Auxuth of the War Seas, a decently sized government-neglected island, often experienced pirates welcoming themselves to its people in search of wealth and potentially power.

"Zaltanya Brontipodia!" Auxuthians would cry out desperately for salvation during these raids, and rest assured, their calls would not go unheard. Despite the ward against catastrophe Zaltanya embodied, the people feared her. The Grand Navy caught wind of the powerful woman and ended up drafting her, leaving behind no-good soldiers in her place.

Children - sometimes even adults - distanced themselves from Zolton. Despite his age falling behind that of many, Zolton's size unwillingly grabbed their hearts and strangled it. Lonesomeness did not drag down young Zolton, though. Instead he would simply traverse the grand redwood near his home. “I think my gravity is weak,” he would often think to comfort his involuntary solitude.

Balton Katastrof caught wind of his son's remote behavior, how lucky of Zolton to have the privilege that is a caring father on Auxuth. The sun drug itself into the sky to notify all of their tasks ahead, so Balton called his son as he limped on his left leg out to the back of their shabby house. The home was showered with the corpses of leaves murdered by the autumn as if killed with mercy before the oncoming winter's rage. The boy was introduced to his father's cellar and was guided in after him, but failed to fit inside without hitting his head on the ceiling. Balton entered on his own and brought out a large, black chest and It was a surreal thing. It appeared wooden, but sounded as if iron. Warmth radiated from the chest, but it felt frigid. The chest's darkness contended with that of the blackest void, even Averill's light would struggle to evade. A blue-steel lock held the chest together.

"This 'ere is Pa's good ol' memories!" Balton gloated, "Got dis from my father back a ways ago and he got it from his. Only us Katastrof folk can open the Onyx Soul Chest."

Zolton never knew of this box, but he did often hear his father shuffling around with something in the cellar, and then some loud bangs. When his father opened the chest and revealed its contents, malformed shadows raced to freedom in disorganization. Cloth wrapping the three items was removed, leaving behind a dull grey blunderbuss, bronze flintlock and a red gem for inspection.

"I see you eyein’ dem, curious ain’t ya? My father handed them ‘ere guns down to me a few years back. I was older than your eight years now, but o’ course you is smarter den me, ain’t ya my boy?”

“I don’t think so?”

Balton chuckled as he attempted to pat Zolton’s head, barely reaching his son’s dark hair.

“Definitely yoh mother's son…" Balton teased.

Zolton tilted his head towards the chest, guiding his father's attention towards it.

"Ah yes, you see dem der are my prized memories from a place a long way away named Oblitesco."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"That's a funny name, Oblite-sco? Obleet-sco?"

"No one says it right, don't worry none 'bout it. It's jussa-few thousand miles away… in them crazy ass seas...”

Balton grabbed the flintlock, beginning to wipe it gently with a cloth and blowing on it. Upon closer inspection, the gun was chipped and scratched. Scorch marks scarred the weapon and too much pressure caused the flintlock to groan. The Katastrofs stared at the gun with uncertainty.

“It seems the years have finally caught up to her,” Balton sorrowfully muttered, “I suppose it’s ’bout time she be laid to rest.”

Balton picked up the gun, collected a bullet from a nearby storage shelf and inserted the bullet into the barrel. He aimed the flintlock towards the redwoods near their home before pulling the trigger, only for the bullet to jump a few short feet, crack the gun’s side and send gunpowder into the air, showering his brown hair and face.

“Damn shame…” Balton mourned as he dug out a hole with his hand, placing the decrepit flintlock in the hole and shuffling dirt back in. He dusted off his hands and grabbed the ghastly blunderbuss. As his hand touched the blunderbuss, it changed from a dull gray into a faint purple and into a cloudy white. The blunderbuss felt as if its weight were increased four fold, but then became lighter than a feather.

“This a special,” Balton informed, handing the gun over to Zolton. As the gun made contact with Zolton’s fingers, the white transformed into a bold blue and dripped. The gun expanded to an appropriate size, fitting Zolton’s large hands comfortably.

“You see this is a rare type uh weapon, known as a Magic Weapon. A couple dem is found ‘round the seas floatin’ ‘bout or in some chests back at my old homeseas,” Balton explained, “As of now, most us only know nine magic weapons that inherit the user’s magic.”

Curious, Zolton questioned, “Who made them?”

“I’m not sure myself... If I had to guess I’d say Hephaestus…”

“Who’s that?”

“I don’t know that either, boy. Just one-uh-many ‘bove us I suppose.”

To put his new weapon on trial, Balton led his son into the woods.

"Zolton," Balton spoke out loud, "Ya know one uh dees days Imma be gone."

Zolton nodded.

"And when dat happens, der may or may not be warnin'. Which is why I believe it be da right time to for 'least introduhction to a' least one magic weapon,” Balton informed

"I do not know whin… or if Zaltanya will return in near future. Regauhdliss, you WILL learn to protect yo self!" Balton exclaimed.

"But… using a gun is hard for me… I can use my Water good enough for no-

"And that be only a flimsy ass knife in yo hungry arsenal, boy!" Balton shouted, causing frightened birds to flee, “what will you do once a weapon is brung into da field?”

Zolton nodded in apprehension, readying his arcane blunderbuss in shaking hands.

“I’ll take it easy, but I ain’t gonna be as smoove as I tend ta,” his father warned, "Brace up."