Chapter 2: Awakening

TRISTAN

Tristan awoke in a gray space, surrounded by clouds of flickering red that reminded him of sparks. The floor was smooth and cold, like an anvil. Despite this Tristan felt strangely warm. He knew he had never been in this place before, though he also suspected it might not even be a real place. Regardless of where it was (or wasn’t), he felt safe.

Suddenly he felt impossibly seen. A blank voice spoke without any kind of tone:

“Tristan Hammerson, as you have Awakened through your efforts in blacksmithing, all Paths forward will begin there.

How will you choose to wield your craft?

For the benefit of all, or for personal profit?

To protect others, or to arm thyself?

You have proven your worth, and it is time for your journey to begin.

Four different Cores await.

You have a choice.”

Four items appeared floating in the air before Tristan. They were only steps away, but those steps were actually a long journey. Possibly even full Paths. As he looked at each item, he somehow knew it represented the pinnacle of each idea and direction as it might fit him.

The leftmost was a beautiful golden smith’s hammer. It resembled the hammer that he had just completed only in shape, as its form was pure extravagance. Coins and gemstones of various sizes were worked into all the elements of its design, which showcased materials so fine and well worked that it was clearly made by a master. Inlaid with magical workings like he’d never seen before, Tristan could only imagine the things he could create with this. Buyers would come from across the realm, and he’d be able to amass a fortune, making a household name of the Hammerson reputation. He could supply any and all, possibly becoming the wealthiest blacksmith the realm had ever known. This Path would focus not just on creating fine items, but creating a name known worldwide, and it would be well rewarded.

His eyes shifted among the remaining three items to the side where a breastplate waited. It was a marvel to behold, with layers of materials integrated seamlessly into the flourishes and adornment, all of which undoubtedly served a purpose. He felt layers of magic and enchantments imbued in the various metals, creating protections the world had never before seen. This was clearly the work of a pinnacle armorsmith, surpassing anything Tristan had ever laid eyes upon. Even the Brightshield’s armor could not compare, though it was clearly a point of inspiration. To create something like this would take intense focus and mastery, which would all be worth it for the harm it would prevent. He got the impression that he could equip anyone with this Path, making light chain mails for the weakest of mages while providing massive plate bulwarks for the divinely strong. He could save lives, preserve Paths, and possibly guard the entire realm. This Path would be a pinnacle craftsman, perfecting piece after piece--but only for others. His own accomplishments would be measured only by reflected successes. A part of him balked at that thought; he needed more than that. He didn’t want his hopes of someday becoming an adventurer to end before they even began.

The next item lit a different fire within him.

The sword was thin and razor-sharp, reflecting a different color from every angle. Its blade pulsed with power as unreadable symbols and lines flared into and out of existence along its length with every blink. Tristan saw a weapon able to change with the needs of its wielder, adjusting at a whim or a thought. The perfect weapon for all situations. The sword was large enough for two hands, but he knew it could be made perfectly manageable by one. Even the meticulously detailed crossguard ebbed and flowed into variations. He could only dream of crafting such varied designs. This Path was no less a craftsman than the first two, but it resonated with him differently, almost as if to focus on him alone. His creations would have greater potential, but they would never benefit others, only him. This Path also went beyond crafting, delving deeper into combat abilities. It still cared for the forge, but it was not confined there. It roamed, and it fought, and it flourished.

That left only the final item: the shield.

Immaculate in its craftsmanship, it glowed from within, with light emanating a different kind of power. One that created an alloy of his mettle, his drive, and his need to protect others. While not as selfless as the armor, this shield served those who needed it most--especially those who could not protect themselves. And Tristan would wield it. Like the sword, the shield offered a Path that did not stop at merely being a crafter, but stepped beyond it. What’s more, this Path was familiar. He could imagine it inspiring stories, songs, even legends. This shield’s wielder would love and be loved by all.

Tristan stepped back, fighting the urge to reach out immediately for an item. He needed to consider this moment more carefully. This was his starting point. This was where his Path began.

He owed it to himself to truly consider his options.

Luckily, he could already eliminate one: the hammer.

Tristan had never really cared for the value of things. He didn’t crave wealth and never felt he “needed more”. His internal fire didn’t burn to improve his family’s name or earn it more renown, though he did hope it would someday be known. It would be more financially rewarding, sure, but far less personal. As soon as he considered that life and its potential endpoint, Tristan knew it was not for him. He wanted more from his Path than a forge, no matter how gilded. He would never be satisfied locked into that role, even if he excelled in it. This could definitely be a valid Path for others, but it was not his.

That left the breastplate, the sword, and the shield.

He now realized why the Path of the shield felt familiar. It was akin to the Path of Hesden Brightshield, the {Beacon of Hope} himself. It was a truly noble and inspiring Path, one that would potentially lead him to follow in his hero’s footsteps. It promised the duality of crafting and combat. A thought that warmed his spirit.

Yet he found himself turning toward the sword again, too. Its gorgeous colors and varied details felt flexible, much as Tristan himself aimed to be flexible. With a sword, he could defend and attack. Protect and inspire. He realized that this Path could be many things at many different times, but they would all still be him, in the best possible way.

In comparison, the armor was much more rigid. If the shield had felt like his childhood hero, the armor felt like his father. Tristan loved his father, and he wanted to be like him, but he didn’t want to be him.

If he took the armor, then every piece that he made would be incredible. But taking this Path would be of great benefit to others. Any that wore his armor would be ironclad and immovable, but would it satisfy him to only make things for others?

No, he was not his father. While his Path would be similar, he would improve himself with it as well. Compared to both the sword and shield, the armor was too selfless. In the end, it also had to go.

So, sword or shield?

The decision was not so simple. On the one hand, he could be like the Brightshield. He could tank any blow, protect anyone. His crafting would serve others. But the sword... maybe it would allow him to fight alongside the Brightshield as his own kind of hero. That thought, while perhaps more dangerous, excited him. He also liked that this Path might be somewhat new, allowing him to forge it as he saw fit, to his own design and desires. Both could lead him to glory. Both were boosted by their own creations. So, for others, or for himself?

It came down to one not-so simple question: Who was he really, in his deepest and most honest moments?

Tristan Hammerson made his choice. He reached out toward the only item that he’d ever truly needed.

As his fingertips met the sword, he could feel its power humming just beyond his control.

“Are you certain?” the blank voice asked.

Tristan wrapped his whole hand around the grip, and the sword instantly transformed into pure energy that rushed up his arm, infusing his spirit.

“The choice has been made.”

As the voice faded to nothingness, words began to appear before Tristan’s eyes, not blocking his sight of the world, but adding to it.

Your Path begins as a Blacksmith.

As a Blacksmith, you create, repair, and enhance works of metal designed to aid in battle. Protection or destruction, the choice is yours. The stronger the material, and the tougher the challenge, the more you will grow.

May your Path be long and productive.

He went back into his interface and reread the notification he’d gotten before coming to this place. And now, he saw, it had expanded with more information.

Congratulations! You have reached LEVEL 1!

Welcome to the first tier.

Starting Statistics:

Strength: 11 (+2/level)

Agility: 6 (+1/level)

Endurance: 10 (+2/level)

Intelligence: 5 (+0.5/level)

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Wisdom: 7 (+0.5/level)

Will: 8 (+1/level)

Skills Earned:

[Gather Ore] An active ability allowing a user to harvest ore and other useful resources from deposits throughout the world. Refined ore is necessary for metalworking of all types.

[Smith’s Strength] A passive skill that allows all of your [Craft] abilities to scale their control, quality, and crafting speed based on your Strength.

[Work Metal] An active ability allowing a user to use a hammer and anvil to shape metal to their will. The foundation upon which all metalworking skills are laid.

CORE AWAKENED:

[Self-Forged] Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.

At first, Tristan couldn't think of anything to say. Maybe that was due to his lowest stat, which honestly felt a little insulting, but he got over it quickly.

He felt amazing. Like the energy hadn’t just whisked him away to... wherever that was (or wasn’t), but it had also empowered him.

He felt strong. Stronger than ever, in fact! Of course, that made sense, too. He had been told that Awakening any stats at 10 or above was incredible. And he had two, which was even more amazing. Almost as good as seeing “blacksmith” as his Primary Class.

But his Core... Tristan read the line several times, but couldn’t make sense of it. What even is ‘Soulbound’?

He tried to interact with the term, or to get a description or definition to pop up. Nothing worked. He read the most intriguing line again, more carefully:

Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.

So this is why I felt the sword’s path would focus on me alone, he thought. Whatever I make will be only for me.

His completed hammer suddenly appeared in his hand. Compared to what he’d seen before, it was plain, unadorned, and crude. But it was his. He knew the hammer like he knew his own hand. And here its substantial weight did not bother him. But it wasn’t Soulbound, was it?

Tristan looked around, trying to engage the voice from before again, though he didn’t see or hear anything.

“Hello?” he called.

There was neither echo nor reply.

Whatever had taken his measure was now silent. Even if it was gone, it had given him hope for the future and what he would become.

“Thank you,” he said, probably to no one, but it never hurt to be polite.

As if in response, the world around him grew brighter, redder, and hotter until it consumed him entirely.

Tristan reopened his eyes and felt three things. First, he was cold, as he was now lying on the ground. Second, he felt a power pulsing from his right hand, which still held his hammer, exactly as it had been in the gray non-place. Finally, he felt strong arms around him.

His father.

The old man's eyes were closed, cheeks damp, as he whispered something even Tristan couldn't fully hear. A prayer perhaps? But Tristan had never thought his father religious, and he'd never seen the man so... so happy.

“Dad, I--" he managed before the man tightened the strongest embrace of Tristan’s life.

“You did it,” the gruff voice said. “I’m so proud of you! My son!” His words rose until eventually he was yelling. “Christha! CHRISTHA! Our boy did it!”

Effortlessly, the man hoisted Tristan to his feet. Actually, he picked Tristan up past that, but he set him down in only a blink as he moved toward the main house.

“What class did you get?” his father asked.

Tristan could see the excitement and raw hope in the man’s eyes.

He grinned. “Obviously, I'm a Blacksmith.” He knew his father would squeeze him tighter, but he also recognized that he was able to handle it better now that he’d Awakened.

“OF COURSE you’re a blacksmith!” Tristan’s father said, picking him up and spinning him around again, as easily as if he weighed nothing at all. Which, to a person with Strength in the hundreds, was probably true.

Someday, Tristan would know what that was like. The biggest smile of his life lit his face.

“What’s your Core?” his father asked, hefting Tristan’s hammer and appraising it before returning it to him with a smile.

Tristan’s eyes glazed over briefly as his Status sprang back up before his eyes. He smiled again at seeing his class, but when it came to his Core... for a brief moment he felt hesitant. “Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul...” he read aloud, pausing slightly, “and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.”

His father’s grip loosened a hair as a brief confusion crossed his brow. “That’s... definitely interesting. I’ve never heard of anything like that before.” Quickly enough, though, his father beamed. “It sounds like you’ll require fewer materials though, which is genuinely great. Just, what does ‘Soulbound’ mean?”

Tristan’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, you don’t know? How is that possible?”

“Kid, I’m a blacksmith, not a diviner. Can you interact with it in your Core?”

Tristan went back to his Status and tried to interact with the term. “Nothing I do gives any more information. But it feels like it’s going to limit me.” He bit his lip a little. “I think it was a result of my Core choice,” he added at the end, giving more explanation. “I picked a more selfish option.”

His father scratched his head. “That would make more sense. The property is totally new to me. Though I still hold that it could be good. Reduced crafting costs is one of the best perks for a beginning crafter.”

Tristan was a bit hesitant to add, “So it’s not bad that it has a property even you’ve never heard of?”

“Not necessarily,” his father reassured him. “Your Core is all about you, just as your Path is a journey of self-discovery. What lies before you will be shaped by you, after all. So there’s no telling how your Core will grow. Just trust that your Path will try to guide you along the way.”

Tristan nodded along as his father confirmed what he’d suspected and was glad that his father seemed excited for him. Tristan looked down at the hammer in his hand. “I can’t wait to see where this takes me.”

“Me too,” his old man laughed. “You’ve Awakened! And now..."

“Yeah, got to get to work!” Tristan said, spinning his massive hammer in his hand. “I’ve got levels to grind!”

His father’s laugh deepened as he slapped Tristan’s back. “I understand. The forge is open to you--without me--from now on.” Then, catching himself, he added, “But we need to talk materials, even with your Core. I’ll give you whatever you can use, right now, for the next, uh, two hours. Consider it your Awakening gift. After that, you’ll have to gather your own. It’s part of the class for a reason.” He beamed at his son.

Tristan couldn’t believe it. “I can use anything...?”

“Nothing mithril or above,” his old man said, winking. “Don’t get crazy. You’re only level 1 after all.”

For now, Tristan thought, feeling the new strength in his arms.

“Now, where is your mother? She should see you, and--hmm, do you want me to stick around for a little while? Or would you like to experiment in here by yourself?”

Tristan actually thought about it. To have his father watch over his crafting would be... intense. Both good and bad. “I think I’d like a little time to myself. To figure out the new me,” he said, flexing.

His father chuckled. “I totally understand. Very few things greater in this world than the rush of Tiering up.”

Tristan thought he saw the pride in his old man’s eyes. It made him stand that much straighter.

“Anyway,” his father said, nearing the door, “don’t push too hard. Leveling, like good smithing, is a process. Every stroke and step along the way matters. If you try to go too fast, you’ll burn out--or hurt yourself.” His tone lightened once more. “You’ve got two hours. Let me know if you need anything at all. And enjoy!”

As his father left the forge, Tristan looked at the hammer in his hand and knew he could do more with it than he’d ever imagined. He’d seen his true potential during his Awakening. So while he was tired--drained in a way he’d never been before--he was also super excited. His father had given him two hours to work. And he’d get every second out of them.

Before he could commit to anything, he heard a commotion from outside, in the direction of their house.

Then he felt his father’s aura.

The full aura.

Without even a moment’s hesitation, Tristan hurried toward the door.

Gods pity whoever lit the old man’s fire.

Yet as soon as Tristan reached the door and opened it, the aura pulled back.

“I know precisely who your master is,” he heard his father on the cusp of yelling, “but I will not work on it today. My son has Awakened too. Besides, as I told you the last time you rode through, it will be ready in a week.”

The man standing opposite Tristan’s father was barely half the blacksmith’s size, which was to say slightly under average. He wore a white cloak trimmed in gold, and every time he moved it caught the light.

Tristan immediately recognized the flowering rose crest of the Longbloom family. He’d hated that crest ever since Lord Longbloom had hired his father for a full month, with such an insane timeline, that the old man couldn’t afford to train Tristan for even a few hours. Once again, Tristan had been penalized for the sake of Aaric blessed Longbloom.

The messenger shook his head and threw out his crossed arms, clearly unhappy with what he was hearing.

“I have been tasked--” he began.

“One. Week.” The voice boomed, aura flaring, causing reality to ripple with the truth of it. Tristan felt the house shake a little.

The smaller man took a step back, putting himself half outside the door. “He won’t be happy to hear--"

“Aaric will get his armor when I’m done with it,” the blacksmith roared, “and he’ll be happy then.”

“What if I come back tomorrow with double your current price?”

“Then you will still have six days to wait.” Tristan’s father declared, holding up seven fingers before slowly lowering one. He turned to Tristan. “Is my math really that hard to follow?”

Tristan kept his face rigid, not surprised his father had known he was there. “No, sir,” he said.

The Longbloom messenger turned toward Tristan, barely concealing his contempt. “I hear congratulations are in order, young sir.” His words sounded stiff and forced. Tristan could see the man measuring him with a casual [Identify].

“You may leave now,” his father said.

The cloak twisted, as the lights again danced with its golden accents. For a long moment, the only sound was from Tristan's father crossing his arms across his leather clad chest.

“I’ll be on my way, I suppose.”

“One week.”

There was no response save the cloaked man raising his hood and walking out, shutting the door behind himself.

“I think he got the message,” a new voice said, accompanied by forced laughter that somehow eased the tension of the room. Tristan's mother, Christha, emerged from behind the counter where she’d all but hidden during the altercation.

“Not likely,” Marrik Hammerson said, slightly growling as he looked toward the door. “The Longblooms will always believe their money changes the rules. But quality can't be rushed, no matter the price.” Then he looked at his wife, and a smile replaced his scowl. “But there is some good news!”

“I heard!” she replied, skipping over and hugging Tristan. “And I'm incredibly proud! I even made some garlic bread today because I felt today was the day!"

“You make that every day, Mom,” Tristan said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s made with extra love today,” she replied.

Tristan's father smiled as he joined their hug. “It doesn't matter. We are celebrating Tristan today!” Marrik slapped his son’s back. “Speaking of which, are you going to make use of the two hours I've given you, or what? What are you doing out here, wasting that fresh new Awakening. Get to crafting!”

He even pushed Tristan away, playfully -- but with enough force Tristan couldn't have resisted even if he wanted to. The proverbial clock was ticking, he supposed.

He considered his new skills, and how best to level up. Time to go work some metal.

As he walked back into the forge, he started humming his father's hammering tune. And for the first time in his life, he added a few notes of his own.

He knew exactly what he'd make next. His first Awakened craft:

A sword.