For a full day, I stayed inside the mansion, scanning my body for any signs of change. Horns. Wings. Nothing. Only the faint pulse of two energies—Miasma near my heart and dark aura in my abdomen—steady but uncooperative.
With a single internal potion left, I rested, thinking about what I truly needed: a weapon that suited me—both strength and precision. My sword. My survival. My ambition.
The next morning, I set out early. The blacksmith district lay several miles from the village: a stretch of forges, workshops, and scattered merchant stalls, smelling of molten metal and smoke. Sparks danced in the air, and the clanging of hammers echoed like thunder over cobblestone streets.
I tested sword after sword, swinging lightly, feeling their weight, balance, and grip. Most were made for knights—too heavy, too rigid, designed for brute force rather than subtle control. Others were crafted for mages—thin, delicate, often inscribed to channel magic, but useless for physical combat.
Dark affinity users weren't rare—but many leaned toward magic. Few chose the path of a warrior. And for someone like me, who wanted both strength and precision, there was almost nothing suitable. The swords available either favored the mage's finesse or the knight's raw power, leaving my kind stranded in between.
At one shop, I inquired about a custom weapon. The blacksmith glanced down at me, eyebrows raised.
"For your… dark affinity? Fifty gold coins."
"You're joking, right?" I asked.
He wasn't joking. I didn't have that kind of money.
I moved on, visiting shop after shop, asking if I could apprentice. Most barely looked at me.
"A child with dark aura? No value here. Go away."
Anger flared inside me, but I kept it in check. Losing control now would accomplish nothing.
Finally, I reached the fifth shop. Inside, an old man worked quietly at his forge. He didn't ask my age, my strength, or my aura.
"You are not suited to be my apprentice," he said flatly, hammer pausing mid-strike.
"I… I can do it," I said, my voice low but firm. "My affinity—dark. I can handle it. I want both: strength and precision. I can't follow just one path. That's why I need guidance… and a weapon that suits me."
The old man studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly.
"You'll never follow the easy path," he said. "But I see your persistence. Still, I will not accept you… yet."
This would be the place, I thought. Finally, someone who might understand—or at least challenge me.
I spent the day outside his shop, standing my ground. Morning sunlight burned my shoulders; evening shadows stretched long across the street. I begged. I pleaded. I refused to move.
Old man noticed. He narrowed his eyes from the doorway.
"Kid… are you serious? You'll stay out here all day?"
I said nothing. I just remained, silent and unmoving.
Hours crawled by. Sun rose. Sun fell. Finally, as night settled over the village, the old man approached. His face softened.
"Enough. I see your persistence. You'll be my apprentice. Stay in my house," he said, stepping closer. "My name is Duracal. But first… what's your name, kid?"
I hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Raven Kalyndor."
Duracal nodded slowly, as if weighing my words. "Raven… very well. First, I'll judge whether your body can handle the work."
Relief and exhaustion battled in my chest, but I nodded immediately.
I asked about his family.
"They went south. Too dangerous here," he said with a faint smile.
"Why didn't you leave?" I asked.
"I was born here," he replied quietly. "I'll die here."
Before sunrise the next day, Duracal woke me. Half-asleep, I saw his grin.
"Clean the chimney. We start forging at dawn."
Two hours later, soot covered my skin, and my arms burned. The chimney barely looked cleaner.
"Want to quit?" he asked, grinning.
I cursed silently but continued.
After a simple breakfast, he set the real work in motion.
"Clean the shop. Everything. Don't miss a corner."
When I hesitated, he demonstrated by deliberately causing a small explosion in the forge, sending debris flying. My heart jumped, but I cleaned everything meticulously, sweat stinging my eyes, lungs burning, muscles screaming.
Afternoon came. Exhaustion clawed at me, but I returned to the mansion to lock it up, then came back to continue.
By evening, he handed me a massive book: metals. Alloys. Properties. Failures.
"There'll be a test tomorrow," he said, eyes glinting. "While you clean the chimney again."
I collapsed onto my bedding that night, muscles screaming, lungs burning, skin smeared with soot and ash.
I had escaped loneliness—but had stepped straight into overwork.
And yet… a small smile tugged at my lips.
Because here, at last, I had a chance to forge my own path.
Because here, the weapons of the world might finally bend to me, instead of the other way around.
Because I was stubborn—and stubbornness had its price