Kir burped and scratched his stomach, in a daze. He smiled with a weird expression, remembering his meal from the previous night. With a shake, he forced his attention to the present and moved to a chair. He sat and rested his chin on the back of his palm, with the sunrise still a few hours away. His eyelids fluttered with drowsiness; his mouth opened wide to allow the passage of a yawn. He needed sleep, being one of the few blacksmiths to have followed Zane’s production process in its entirety. But he persisted, for the sake of a younger individual in front of him, observing his wares.

“I might be able to help if you just tell me what it is you’re looking for,” offered Kir, wiping some grease from his thick moustache. He burped again, and added, “Don’t mind my asking, but do you always get up this early?”

Daiden stifled a laugh and bowed in apology. He returned the sword in his hand to the shelf and then turned to observe Kir. His heart resonated with the latter, more so his determination towards chasing after Zane, the Lord of Fire. In a way, it marked the beginning of a journey, the same as Daiden.

“Lord Zane is supposed to introduce me to a Senior Knight today; I wanted to get a head start on feeling out my new weapon and armour, even work on my conditioning a little,” said Daiden, honestly. “I want to make a good first impression!”

“Conditioning…what’s that?” asked Kir, now more alert.

“Jogging a couple kilometres, maybe some resistance training,” said Daiden, with a hum. “I haven’t actually charted out a program yet, but I think it’ll be good for discipline. It’s helped me before.”

Kir narrowed his eyes to slits and took a closer look at the boy. He scratched his chin, puzzled with questions, especially from Daiden’s manner of speech.

“I don’t understand…” admitted Kir, with a shrug.

“You’re a blacksmith; even with a blessing from Ehedus, do you not strive towards greater technique with repeated effort?” asked Daiden. “It’s the same as that. Everything I know now is because of a fragment of Mioveroldian knowledge, but I want it become second nature, muscle memory.”

Kir nodded, slowly at first, and then more earnestly. He understood from the analogy.

“I can respect that, certainly!” said Kir, stretching his arm for a handshake. “I think we can work well together, help each other grow.”

Daiden stared at the offered arm for a moment and then met Kir’s with his own for a firm handshake. He quickly withdrew from the gesture and hurried away, after excusing himself, to the bathroom. Outside the smithy, Daiden grabbed a bucket and checked to see if the blacksmith had followed. He washed his hands vigorously and with an annoyed, almost pained expression. When finished, he relaxed his shoulders and looked to the sky.

“Ah, I doubt if I could find a sanitizer here,” thought Daiden. He splashed some water on his face and freshened from the experience. “I’ll probably need to get used to this.”

Daiden returned to find Kir wiping his hands clean with a wet cloth. He felt embarrassed at the sight, wondering if the latter had caught onto his germaphobia. His feet slowed at first, but hastened immediately after, at the sight of three, beautiful-looking swords. They shimmered with Kir’s personality and determination.

“I snuck a peek when you showed it to the Lord of Fire, your sword,” said Kir, with a snicker. “It’s a heavy sword from the looks of it, strong, but steadied for one-armed use. You don’t use a shield, so a heavy sword makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Daiden nodded in frenzy, in agreement. “Yes, so, I like to work with speed. I’m used to my sword, and a lighter variant in my hand just feels wrong. You understand me, yes?”

The rotund blacksmith folded his arms and hummed. “Yes. The heavier the sword, the greater the damage. With the right technique, you could even see damage comparable with that of a greatsword.”

The two men snickered, and slowly broke into frenzied laughter. Daiden eased to a sense of happiness, finding his heart unwind from the jaws of anxiety. It was a first since the days following his first injury. He remembered the darkness, how it tore into his spirit, weakened his will. Daiden smiled, only a sliver, only a step, but away from the distractions of Mioverold. He had healed a little, truly.

“Tell me, Daiden,” said Kir, suddenly. “Even with a heavy sword, the art of one-handed swordsmanship is best utilized with a sturdy shield. Are you sure you don’t want one?”

“I’m not sure I can move as freely as I’d like with a shield,” said Daiden, after some thought. “I might be mistaken, but it feels more natural this way. What do you recommend though?”

Kir slowly glimpsed at Daiden and scratched the back of his head, funnily. He appreciated the latter’s trust in his opinions, more so as a person often mocked for lacking in skill. He lowered and cautiously observed his three masterpieces, snorting with frustration.

“I can’t tell!” admitted Kir, slumping his shoulders in disappointment. “I might be able to peek into your tendencies if I allow you to choose freely though. It might help me recommend a complete set for you.”

Daiden shrugged uncertainly, and asked, “They all look great. But what’s the difference?”

Kir raised an eyebrow for a moment, suspiciously. He leaned with a stern expression, enough for Daiden to notice as well. “You can check, you know?”

Daiden clicked his tongue and paused. He felt his heart pound against his chest, in loud thuds. His face crumpled, dampened by the possibility of losing Kir as a friend. He watched the blacksmith lean closer still, with greater suspicion. But with pursed lips, Daiden held from a hasty response. He waited for the embrace of a familiar light, warm and with the strength to calm his tensioned heart. His mind traced to his last conversation with Zane, a quick warning against revealing his identity as an Awakened. He calmed.

With a deep breath, Daiden said, “My apologies, Kir. But I was sick for a long time, from when I was born, with aeter toxicity. The Lord of Fire kept me hidden for my own safety, others’ as well. I’ve since recovered…”

“But you’re lacking in common knowledge because of your absence from the world?” finished Kir, hurriedly. His eyes welled with tears from the story. He shook away Daiden’s apology and offered his own, with respect. “I’m sorry to have doubted you. If the Lord of Fire has chosen you to bond with, I have little to worry about in terms of your past.”

With surprise, Daiden watched the blacksmith wipe away his tears and summon his Mioveroldian Page. Kir directed it to the front of his swords and then moved it over Daiden. The words emerged with residual fumes, in the form of paragraphs and diagrams. It resembled a technical document, tracing the method of production. Kir slowly navigated to the bottom and pointed at a paragraph for Daiden.

[[Balanced Heavy Iron Sword

A heavy, straight sword with the imprint of Kir’s determination and will. It was forged from a high-grade iron ore. The hilt was designed to ensure a central point of balance, for fast and fluid strikes despite the weight of the sword. Has a small chance of inducing the will of disorientation.

---

Polluted Naga Fang

A heavy, straight sword with the imprint of Kir’s determination and will. The poison in the Naga Fang material has assimilated into the sword, to reflect a turbulent and dark colour. It was mixed and forged from a high-grade iron ore. Has a mild chance to poison the target with one of ten Naga poisons.

--

Sword of Broken Probability

An unbalanced, ethereal sword that takes twenty-nine strikes to attain solid shape. It inflicts no damage in its ethereal form. On its thirtieth strike, it inflicts slightly more damage than a normal iron sword. Despite the use of high-grade materials, the sword is imbalanced and suffers from performance irregularities. Enough use might help improve swordsmanship. It is imprinted with Kir’s anxiety.]]

Daiden scratched his head at the options. “I see a lot of long-term use with the Sword of Broken Probability. But it’s not viable at all.”

Kir noticed the younger individual stare at his sword of choice, wearing an expression of regret. He felt ashamed of not having made the sword with better options. But in a moment of inspiration, he clapped his cheeks with a wide grin, startling Daiden in the process.

“I know what must be done!” declared Kir, happily. “Your armour, your swords, leave it to me!”