perfect example of what a single-use weapon is. Yes, it’s deadly, but how are you going to get the dagger out of the foe after you plunge it in? If you don’t cover it wholly with mana while taking it out you’re likely to break it.

  Toys whatever way you look at it... Well, not exactly... I mean you can still kill with them, but the weight distribution and center of mass are all over the place. I did my best to keep them somewhat practical, but that wasn’t a successful endeavor.

  The daggers contrast sharply in comparison to the four solid sabers lying next to them which I’ve been working on the whole night non-stop. They also have a few strange design elements, but in general, they’re just standard light-cavalry sabers, if somewhat on the bigger side, a real tool of war.

  I turn to the clock on the wall and a groan escapes me. Metal needs to rest, and cool down naturally. The next step can only be started after three more hours. And there’s still the polishing and sharpening after that.

  It’s pitch dark outside and maybe in an hour or two, the first of the sun’s rays will start shining. All logic says that I need to take a rest after working so much, even a few hours would be enough, but I won’t.

  Wrong.

  Just can’t.

  The thing that follows the migraine has already started. And this time it occurred while I was still working. I barely had time to move away from the hot forge as sudden waves of muscle cramps sent me to the smithy floor.

  Relatively speaking, I came back to my senses quickly. And thankfully nothing ended up being messed up. But it was a close call. If it occurred an hour earlier or more suddenly, getting hurt by the heat from the forge would be the least of my problems. An order worth a thousand gold could’ve been compromised.

  I know it’s wrong to prioritize work over health. I’ve already experienced what it may lead to. And I don’t want a repeat of that.

  But I need to endure it for just a bit more. After I complete this order I can take a well deserved rest.

  And it’s not like I can fall asleep in the first place. The tablets are back at home, and without them, things have been difficult...

  So, what’s else left to do? How do I spend these next few hours?

  I could organize my thoughts like I usually do, but not now. Because I’m not in a sane state, and not just because of the migraine and issues with sleep.

  It’s because of the twins.

  I wouldn’t say that I’ve got an enormous mana pool, but it is above average, at least according to the teachers in the clan. They kept going on and on about it...

  A dark chuckle escapes.

  Correction. It was above average. The important word is ‘was’. Because expectations for a young boy and an adult of my age are different.

  I would never confess this to anyone, but I believed that the years away from the clan would allow me to grow stronger under my terms, without anyone interfering or telling me what to do. I thought that I would be some hidden powerhouse no one knew about. That when the right moment came, I would return as a powerful hero and show everyone how wrong they were.

  But It didn’t happen.

  My strength did not change and I continued to stagnate.

  Perhaps my skills amount to something in this province, but not in the real world, closer to the capital and the Light Border.

  And I was simply reminded of that again.

  The twins are young, still in their teens—around the age I was when the class awakening ritual occurred. I don't know much about them, only what I've observed. Despite their flaws and inexperience, it's astonishing that they managed to fill that amount of binding material in such a short amount of time.

  It defied all my expectations.

  Even now, with nearly five more years of ‘growth’ and experience than they have, I would be unlikely to accomplish what they had.

  What is this feeling?

  This boiling pit of toxicity.

  Envy?

  Am I envious of them?

  Their talent? No.

  Their freedom? No, but somehow close.

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  Future?

  Yes.

  Yes.

  I expected myself to become something more, even after the lie. And now I have to come to terms that I won’t.

  Is it my ego?

  Everything I do seems so... so mundane...

  Did I think that fate and my path would somehow turn out better in the end?

  Am I not as important? Am I not the main character of my story?

  What am I lacking?

  My eyes turn to the small dirty bag in the corner. Then to the still-hot forge, then back to the bag. The decision is made instantly.

  I rise, walk to it and fish out a small chunk of whitish metal. Moments later I throw it deep into the forge and start waiting. My mana covers it in a thin layer to keep the ambient impurities from sipping in.

  Slow minutes pass as the metal heats up, changing color in the process. From time to time I retrieve it using tongs and verify the color. Time crawls slowly. The small chunk of metal starts producing a soft glow from the heat. Changing from dull red to dark orange. When the right moment arrives, I move it to the anvil.

  I start hammering, all while the layer of mana continues keeping impurities away. Seconds pass as more and more mana is spent, my muscles bulging from all the mana pumped into them. My arms start going numb as I hammer the chunk, and yet it refuses to budge. Still being the same malformed piece of mithril.

  But I continue. Again and again, while slow minutes pass.

  When my mana pool drops below half and the chunk turns dull red I stop, breathing heavily and scowling at the accursed chunk.

  I glare hatefully at it.

  My eyes flicker to the still-hot forge, then back to the chunk. Mentor and all the books I’ve read strictly cautioned against heating it too much, explaining what would happen in detail.

  In defiance, I shove it back into the heat. And slowly the color returns to it. But I don’t stop there, and it continues heating up. And soon it turns not exactly yellow, but a solid orange for sure.

  I quickly move it back to the anvil and resume the hammering. And a smile spreads across my face as the metal starts bending to my will. Transforming from a somewhat spherical ball to a more elongated ellipsoid. A few short minutes later an outline of a tiny dagger rests on the anvil.

  An ecstatic smile breaks upon my face. I continue with the steps, still keeping it in a contained bubble of mana until finally, the mithril piece starts cooling down.

  Slow seconds pass as I stare at its perfect form as if mesmerized.

  But that smile disappears as thin lines start appearing on the surface of the piece of metal. They grow in size and number until finally, an audible crack resounds. A single body turns into two, then three, and then four, until numerous small pellets of mithril are left on the anvil.

  I stand frozen while my eyes are glued to the failure.

  Sometime later I slump into a chair, next to the creepy dolls as my strength leaves me.

  Failed once again.

  Again.

  I can’t do anything but simple swords with pathways. My armor and shields are still shit even after months of practicing.

  Mithril and enchantments are but just a dream.

  A dream that will never come true.

  I can’t help anyone, much less myself.

  In the end, I’m mediocre in everything. Even after all the resources that have been poured into me.

  And everyone else will find it out quite soon.

  They just didn’t get the opportunity to yet.

  ...

  I flip the cover away and reveal the completed swords to the twins. Their faces light up instantly, wide grins spreading as their eyes bounce from one blade to the next.

  "So... which ones are mine?" James asks, stepping closer to the table where four identical sabers rest.

  "You just need to call them."

  They both blink.

  "What do you mean?" John chimes in, brows knitting.

  I pause. You’re kidding me.

  Did they seriously order bound weapons without understanding what that means?

  Really?

  A long sigh claws its way up, but I swallow it. Customers are customers. Just roll with it.

  "Uh... it’ll be easier to show than to explain," I say, gesturing for them to step back, about a meter away from the table. "Stand there. Now close your eyes and extend your hands—palms open—toward the sabers."

  After a few moments of hesitation and a nod from the older man behind them they follow.

  "All right. Gather mana at your fingertips. Not too much—only the amount you're comfortable with."

  A second passes. Then the faint blue glow flickers to life across their hands.

  "Good. Now stretch that mana out like a thread—project it away from you."

  Slow seconds pass in silence.

  "Do you feel your thread being drawn in a specific direction?"

  "I feel something," James whispers. "But... there’s more than one?"

  "Exactly what you should feel. Now focus on the thread that feels closest. Guide it to its target—don’t worry if you miss, just follow the sensation and try again."

  "I got it! I caught something!" James practically yells, his voice giddy.

  "Good! Keep the connection. Start feeding it more mana—strengthen the line."

  "I feel it too!" John says a moment later, just as excited.

  "Perfect. Once you're sure the connection's solid—pull. Draw the thread like you do with a finishing rod."

  One of the sabers begins to tremble, rattling against the wood. Both twins snap their eyes open in shock.

  "Great!" I say, walking up to James, who got his first. "Now close your eyes again. Strengthen that thread. Try pulling it to you."

  He nods, more serious now, and follows my instructions. John’s still working, brows furrowed in concentration.

  One by one, each weapon begins to stir and move toward its rightful owner, slow at first, then with growing confidence.

  Their smiles return, wider this time—earnest and proud.

  I fetch the scabbards, handing them over. They draw the sabers, inspecting every edge, every detail, but eventually, their attention drifts back to the daggers—the ones they personally designed.

  "This is just the beginning," I say. "With training, your weapons will leap into your hands in less than a second. It’ll take time to master, but—"

  A sudden flash of blinding light erupts.

  Everyone cries out. Hands shield eyes. My instincts kick in—I leaped away.

  [Echo Pulse]

  A field ripples around me. The guards draw steel—but no one makes a move.

  Tense silence stretches while our eyes recover, white spots dancing in our vision. I blink hard, trying to clear them, and glance at the source.

  "Sorry," John mutters sheepishly, a dagger still glowing hot-white in his hand.

  One by one, the guards lower their weapons.

  Silence.

  The air is thick with awkward tension. John looks like he wants to vanish, while the older man behind him glares with the kind of authority that silences entire rooms.

  I need to break this tension before it taints the whole project.

  "The phoenix-infused cores don’t need much mana," I say, forcing a light chuckle. "That’s why I recommended against infusing them in the sabers. Imagine that kind of brightness in the middle of a fight—your side could go blind too."

  The twins laugh—nervously.

  "But with practice, you’ll be able to adjust brightness on the fly. As for the daggers—I followed your designs as closely as possible. If anything feels off, don’t hesitate to come back. Adjustments are free."

  Another brief silence.

  Then the older man steps forward. Nods.

  "Their instructors will evaluate the craftsmanship," he says, "but from where I stand, this was good work."

  He hands me a check—and something else.

  A gold coin, unusual in weight and stamped with a sigil I don’t recognize.

  I barely glance at it before I notice him studying me, eyes sharp and thoughtful.

  "That wave of mana earlier, [Echo Pulse], it was yours." he says.

  It isn’t a question.

  I nod slowly.

  His gaze flicks to the blade at my hip. "Combat experience?"

  How do I even answer that?

  After a pause, I nod again—more cautiously this time.

  "House Ortengale is satisfied with your service," he says. "If you ever need assistance, use the coin."

  He turns and leaves.

  The twins thank me once more, and the guards trail behind as they step out.

  Then the smithy is silent.

  I stand there, unmoving, letting the weight of the moment settle.

  Then I finally exhale.

  I did it.

  My first paid Creation-Bound order.

  And it wasn’t a disaster.

  I glance down at the check in my hand—and suddenly laugh.

  I never gave them the final price. Even the first check would've covered all the expenses, frankly speaking.

  But they knew. They knew exactly what the work was worth in another forge. And they even tipped me.

  Another check for a thousand gold. Another trip to the bank.

  I’m close—so close—to the sum I need for the smithy.

  But I'm still not sure if I will buy it in the end.

  Either way, that's something to worry about for later.

  Right now, I let pride bloom.

  The weight of the project lifts from my back, replaced by something warmer. There’s still more to do, more ideas to pursue, more forging, testing, failing—and succeeding.

  But that’s for tomorrow.

  Tonight, I rest. I earned it.

  And not even this damn migraine can wipe the smile off my face.

  ...

  I slowly sink beneath the sea’s surface, letting the cold wrap around me like a second skin. The crashing waves fade behind me, replaced by the low hum of water pressing in from all sides. Silence. Stillness. A temporary escape.

  Time passes as I drift, eyes closed, savoring the quiet.

  But all things end eventually—especially when lungs start to burn.

  I break the surface with a sharp inhale, only to be assaulted by the screeches of gulls and the sharp, briny sting of the air. The peace I had vanished instantly.

  Again and again, I dive—trying to chase that silence back into the deep.

  When I finally surface and let my eyes adjust to the warm tones of late afternoon, a smile creeps across my face. For months I’ve wanted to take a swim in the waters but, for one reason or another something kept happening, and moving down the priority list.

  But not today.

  Today, I’m in the sea.

  Then—paranoia creeps in, uninvited as always.

  My gaze flicks to the empty, rocky shore where my clothes lie in a neat pile. Light is hidden beneath them.

  Still haven’t solved that problem.

  First it was the thieves. Then the... well-endowed persuasion duo who tried to buy it off me.

  I’ve never told anyone about Light’s true nature—not about the mithril under the iron, not about who forged it. The only exception was during the evaluation, where a dozen smiths saw it.

  And someone, clearly, sold that information.

  Adding to that the fact that the duo knew that I'm no longer using it, that I’d stopped adventuring, brings a logical conclusion.

  Someone’s keeping tabs.

  Will there be another attempt?

  I’ve kept Light close at all times, but... even that might not be enough. What am I supposed to do? Hide it? Lock it away? Store it in a vault somewhere?

  None of those options sit right.

  I need a weapon. And nothing I’ve ever made even approaches the offensive capabilities of Light. Mithril is just that absurdly good. There's a reason for the ridiculous market price of this material.

  Another groan escapes me and I dive back under.

  The water’s hush soothes me.

  A dozen seconds later my lungs start demanding oxygen again.

  I surface, exhaling slowly as my eyes scan the coastline—up to the tall stone walls of the city and the distant harbor where ships drift in and out.

  I pause, squinting.

  How are they even moving? There’s barely any wind. Are they enchanted? Is it the cloth? Maybe something embedded in the mast?

  I’ve heard of the new ships—the ones with "engines" that can sail in any direction, even in a dead calm. But those aren’t those metal monstrosities. They’re made out of wood.

  How the hell do you build something that big out of wood?

  It’s brittle. It’s soft. It burns. And yet for centuries, people have crossed entire oceans in floating timber shacks.

  How?

  Shit.

  I’ve drifted again. Lost in my own head. Focus.

  This is rest time. Relaxation. No distractions. Just breathing, and sea, and silence.

  I suck in a lungful of salty air, which tastes vaguely like disappointment, and dive again.

  Let the water wrap around me. Let it shut everything out.

  Stillness.

  Silence.

  ...wait.

  Why is the sea so salty anyway?

  I remember reading the ocean is even worse, but I never really looked into why. Did someone pour salt in it? Did it just... appear?

  Natural mineral runoff? Magical residue? Giant fish tears?

  Should I look that up later?

  Might be interesting—

  "GRAAAHHHH."

  A primal growl escapes me as I resurface again, only to take a deep breath and force myself under again.

  ENOUGH.

  NO THOUGHTS.

  JUST REST.

  SILENCE.

  TRANQUILITY.

  WATER.

  Hm.

  Does salt accumulate on the hulls? Wouldn’t that cause corrosion?

  God damn it.

  Alright. Let’s flip it around—lean into the noise. Let's think and let the thoughts out.

  I’ll look into sea composition at the library later. No point in aimless speculation now. Move on.

  Hull corrosion? Same.

  Next.

  No urgent projects. A few custom orders with pathways, sure, but nothing major or time-sensitive. Which means—for once—it’s just me, some time, and the mental backlog I’ve been ignoring.

  And really, I don’t have to be working at all.

  I’ve got enough in the bank to disappear for a while. Maybe a long while.

  Let’s do the math. Rent? Three gold a month. Food and basics? Another three, give or take. That’s six gold monthly, seventy-two gold a year. I could live on that—hell, I have lived on less during the early months.

  Even if I bumped that to a hundred gold a year for comfort... With what I have now, I could coast for twenty-seven years.

  ...Twenty-seven years.

  I could retire today.

  Stop everything. Do whatever I want. Live however I please.

  But—

  Okay, let's pause at that.

  Deep breath.

  Let’s not chase that fantasy just yet. Ask the real question:

  What do I even want to do?

  I don’t want to go to the capital. That part’s clear. But... I do want to see my family.

  I want to learn more—armor making, smithing, advanced spell theory, maybe even enchanting. And that kind of knowledge is easier to access there.

  But there are people in the capital I don’t want to see.

  There it is.

  It’s not the city. It’s the people. I can’t keep pretending otherwise.

  And honestly, if I just lived a day or two outside the capital, like Dad suggested, I could visit and still avoid the worst of it. A compromise.

  But the real issue isn’t the place. It’s that they’re there, and I’m here. I can’t exactly tell them to come live in this obscure little corner of nowhere. There's nothing here for them.

  Unless...

  What if we all moved somewhere else? Somewhere new? Is there even such a place?

  What about the future in general—what about five, ten, twenty years from now?

  What do they want? Mom and Dad? The potato munchers?

  They’re attached to the clan. To the capital. Can they even leave?

  Wait—

  What if I do nothing? Just let time pass and leave everything the way it is?

  It feels like cowardice. Like hiding behind indecision.

  Twenty years from now, the girls might be married with children. I’d be some distant, out-of-touch uncle. A failure, hiding in the corner of the map.

  But that’s the far future. What about the near future?

  What about their Class Awakening? That could go any direction. Is there a way I could help?

  ...Ha.

  'Help' them.

  I can’t even figure myself out.

  There’s still that contract issue. Once I get the badge officially, the terms change. The original agreement just said "renegotiate", but didn’t say what that meant.

  Will they want more weapons? Better ones? I’m a C-Rank—they can’t exactly demand mithril, right?

  ...Could they?

  Maybe armor? Shields?

  I’ve kept up with the monthly quotas. Sent in extra, even. On paper, I’m fine.

  But one look at my bank account and they’ll realize I’m not exactly the struggling mid-tier smith they evaluated me as.

  Hmph.

  A lot to think about.

  But that's for later.

  So?

  No more questions?

  Am I finally free?

  Only silence answers me.

  Why does it feel like my life is just an endless loop of overthinking stupid things?

  I take another breath and submerge once more.

  And there it is again—peace.

  Quiet.

  Tranquility.

  Just me and the sea.

  A whisper resounded.

  I launch from the water, mana flaring, [Force Aegis] forming, hand already reaching for Light on the shore.

  I scan the coastline.

  Empty.

  Not a soul in sight.

  But the whisper—it was real.

  Close... and distant. But unmistakable.

  And I know where it came from.

  The dungeon.

  Faint, like a breeze against the back of my neck. But the tone was clear.

  Not a cry for help.

  A demand.

  A call to action.

  To help.

  To save.