Soon, Eric joined the old man’s smithy where he started working as his helper. The work was grueling, but there was a strange sense of comfort in the routine—the rhythmic pounding of the hammers, the creation of new weapons from a simple block of metal.

Darin allowed Eric to sleep inside the smithy at night due to his current situation. And Eric also happily agreed as he was currently in no position to get a place to stay.

Eric settled into his new life at the smithy much faster than he expected. Each morning, the sun would rise from the east as he and Darin began their day.

The smell of smoldering coal and hot metal filled the air of the smithy, a scent that had quickly become comforting for Eric. For the first time in years, he felt like he had a place where he truly belonged.

“Morning, boss.” Eric energetically greeted Darin, as Darin stepped into the forge from his home in the morning.

Darin, looking at the clean smithy, praised Eric, “Morning, boy! Looks like you cleaned up the smithy completely. Grab the tongs, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

Eric nodded and moved to help, grabbing the glowing piece of steel from the furnace which he started when he woke up, he held the metal steadily while Darin hammered it into shape.

The rhythmic clang of the metal echoed through the small smithy, a sound that Eric started to get familiar with as time passed. The heat from the forge was intense, but it didn’t bother him anymore as this was much better than his previous work.

“Nod bad,” Darin said, inspecting the shape of the blade they’d been working on, “You’re getting the hang of this much quicker than I expected.”

Eric wiped the sweat from his brow, a smile tugging at his lips, “Thanks. I might have a good teacher after all.”

Darin chuckled, setting the blade aside, “Well, don’t let it go to your head just yet. There’s still plenty for you to learn.”

They worked side by side, and each day Eric learned something new. He found solace in the simple, repetitive motions—heating, hammering, shaping. There was something different about his current work, he felt a strange sense of calmness while doing it.

He didn’t have to think about his past, or the mistakes he’d made. Here, in the forge, all he had to do was focus on the present.

One afternoon, while they were both taking a break outside of the smithy, sipping water and cooling off from the heat of the forge, Darin nudged Eric with his elbow. “So, lad, you’ve been here for a few months now. What do you think? Still want to look for some other work?”

Eric blinked his eyes in surprise, then shook his head, “No…this place is good enough for me, I will just keep helping you out until you kick me out.”

Darin let out a satisfied hum, “Good. You’ve got potential, Eric. More than you know. You’ve already learned a lot in such a short period, if you continue like this, then surpassing me will only be a matter of time.”

He paused as he shot Eric a sideways grin, “I was starting to think I’d have to carry the Emberstone name to my grave.”

Eric looked at the old man, sensing the weight of his words. The Emberstone name still meant a lot to Darin, and Eric knew about it very well. So the implications of what he just said were massive.

Yet, Eric didn’t reply to his words but instead questioned, “You old man, as soon as you found a worker for your smithy, you started thinking of finding a new flower to wed?”

“Fuck off, brat! I’m not looking for anyone anymore!” He humphed and stood up from his chair to walk inside the smithy to hammer the metal again.

Eric looked at his receding back and his expression turned bitter, ‘I would have accepted it if only I was worthy enough…’

…

“Not like that,” Darin’s voice boomed across the forge, “If you strike the hammer too close to the edge, you’ll ruin the balance of the blade.”

Eric grunted as he adjusted his grip, sweat dripping from his forehead. He lifted the hammer again, adjusting his stance before bringing it down precisely where the old man instructed him to.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Atta boy! That’s more like it,” Darin nodded his head in approval, “You have got both the strength and precision to become a great blacksmith, kid. If you continue like this then you will go far in your path as a blacksmith.”

Eric smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment after finally getting Darin’s approval at his work. He had been working under Darin for months now, and each day he felt improving even if the improvement was minor.

The hard labor felt like second nature to him at this point, enjoying each moment of it.

One day, Darin found Eric staring at the furnace listlessly, he came towards Eric and nudged him gently, “Whatcha thinking about, lad?”

Eric came out of his thoughts and looked at Darin with a foreboding look, “It…it feels like something bad is about to happen soon.”

Darin chuckled softly, “No need to worry, lad. No one’s going to bother us here. You’re safe. Haha, just pick up a hammer and start working, no need to focus on this nonsense. ”

Eric had a guess about his feeling but he felt it to be unlikely and dismissed it, getting back on his work.

During their breaks from smithing, Darin would share his stories from his younger days—most of them involving his own training or the tales from the golden days of the Emberstone Family.

“One time,” Darin began telling Eric a tale from his younger tales, sitting down some distance away from the anvil, “my father tried to teach me how to make an ornamental sword for a rich businessman. I thought it was absurd—tho needs a sword if you can’t even fight with it? Anyway, I was halfway through when the blade snapped right in front of the noble. My father… well let's just say he wasn't too pleased.”

Eric chuckled, imagining the old man’s younger self getting his ass handed to him by his father.

“Ah, well,” Darin grinned, “not every blade can be perfect, eh?”

Small moments like this build up their relationship as they both spend their time in each other’s company.

Eric whistled as he walked towards the smithy on his usual road, he had already moved out of the smithy and was renting an apartment.

But on an unfortunate day, he took the road towards the smithy as usual in the morning to start the work, but his steps froze as he saw the crushed door of the smithy. The wooden pieces lying down all around the entrance.

He felt his heart pulsing faster as he made a wild dash towards the door, “OLD MAN!” he shouted as soon as he came inside the door.

But his body turned cold as he smelled the cold, metallic smell of blood from inside the smithy, he saw the broken furniture and scattered tools everywhere.

His steps got faster as he ran to the back of the smithy, inside the house of Darin as he tried to look for him there, “OLD MAN! DAMN IT, ANSWER ME!!”

He panicked as he couldn’t see a trace of the old man, and he ran back inside the smithy. His heart slammed against his chest as he recalled Darin’s words, the ones that had put him at ease just a few days ago. “Don’t worry, lad. No one’s going to bother us here. You’re safe.”

The memory sent a pang of guilt shooting through him. Darin had been trying to reassure him, but Eric should have known better. The shadows of his past had always been one step behind him, hanging a sword on his neck.

He nearly fell down as he stepped on the scattered tools lying on the floor. But he continued looking around.

‘I should have known better’... He thought bitterly. ‘I should’ve known that nothing in my life can stay safe for long.’

He found the hammer and anvil placed beside the furnace yet no sign of the old man.

“Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Where did he go??” His voice filled with desperation as he looked all around the smithy to find any trace of him until he searched the backside of the furnace, where he found traces of blood.

The moment he saw the blood, the world tilted beneath him. His legs felt weak as he stumbled forward, his breath catching in his throat.

The blood was splattered across the floor, smeared behind the furnace.

‘Darin…’

His hand trembled as he reached for the letter, but for a moment, he couldn’t move. His mind screamed at him to run, to find Darin—but something inside him froze, paralyzed by the weight of guilt that was beginning to crush his chest.

‘This is my fault.’

His fingers finally brushed the corner of the blood-stained paper, taking it off from the wall. He stared at the jagged red writing, but the word blurred in his vision.

His breath came in shallow gasps, the surroundings seemed to fade away from his vision.

The consequences of his old actions all hit him at once. The betrayals of his old life, the lies he told himself that he could outrun his past, the safety he dared to believe in inside of the smithy.

He had brought this. He had brought them.

The weight of it all hit him at once. The betrayal of his old life, the lies he told himself that he could outrun his past, the safety he had dared to believe in. He had brought this. He had brought them.

‘Darin’s gone because of me.’

He collapsed to his knees, his chest tightening painfully. The blood on the floor was real. The letter was real. Darin was gone.

Eric clenched the letter in his fist, his vision narrowing to a single point of rage and regret. His thoughts swirled in a storm of self-hatred, guilt, and helplessness.

For the first time in years, he felt small again. Small and powerless in the face of his fate.

Just like that boy who was abandoned on his birth.