“The old man finally teaching you how to beat a piece of metal?”
Lycus’ quiet voice echoed within the well as the duo leaned over its sandstone walls, doing their best to pull up the buckets from the extreme depths. Ryke had a much easier time as he had long grown used to even more straining tasks, but the other thin, frail merchant's son clearly struggled.
“He’s teaching me how to make something! An actual weapon!”
“That’s different? Isn’t it still beating metal?”
“Of course it’s different!” Ryke shouted whilst he shot straight up; abruptly sending the bucket of water straight up and into his hands. He ignored the shrieking Lycus, watching him struggle to keep his grip on the bucket’s rope. “This is shaping metal. Turning it into something useful!”
Lycus grumbled as he caught the rope firmly. “That’s still the same thing..” His voice trailed off when his eyes locked with Ryke’s, noticing the bloodshot eyes. “Fine, fine! It’s different!”
Ryke nodded in approval, provoking a sudden shiver out of the merchant’s son. Finished gathering water for the forge and the courtyard, he bid Lycus farewell and made his way back home through the dusty streets of Jekan. He found it hard to believe, sometimes, that his father said Jekan was a more well off town in the Cinefra Desert.
Much of this was attributed to the towns location, Lucky enough to be next to a small mountain range, the outer area had both basalt roads and an aqueduct from the mountain to provide for the meagre bathhouse and the fountain in the forum. The streets were lined with Insulae, supporting the hundreds of families within their small confines, while the luckier ones; merchants like Fairrin and Lycus’ father, owned homes of their own.
The golden-eyed boy stopped briefly, head tilted upwards towards the large building next to the forum. Giant grey sandstone columns supporting the massive rectangular roof, the Ludus was easily the biggest building in town, dedicated to the care and training of Jekan’s warriors and Centurions. With a shake of his head, he looked back down towards the streets and rushed off back home. The day he entered the Ludus was not today, but he knew it would be soon.
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“I don’t remember it taking that long to get water.”
“I was talking to Lycus!”
“Hm? How’s his old man doing?”
“Didn’t ask.”
“Kids.”
Fairrin grumbled, setting the hammer down on his workbench as Ryke stumbled his way in holding a bucket nearly the boy’s size. The boy himself seemed overly energetic, which prompted a wry smile to spread across the older man’s face. Sliding a few stacks of metal ingots over, he made his way to requisition the bucket from his son. With some panic, the boy let go of the bucket and then looked up at his father with wide eyes, before hopping over to the forge with haste.
Trailing his bright golden eyes over to the workshop, the boy's gaze finally landed on the anvil. Just as Ryke moved to walk over, a firm hand fell on his shoulder and locked him in place. Knowing the uncanny strength his father wielded, Ryke just looked back up to the man.
“Not the anvil. The forge. The crucible.”
“What? Why! You don’t make weapons with a crucible-”
“It’s where you start.”
Fairrin grunted out a response before he practically carried the boy over to the forge by the scruff of his neck. Setting him down next to the ore he shattered the day prior, the blacksmith quickly got to work setting up the forge for smelting.
“But you said..”
“I know what I said.” Fairren barked out, setting down another heavy pile of coal next to the forge before he inspected
“Do you want to make something good? Or something like any other?”
“Something good..”
“Then I’m going to teach you the basics. Including..” The bearded man shielded his eyes for a moment, blocking the hot air along with the loud hiss that came along with it as the forge heated up.
“How to use a crucible.”
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“Good. Make sure the fire stays hot.”
“You’ve already said that!”
“And it’s important to remember. Calm down.”
The boy’s golden eyes momentarily trembled in rage as he continued to manage multiple things at once. The bellows were required to increase the heat, while he also needed to make sure the fuel was being used, the right fuel was added, the slag was floating to the top..
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The hours went by as the father son pair toiled beneath the desert sun. Sweat poured down their skin as the molten iron slowly filled the crucible while the slag floated on top. With some shaking and care, Ryke finally tilted the full crucible over an empty ingot mold, allowing the iron to flow out while the slag remained on top, hovering at the back of the crucible through genius of design.
“Now we wait for it to cool. That’s all. We wait.”
“And then we get to make something?”
“You just made something. An ingot.”
“Something.. cool?”
“No.”
Ryke groaned out, doing his best not to just get upset at his father and prove he’s too immature to finally make a weapon. He could see Fairrin’s mind waver over the years as he got older, more and more willing to teach him; but the boy couldn’t do anything if Fairrin decided this was the best way to teach him. He’s stubborn like that, just like his son.
“Then what next?”
“You make another ingot.”
“And then?”
“You make one hundred more.”
Ryke felt his eye twitch as he stared up at his stoic father, unable to find the energy to argue back as his aching limbs seemingly called him to rest. With a grunt and some inaudible mumbles, he lumbered outside to the barrel of warm water and wiped his face gingerly with a nearby rag. After he splashed his face with water a second time, the boy left it to dry naturally whilst he sat down against the courtyard wall. He had just been about to doze off when heightened voices stole his attention away, leading him to look down the path towards a few neighbours.
Two men dressed in silver breastplates over a strange leather cuirass were at his neighbours door. Similarly covered metal had been fashioned into greaves that ended at the shin, leading to more of the strange leather. Overall it seemed like an odd mix of heavy and light armors that gave the two a rather militaristic look, putting off Ryke quite a bit.
“Legionnaires..”
With a grumble, Ryke pushed himself back to his feet and stepped back into the courtyard. Finding his father missing briefly, he preoccupied himself with cleaning the work area until he returned. It didn’t take long until Fairrin came back, having similarly washed his face off inside the house.
“Dad!”
“Ryke.”
“Why are the legionnaires outside?”
Fairrin stopped for a moment with a grunt, before the man looked down at his son with a strange look followed by a heavy sigh. A cracking sound rang out as the man rolled his shoulders, before he tossed the soaked cloth on the table with some force and turned his stride towards the courtyard’s exit.
“Fucking, Sigmar.. Wait here boy.”
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“So? What was it?”
Ryke practically shouted the moment he finished swallowing down the entirety of a Lilevas fruit and some other desert vegetables, his face still covered in it’s juices as he moved to reach for the next piece of food on the table; all while ignoring his father’s side eye.
“They’re making the rounds for Centurion Candidates. Guess the neighbour volunteered their daughter.”
Fairrin spoke with a sigh, mentally preparing himself for the oncoming conversation as he cut his own fruit into multiple pieces and prepared them for a more elegant meal than his son.
“Centurion Candidates? Did you recommend me?” Ryke bolted up from his seat, his golden eyes shining eagerly, only for his gaze to shift towards the fruit he sent flying with his sudden outburst. While he dived to save the fruit from the floor, his father continued speaking calmly while eating his own meal.
“No, You’re not ready yet.”
A brief silence hung in air after the sudden thud of Ryke falling flat against the ground, before the golden-eyed boy darted upwards once again, this time holding a slightly bruised Lilevas fruit in his hand. The gold in his eyes practically seemed to flow like fire.
“Not ready yet? Why not!”
“First, they only take you when you’re fourteen. Second? Well.. there isn’t a second. Usually I have more reasons to tell you no..” Fairrin grumbled, buttering his fruit with a pale grey substance before finally moving to start eating his dinner. “You know this. Fourteen is the starting line. Any earlier and your body might not handle it.”
“But I can handle it! You have me working every day, right? How much harder can it be?!” Ryke gestured wildly with his hands until his expression suddenly froze at the sight of his fathers frown. Experience had told him that while the old man hardly ever did express himself, he really meant it when he did.
“The limit is there for a reason. Sit down and eat.”
“But limits are meant to be broken.”
“No. They are meant to be pushed.”
“That makes no sense.”
“You don’t know the difference yet.”
“Then tell me.”
“Sit. Down.”
Fairrin finally growled out, lifting his gaze from his food and looking into his son’s fiery eyes. A stifling presence seemed to arise from his burly frame, and it quickly pressed down on Ryke’s shoulders as if the sky was falling on top of him. His veins bulged from his skin whilst his eyes grew bloodshot in mere moments as he stood under his father’s pressure, before his body finally gave in. The moment he was forced back into the seat, the pressure ceased and the sky felt whole again.
The dinner passed in silence as the air felt thick, Fairrin quietly eating his food without so much as being phased, while Ryke could hardly find the courage to lift his gaze towards his father’s. The boy found his appetite again, finishing up in record speeds only to dart off towards his room, the chimes of the swaying chains on the wall ringing out. Ryke’s door slammed as Fairrin finally looked up, his gaze resting on the chains and the glaive immured in them. The chains shook violently as if in response, before finally growing silent; a sigh escaping from Fairrin’s lips.