Chapter Four — Part Three
"Yes, I can see that. Is that amount enough?" Zain replied to him, "Yes, you can stop. That amount is sufficient."
The Sword of the Sky withdrew his hand while Zain handed him a piece of cloth and wrapped it around his hand to stop the bleeding.
"Thank you for that, and remember I trust you. You will succeed this time, I am sure."
"I will take that sword and set off at once to slaughter and spill blood. I long for it — indeed, I have lived for it until now."
Zain nodded and said, "And I will watch you when you do it."
Zain smiled with a bright expression. "Heh, show them how strong you are, my friend."
He turned in the opposite direction and left, leaving Zain looking at his back with admiration.
His eyes flamed with determination and excitement; he tightened his fists and whispered, "I will forge hope and shatter it with my own hands now."
What will it be — the light of hope or the darkness of despair? he murmured. "Let's find out at once."
He lifted the crucible and poured it quietly into the mold, but this time he emptied it completely, unlike the previous times.
The reason: he wanted to keep the fang's effect in the mixture.
The Sword of the Sky had brought a single fang and used it the first time, but the result had failed.
But leaving a molten fragment of it and adding more could preserve its effect and spread it through the rest of the alloy.
Zain waited for a moment until the molten metal took a solid form, then immediately poured water while repeating the same previous steps.
He gripped the sword's hilt and began hammering, shaping its steel with precision.
Zain continued to hammer while thinking to himself.
He thought, "I will not disappoint you. I am not what I was. Yesterday's Zain is not today's Zain.
I have always walked alone along an unknown path, lost, wandering without a clear goal.
But since I met you, the dullness of my life gained meaning.
The path became clear and I walked toward a single goal: to make this sword.
So why did I fail before? I do not know, but as soon as I succeed now I will know.
I have passed through many dangers and hardships, and here I am overcoming them.
I refine this sword and refine myself as well.
I am no longer the one you know; I am a scholar and I am a blacksmith.
I will not be shunned again. I have passed you and walked alone.
And now I have earned their appreciation.
I will not let what I have forged of glory be carried away by the wind.
I will reclaim my glory and dignity. The world will know me.
I stepped forward while you remained behind. Leave you like that."
Zain sank into his feelings, and his hammering on the sword became noticeably fiercer.
All eyes were turned to see Zain's spirit; it was he who hammered that sword.
No one stopped him, no one questioned him.
It remained so until Zain finished shaping and moved on to the sharpening stage.
This time he was gentler in his handling of the blade.
"Shhhh..." back and forth, the addition of water made Zain's whetstone sing and carry him into his banished memories.
Behind the shadow of a blink: two small hands, falling snow, bitter cold, and a thin body clothed in a single rag that neither warmed nor protected.
Amid a snowstorm, in a place devoid of life — no trees, no rivers, no caves to shelter from the cold's cruelty.
This seven-year-old boy kept walking and walking; his jaw chattered and his hands trembled from the cold.
Snow covered his hair while his bare feet sank into it.
His eyes were pale and his nose was red; as the snow continued to fall it covered half his body and his feet could barely move.
Over time his feet weakened, and he fell, but his body crawled on until his eyelids closed and his body refused to move; he lost consciousness and snow covered him.
So what will his fate be, one wonders?
Warmly, the child spoke. His eyelids moved until they opened, and the sight that met him held him captive: wooden walls, candles lighting and warming the place.
He raised half his body and found himself lying on someone else's bed; a thick blanket and soft, comfortable bedding.
"Where am I?" the child asked, but who would answer?
He lifted the cover and rose to look around, when suddenly the door opened.
A middle-aged man appeared, wearing heavy clothes and gloves, a hat on his head to protect against the cold.
The man looked at the child and felt surprised, but he smiled.
"So you've woken up! I'm glad for you. I thought you were dead when I found you. It's a miracle you could withstand that cold."
The child drew back in fear and did not utter a word.
The man approached and reached out to touch him, but the child stepped back until the wall stopped him.
He closed his eyes at last, then opened them immediately when a large warm hand touched his head and patted him.
He received a warm smile that shone like light: "No need to be afraid, I won't hurt you — trust me.
If you want, I can send you back to your parents right now. But first you must eat; you must be starving."
The child shook his head, and the man led him to sit on a chair opposite a table with two metal plates full of roasted meat.
The aroma reached the child's nose and his mouth watered, and the man immediately fed him a piece.
The child accepted it; his eyes sparkled, two tears — it was as if his tongue tasted meat for the first time.
The child remained silent the whole time until he finished eating, then the man asked, "So, how did things come to this?"
The child did not answer. The man changed his question: "What is your name? Won't you answer me this as well?"
The child was silent for a moment until faint but audible words left his mouth: "My name is Zain."
"Heh... what a beautiful name! My name is Silf, pleased to meet you, Zain."
Zain replied in a soft voice, "Likewise."
Here Zain began to open up to Silf.
Silf said, "So, Zain, aren't you going to tell me so I can return you to your parents?"
Zain answered with a sigh, "I have no parents; they died when I was little."
"My uncle and his wife took me in, but they were very cruel to me; they beat me for the slightest things and starved me.
They did not give me bedding or blankets at night, nor winter clothes.
They made me do hard tasks like gathering firewood and washing clothes, and said I lived only by their mercy."
"I could no longer bear it; death seemed better. I walked alone without direction until I collapsed."
Silf was shocked, speechless; he rose and embraced Zain: "Don't worry, from now on you will always be by my side. I will take care of you; you will be comfortable and I will make up for everything you have been through."
"Are there really people so cruel who do not appreciate the blessing of having children?" Silf wondered.
Zain began to cry — not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy because his suffering might be over.
But would it truly end, or would it only begin...?
"Your clothes are tattered, it's better you change. Wait a minute."
Silf prepared to pack and began rifling through his bags one by one, murmuring, "I remember I have some clothes of my nephew."
After several minutes of searching, Silf finally found clothes suitable for Zain: leather shoes with soft cotton, thick black cotton trousers, several undergarments, a thick coat with a high collar lined with polar bear fur, and a gray cotton cap.
Zain felt an overwhelming happiness and began to cry: "For the first time since I was born I have winter clothes."
"I am truly grateful to you, Mr. Silf, for your kindness."
Silf smiled slightly, a touch of sadness at the same time; he watched Zain inspect his clothes with joy and felt satisfied with what he had done.
"You may lie down on the bed. I'll bring tea to warm you."
Silf went out and brought a kettle full of water and set it on the fire he had kindled outside.
Zain remained alone, looking at the details of the wooden cottage.
It was a larger-than-usual hut; it could accommodate two or more beds.
On the right there was a small window, and just below it a long, wide wooden plank used for preparing dishes and cooking from the outside.
There were two wooden cups for tea.
After Zain felt a little bored, Silf finally returned holding the kettle, wearing a glove because of the heat.
Silf poured the hot water into the cups and left them a moment for the tea to brew.
They each took their cup and sipped at the same time.
"Mmm... delicious!"