“You ready, kid?” Sister Haze asked, brushing some dirt off of Amons best tunic. It was a simple dark red linen piece that Sister Haze bought for him a year ago.

“Yes, Sister Haze,” Amon responded, eager to leave.

“Then let’s be off.” She said opening the orphanage's gate.

As they made their way to the Anvil and Hammer, he took a moment to admire the city. Mefleiad was built around the Hungering River the longest river in the Weyer Kingdom which allowed for the construction of aqueducts that provided the citizens a source of fresh water. It was also the biggest city in the Weyer Kingdom housing two hundred thousand citizens. Most human, but a few other races as well like lykans, dwellers, and even a raven if the rumors were to be believed. The city was divided into three districts, Blackstreet, the home of the poorer citizens, criminals, and where the orphanage was located. The Craftsman District, home of the more well-off citizens who usually practiced a craft of some sort, and the Upper District where the Royal Place was located, and the home of the family of nobility and wealthy merchants.

“Damn, it's hot. I’m going to sweat so much underneath this fucking robe.” Said Sister Haze, fanning herself with her hand.

“I think you’ve grown too comfortable cursing around me,” Amon said with mock disapproval.

“I can’t stop now even if I wanted to,” She offered Amon her hand. “Come on, I don’t want you getting lost.” She teased.

Annoyed, Amon shoved her hand away. It was already humiliating enough having her escort him like he was a child that needed her protection. He looked up to see her face, and immediately regretted his actions when he saw the hurt in her violet eyes.

Well, no matter how old I truly am, in her eyes I am just a kid.

Swallowing his pride, Amon reached out to grab Sister Haze’s hand which she had brought down to her side after he shoved it away. “Sorry.” He mumbled.

Her grip was iron, making him wince. “So, you like playing hard to get do you kid?”

Her vindictiveness made Amon question if he just imagined the hurt look he saw in her eyes.

You old bat! How can you treat a kid like this!

Perhaps thinking she punished Amon sufficiently, Sister Haze loosened her grip, but not too much that he could pull his hand away. They walked the streets in silence, hand in hand, weaving through citizens, beggars, traders calling out their wares, and those that Amon noticed were nyghtmare addicts. They walked the streets in a daze with blissful expressions, and others shaking and muttering to themselves.

Solas has been operating for only two additional years compared to my previous life, but what a difference those two years make. I’ve seen far more nyghtmare addicts just walking the streets than I’ve seen my entire life previously. I can’t blame Sister Haze for feeling she has to protect me. It’s why I don’t let Caim and Amy leave the orphanage without me too. But Mefleiad will be safe again soon.

When they finally reached the Craftsmen District, Sister Haze broke the silence. “When did you decide you wanted to be a Blacksmith? You never showed any interest in it until you asked me to try and get you apprenticed at the Anvil and Hammer.”

“When I found out being a blacksmith pays well, I wanted to become one as quickly as possible to repay you and the other sisters for raising me,” Amon replied smoothly. He was pleased by how convincing he sounded, and how quickly he replied.

Sister Haze laughed softly and pulled Amon into her waist as she hugged him with one arm over his shoulders. “That’s the best possible answer you could have given.”

Of course, it is. I know what you want to hear.

“If only I believed you.” She said hugging Amon tighter.

“What do you mean?” Amon tried getting out of her hug, but it was futile, she was far stronger than him.

“I mean that you’re lying to me, kid.” She whispered.

Amon gulped, trying to find an excuse. He never thought that Sister Haze would question him further when he told her he wanted to give her coin. Just when he was about to spout out some excuse she let him go and lifted his head with one finger so he was looking up at her.

“You don’t have to tell me what you’re hiding right now, I trust you. Just remember what I told you.” She said sterner than Amon had ever seen her.

Amon was speechless. He was touched that Sister Haze trusted him, and ashamed that she did despite not being truthful with her. “I trust you too, Sister Haze. I promise to tell you the truth soon.”

She scrutinized him for a moment then smiled gently. “Seems like you’re telling the truth this time. I don’t want to deal with Rickert, so I’ll take my leave here.”

“Thank you for accompanying me all this way, Sister Haze,” Amon said with a slight bow.

“Don’t thank me, kid. I know you didn’t like it.” She ruffled his hair with an amused expression and walked away. “Good luck doing whatever it is you're doing.”

Gods help me, I may be falling for her again. I take back all the bad things I thought about you, Sister Haze.

As Amon watched her walk away admiring her grace and beauty, a portly man wearing a flat cap and a light purple doublet bumped into her.

“Watch where you’re going, bastard!” She yelled as she made obscene hand gestures at the man.

Never mind.

Amon sighed then turned around and made his way through the Craftsman District. He retrieved the iron necklace from his tunic that marked him as a blacksmith apprentice and placed it around his neck. He received some curious gazes, but no one said anything or approached him. Without any unwanted interruption, he soon reached the Anvil and Hammer, a large stone building that looked equal parts a shop, smithy, and a house. The chimney was already fuming dark smoke and Amon spotted the source of the smoke. A broad-shouldered young man in a leather apron hammering away at a piece of hot metal on an anvil. He seemed to be concentrating intently on it, as he didn’t notice when Amon approached him. Amon made sure to keep away from the flying sparks and cleared his throat as loudly as he could. The young man glanced at him, hammered the piece of metal a few more times, and finally addressed Amon.

“Master Rickert told me he may be training a new apprentice. Is that you?” He asked gesturing at Amon's necklace.

“Yes,” Amon responded.

“Well then, I want you to know that what I’m about to tell you isn’t out of jealousy or spite, but because it’s for your own good.” The young man leveled his hazel eyes at Amon. “Leave, and forget about becoming an apprentice, at least in this smithy. There are other smithies in Mefleiad that will suit you better. Trust me, kid.”

“I’ll keep your advice in mind,” Amon said as he walked up to the shop.

The young man watched him for a moment, clearly wanting to say more, but he just shook his head and went back to hammering away at the anvil.

He must be Rickert's current apprentice. It seems he’s a full-fledged blacksmith in his own right and knows about Rickert’s involvement with the drug trade or at the very least knows something is wrong. I don’t want to kill him, but I’ll have to think of a way to get him out of the way.

Amon pushed the wooden door to the shop and it creaked as it opened. He entered and was greeted by a vast display of weapons and armor that all looked polished and well-kept which he didn’t expect.

Well, Rickert is still a Master Blacksmith despite being involved in the drug trade.

Amon approached who he assumed to be Rickert, he was sitting down on a chair in the middle of the shop sharpening a dagger on a whetstone. He was what Amon expected a Master Blacksmith to look like. Squat, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, and heavily muscled despite being fifty years old or older. Both his beard and hair were long and grey, and he wore a dirty gray shirt with a score of stains and small scorch marks.

“Master Rickert, I’m Amon, the one Sister Haze told you about.”

Rickert didn’t respond, he simply waved Amon over with his dagger. Amon took a few steps forward but maintained a safe distance across from him.

“Where’s Sister Haze?” He asked, his voice a deep rumble.

“She’s busy at the orphanage, and couldn’t make it, but she asked me to convey her gratitude and best wishes,” Amon lied.

“That’s a shame I wanted to call in my favor straight away.” Said Rickert, still sharpening his dagger. “Sister Haze, She told me you’re a genius, a smart boy who’s eager to become a blacksmith. Tell me, do you know how long it takes just to become a Journeyman?”

“Four to eight years depending on the apprentice and the teacher,” Amon replied quickly.

“Indeed.” Rickert nodded. “I’m sure you’ve met Jace outside. He’s my soon-to-be-former apprentice. He apprenticed under me when he was thirteen years old, and it only took him four years to become a Journeyman. Another smart kid that one, and as payment for my tutelage, he was to serve me for as many years as it took him to become a Journeyman. This is his fourth and final year, so you’re in luck, I require a new apprentice.”

“I’m ready.” Amon nodded.

“Are you?” Rickert asked amused. “Being my apprentice is more than just learning how to be a blacksmith. You have to obey my every command even if it has nothing to do with smithing. I tell you to fetch me wine or ale you do it. I tell you to prepare me a meal you do it. I tell you to clean my chamber pot you do it, and you do it no questions asked!”

“I understand.”

“Do you!” Rickert exclaimed looking up as he pointed his dagger at Amon. For the first time, Amon saw Rickert's eyes. They were glazed and bloodshot, and though he was looking at Amon, his mind was elsewhere.

He’s a nyghtmare addict!

Amon’s heart was racing as he stared down the dagger pointed at him, but he did his best thinking when he was in danger, so he calmed down and adjusted his plan.

“Of course, I understand.” Amon smiled innocently. “I’m not so ungrateful that I wouldn’t do that much for my teacher.”

Rickert regarded Amon with a measured look then chuckled and went back to sharpening his dagger on the whetstone. “Yes, you do understand.” He said more to himself than to Amon. “An apprentice should do whatever his teacher asks of him. You won’t be like him. He did what I told him to do in the beginning, but when I taught him everything there was to know about smithing he began questioning me. He didn’t feel right doing it he said, the gutless coward. What right does he have to question the man who taught him everything he knows, and now he wants to leave and pretend I didn’t make him the smith he is!” He stood up red-faced and tightened his grip on the dagger in hand.

Amon backed up a few more steps and marked a shortsword that he could reach quickly just in case Rickert became violent, and he had to defend himself. “What didn’t Jace feel right doing?” Amon asked curiously

Rickert quickly locked eyes with Amon, watching him intently through clouded bloodshot eyes. Amon found it difficult to feign cluelessness when he was so alert, but he managed or Rickert was just oblivious to it in his nyghtmare hazed mind.

“A boy barely ten years old,” Rickert muttered. “yes, who would suspect a boy.” He chuckled and pointed at a door across the room with his dagger. “Follow me, Jace.”

Amon followed Rickert and grabbed a dagger displayed on a wall as soon as Rickerts back was turned. He tested the edge touching it with the tip of a finger. His skin tore easily, so he hid the dagger inside his left sleeve. Rickert came to a stop in front of the door. he tossed the whetstone aside, fished into his pocket, and pulled out a key. There was a loud click when he inserted it into the lock and turned it. He opened the door and stepped in, Amon followed after him and saw that the room was used for storage, there were crates with charcoal, wood, and crates with ingots of metal that he couldn’t and didn’t care to identify. Rickert didn’t pay those crates any attention, instead, he went to the furthest corner of the room and pulled a blanket off of a small stack of crates. Amon was tempted to kill Rickert while his back was still turned, but he needed to make it look like a suicide, so Amon waited for a better opportunity.

“Your apprenticeship will start with delivering these,” Rickert said grabbing a small pouch.

He tossed it to Amon, and he caught it with his right hand. “What is it?” Amon asked, though he already knew.

Rickert grabbed another pouch and opened it. “Sweet dreams.” He said, euphoric.

He sniffed the nyghtmare and Amon recognized it was the perfect opportunity. He dropped the pouch, approached Rickert, and slid his right hand into his left sleeve to grip the hilt of the dagger.

“Your first delivery will be to-”

Before Rickert could finish speaking Amon slashed at what he called the blood-gushing artery located in the thigh. He dragged the dagger across Rickert's right thigh bottom to top, the dagger easily cut through the fabric of his pants and his flesh making a long crimson gash. Blood spluttered, and Amon jumped back not wanting to get a single drop on him.

It won’t be long now.

Rickert didn’t seem to comprehend what was happening. He just stared at his bleeding leg in a daze. Amon backed away not wanting to risk a fight with someone so much bigger and stronger even if he was dying.

“What have you done?” A confused Rickert asked.

Amon didn’t respond and kept backing away out of the storage room, his eyes on Rickert all the while. Rickert followed unsteadily, pouch filled with nyghtmare and dagger still in hand. Then suddenly, the long cut in his thigh was enclosed in steel, and the bleeding stopped.

Well… I didn’t expect he could use his blessing that way, but he still lost a lot of blood. He will still die only slower now.

Amon prepared himself for a fight, but the fight he was expecting didn’t come. Instead, Rickert just looked at him and teared up.

“Why, Jace? Do you truly hate me so?”

Amon was frozen in his stance, unsure of what to do and unsure of what he was feeling. Pity, sympathy, guilt, He didn’t know, but it was clear that Rickert wasn’t a threat. Rickert silently made his way to his chair and sat down. He closed his eyes, and dropped the pouch, spilling the purple powder across the floor, then the steel enclosing his thigh turned to flesh again.

“Stop!” Amon yelled not knowing why. “Jace wants to talk to you!”

“He does?” Rickert whispered.

“Yes, I’ll go get him!”

What am I doing? I came here to kill him not whatever this is.

Amon dashed out the shop door and saw Jace still at the anvil hammering away at the hot metal, unaware that his teacher was dying.

“Jace!” Amon ran up to him.

Jace stopped hammering and looked at him. “What is it?” He said annoyed.

“Rickert is dying, he wants to talk to you,” Amon said quickly.

“What!”

“Go!”

Jace seemed to understand Amon was serious. He dropped his hammer and ran inside the shop, Amon following after him. They entered the shop and Amon closed and locked the door behind him.

“Master Rickert!” Jace cried.

Amon turned around and saw Jace on his knees grabbing his teacher's hand.

“Jace, I have a gift for you,” Rickert said weakly. He lifted his arm and presented the dagger he had been sharpening on his palm. “The first thing you made on your own. I told you it was garbage when you gave it to me and threw it away, but I didn’t throw it away. I kept it all this time.”

Jace took the dagger from Rickert’s hand and gripped the dagger tightly. “Why?”

Rickert chuckled and placed his hand atop Jace’s head. “It was to be my last gift to you when you left. I made your garbage dagger better, so you would always remember it was me who taught you everything you know.”

“You mean old bastard, how could I ever forget you,” Jace said with a choked laugh. Rickert laughing with him.

“I’m sorry, Jace. I never should have gotten you involved.” Rickert panted. His eyes were closing, and Amon could feel the familiar tingling sensation. “You look the same as when we first met.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

His leg became flesh, and Amon drew Rickert's blessing into himself. His body went rigid as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. It wasn’t the most painful experience he had stealing a blessing, but it was still an unpleasant sensation. Amon breathed steadily through his mouth as he watched Jace close Rickert’s eyes and stand up. He turned around, dagger gripped in hand and glared at Amon with tearful eyes.

“You did this?”

“…I did,” Amon replied solemnly.

Jace gripped his dagger tighter, still watching Amon as if debating something, and Amon had a feeling he knew what that debate was. Jace turned to look at Rickert's body, the nyghtmare spilled across the floor, and the blood leading to the storage room. He sighed heavily, and the grip on his dagger loosened as he turned back to Amon.

“At the very least, we should talk.”