Four days passed.
Four long days of bruised ribs, early mornings, wooden-sword drills, aching muscles, and sleepless nights haunted by the memory of the men I killed in the Red Lantern House.
Four days of working nonstop—cleaning tables, delivering drinks, guarding the doors when things got rowdy—just to scrape together enough bronzes.
By the time the sun rose on the fifth morning, I finally had what I needed:
Fifty-two bronze coins.
Barely enough… but enough.
A real sword.
A real step forward.
I jogged to the blacksmith. I was then greeted by the great door.
My hands shook a little as I pushed open the blacksmith's door.
Heat slammed into my face from the forge. Metal clanged rhythmically. Sparks flew like angry fireflies across the dim workshop.
A rough voice barked without looking at me:
"If you're selling scrap, piss off. I'm busy."
The old man turned—beard like steel wool, eyebrows like dying brushfires, eyes sharp enough to cut iron.
He wore a soot-stained apron and held a half-finished blade that glowed orange.
This had to be Lance, the best blacksmith in the slums.
"Uh… sir," I said. "I'm here to buy a sword."
His face scrunched like he'd swallowed rotten fruit or something extremely sour.
"A sword? You?"
He looked me up and down—skinny frame, tired eyes, worn-out clothes—and snorted.
"Go buy a kitchen knife, kid."
He walked past me, grabbed a bucket of water, and dunked the blade with a violent hiss.
"I have money," I insisted.
"So does every idiot who wants to wave steel around."
He shot me a glare.
"My swords go to fighters. Warriors. People who'll take them beyond this rat hole and give them a real story, and a name."
"I will," I said.
He scoffed so hard it shook dust from his beard.
"You? You're what—twelve?"
"Fourteen."
"Same thing," he growled.
He stomped toward the front door and shoved it open.
"Get lost, brat. Come back when you grow a backbone instead of a twig."
He started to close the door.
"Wait."
He froze—not because of my voice, but because of my tone.
I met his eyes.
"I'm taking the Lionhearth knight apprentice exam soon."
His brows lifted a millimeter. That was progress.
"And when I pass," I continued, "I'll take your sword out of Lionhearth, out of Okrith—maybe out of the continent. I'll carry it to the top with me."
His gaze sharpened.
I stepped closer.
"I'm not aiming to be a royal's dog. I'll be a true knight. A real one. The kind the world remembers, I want to help people."
My chest burned with the truth of it.
"I'll take your sword with me. Your legacy with me."
Silence.
Then Lance grunted, rubbed his beard, and muttered:
"…Damned brat."
He shuffled back inside, unlocked a heavy metal rack, and returned with a sheathed blade wrapped in cloth.
"Here."
He shoved it into my chest.
"I don't give this to cowards. This is my life's best work. Don't make me regret it. "
I stared at it—my first real sword—feeling the world shift beneath my feet.
"I won't," I said.
"You better not," he snapped. "Now get the hell out before I raise the price."
I left with the sword hugging my chest and my heart pounding like it was too big for my ribs.
That night at the Red Lantern House, I felt different.
Not stronger.
Not safer.
Just… more aware.
The sword rested against my hip, still sheathed. I wasn't allowed to draw it inside, but its weight grounded me.
Near midnight, the halls went strangely quiet.
Too quiet.
I turned—
A cold whisper brushed my ear.
"Storm Rat."
I ducked on instinct.
A blade sliced through the air where my head had been.
I rolled, kicked off a table, and drew my sword in one fluid motion.
The assassin was quick—lean, masked, dark clothing marked with a faint red tide at the shoulder.
Red Tides.
I didn't think.
Didn't breathe.
Just moved.
Steel clashed. Sparks flew. The brothel's red lanterns flickered wildly.
He lunged for my throat.
I stepped inside his reach, elbowed his inner arm, and drove my sword into his chest.
Warm blood splashed across my arm.
He choked, staggered, and collapsed.
Blood stained the floor again. He was dead.
Wait.. just one?
Why only one assassin?
My breath came fast and uneven.
Something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
Then—
BOOOOOOM.
A thunderous explosion rocked the entire slums.
The floor trembled. Dust fell from the ceiling. People screamed downstairs.
I ran to the doorway and looked outside.
Orange fire bloomed in the night sky.
Smoke curled upward like a dying dragon.
My heart stopped.
The orphanage.
I sprinted.
Feet slamming the ground.
Heart breaking my ribs.
Mind screaming one thing:
Rua. Flin. The others.
The streets blurred.
People shouted.
Bells ringing in the distance.
I turned the final corner—
And the world faded, the color dropped out from under me.
The orphanage was gone.
Completely.
A smoldering crater replaced the building I'd lived in my entire life.
Burning wood.
Shattered brick.
Bodies—
I stumbled forward.
"No… no, no—Rua? Flin?! RUA?! FLIN!!!"
I screamed until my voice tore.
I knelt in the ash, hands digging into burnt debris until my fingers bled and burned.
Nothing.
My mind knew the truth before my heart did:
They were gone.
All of them.
My breath hitched.
The world spun.
My sword slipped from my hand.
The wind shifted—and with it, something inside me.
Something cold.
Sharp.
Changes in the wind.
I didn't know it yet.
But Rua and Flin were alive.
Only I didn't know.
And the night I thought I lost them…