Inside a closed dark chamber,
In the bowels of the forge, where shadow and fire battled for dominion. The titan of the hearth, Hasashi, muscles flexed, sculpted from sweat and soot, wrestled a silver of the celestial light into submission, laid upon his anvil. Each hammer blow was a primal scream, shaping the defiant metal into the form of a sword, long and heavy like a sunburst captured in the Earth's grip. Starlight writhed under the strikes, it's cosmic core screaming resistance against his brutal torture. Yet, he drove on, eyes ablaze with a hunger that devoured any hint of pity. He was building an instrument of chaos, not justice, moulding the very essence of hope into a blade meant to bleed darkness.
Shadows danced on the walls, ashamed of their forced complicity in this act of universal robbery. Through that shame, Adams walked, a man with molten gold fused and flowing in his long blonde curtained hair, one side covering his left eye, his lean frame a contrast to the forge's oppressive bulk, he was wearing not an overcoat or a cloak but something that was a mix of both of them.
His only visible right eye narrowed against the sword's horrific cry, he questioned, "I never understand, why cling to this barbaric dance with traditions, Hasashi?"
"Why?? You'll never understand!" Hasashi granted, eyes never leaving the blade beneath his hammer. "But for a hint for the words, this dance is its own reason. Neyth-ras, our precious fuel, leave wounds too easily healed. This captive star needs scars to bleed blood on the battlefield!"
The metal screamed its final defiance, a desperate plea lost in the din of the forge. But Hasashi, deaf to the whispers of righteousness, wielded his hammer like a sceptre of oppression and struck again, a last round of thunderclaps in the confines of the forge. The metal, bright as a fallen sun, writhed under the blows, sparks from it erupting like constellations against the cavernous gloom. Every hit bended the will of the blade, twisting it into a weapon of shadows he desired, with each clang, the scales of justice tipping further, the weight of innocence under the smith's ruthless will, the blade hissed defence even in its surrender.
He plunged it into a strange crimson liquid, quenching its anger and pain, in a barrel just a few steps beside the anvil, his breath mingling with the smoke that it erupted. The ember-like iron, ironically, was still burning under that bath, casting wrinkly patterns of specular reflection on his face and the ceiling.
"More than a year of forging, just to capture the shadow lord!" Adams remarked, "Doesn't time ebb for you!"
"A year's preparation is better than decades of failure. I have got to perform the justice this nation lacks. The blade's done, now the halt awaits."
He then slowly, painstakingly, started to pull out the weapon he had forged in the furnace's maw, holding the only part that wasn't submerged in the crimson syrup with the tongs, meant to be covered with the haft later. Then, a sound, not of a clang or a hiss but a shriek, a serrated noise slicing through eardrums, it tore through the silence of the cabin. A sound like cutting glass using a thread, or fingernails scraping down the abyss, analogous to chalks on a blackboard, echoed around the room as the blade emerged, rubbing its edges with the liquid's level, amplifying a thousand folds.
Crimson clung to its sides, dripping like macabre jewels, but as it cleared from the surface, gasps erupted. Where once steel held sway, where starlight had been wrestled into form, now only air simmered. The sword was gone, replaced by a glass, a ghost, a phantom of the blade.
It was transparent, so impossibly so that it appeared to be a trick of light, a refraction of the dying forge fire. One could see through it, the crimson depths of the vat swirling within its ethereal form. Yet, its sharpness, that it had unknowingly achieved somehow, danced with a spectral hunger, a faint hum vibrating along its length like a restless spirit.
"A blood thirsty sin…" Silence choked the environment, replaced by the ragged shocked breaths of the onlooker, Adams, as it was completely pulled out. He had never seen anyone create this specific blade before without using any shades. It didn't bite, didn't burn, but it promised to send a chill through the spins of any beholder.
Though for Hasashi, an as skilled of a blacksmith as he was good in swordsmanship, it was a child's play. A smile, evilish, emeled onto his face.
"Better!"
He was the one who had created it, the monster and master who had despite its resilience given it, its, this higher and savere form, so he named it: Yona. Meaning: Bear.
…
"Bastard!! Just what does he think he is!! Just see, Reada! If I don't make you kneel before me and beg forgiveness for all this humiliation!! Just wait until I become a lord, especially a top ranker and Make You Serve Under Me Like A Servant!!" Alvish, descending down the stairs vented out her anger as she was on her way to bring Reada the water he had asked for.
She was blustering, thinking there was no one to hear her madness, and for the most part she was right too. While the bowl that Reada had given her, that once had the cookies, she was swinging it's horizontal side vertically as she was thoughtfully taking her steps.
"Wait- won't he be only serving under me if he becomes a lord too?? …Will he apply for lordship too then?" All of a sudden realisation hit her, and then she continued the rest of her trip tiredly, her thoughts having broken, "Aaah… most of the chances are… he is smart and strong at using his shade, not to forget his special shade and blah blah blah. He's a competition!"
Immediately, before she could take her last step, and place her feet on the floor, she stopped as her eyes fell upon the entrance to her living room. It was a bit away from the stairs and her kitchen was also on the other side so she couldn't see any of its inside but it had reminded her of something.
"Shut!!" She hit her forehead with her left hand's palm, hard, realising her dumbness, "Alvish, –o-O Alvish, you're such an idiot. His father's a No-more, that is why he knows so much about shades. Why couldn't you say that to him there? Why couldn't you figure that out before when he was making fun of you." She, while covering her mouth with her other hand, whispered to herself at the same time she ran into the kitchen with her face red, ashamed of her stupidity.
Yes, this is the real her!
Even though she, when it's in her narrative, shows herself to be super smart and elegant, this is the real her.
Even if I claim her to be an epitome of the word 'learner', this is what she actually is!
A daydreamer!!
Ignoring all those useless thoughts, which was making her anxious, she took a glass and poured it full with water and drank it all in a single go, taking care of her hydration as well while she was at it. She then filled another glass, placing the one she had used and the bowl from before aside. She finally marched towards her stairs, to finally go back to him.
"YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING AT ALL ABOUT US!!"
"I'm Extremely Sorry, Ma'am!"
Suddenly startled by that familiar voice in the form of screams she freezed before she could climb even one step. As she turned her vision fell on Mr Targil, running out of the living room, horrified, rushing to the home's exit. Her mind flummoxed, her body moved on its own towards where he had come out from, to know the reason for that wailing.
"I'm Not A Good Mother, Hina!!"
Her legs weren't able to enter the room after seeing her reputedly beautiful & mature, young looking aunt, another of the people she idolised, Alie, her head tilted forward, weeping.
"I've The Eyes Of Inamo. They Allow Me To See Anyone's Biological Structure And Feelings. Every Parent Wants To See Their Child Smile, Grow And Glow. But Each Time I See Him, I Only See Darkness Inside Him! Since His Childhood, Till Now!"
"Calm down, Alie! Come on, come on— take it easy!"
Her mother was also sitting beside her, on the sofa, trying hard, desperately, to make her stop somehow, while stroking her hair firmly, saying hopeful words to her, as if she was her own daughter. From where Alvish was standing, only the back of their heads was visible.
"He's Not Like Others. He 'As Spent His Whole Childhood In Darkness! I Just Want To Help Him, But I, Everytime, Mess Up!!"
Her crying was ongoing and her voice loudened, even though she, herself, tried hard to stop too. She was continuously wiping off her tears with her sleeves, but they were not so easy to fade as they were the storage of her regret, a grief over her past mistake. Her sorrows and her apologies throughout her entire life, from the moment she gave birth to him.
"Just cool down! Everything will be alright. Just cool down for a moment!" Hina added more effort and embraced her, setting her head on her shoulder.
"There's No Difference! I Had Failed To Give Him A Good Childhood. And Now I'm Failing To Give Him A Happy Life. I'm Such A Failure As A Mother!!"
A chill travelled through her whole body and her eyes maximised as the glass in her hand started to shake. She would have definitely hugged her, to comfort her from her sorrows, if she wasn't leaning or was close infront of her. A mother, wailing in care of her child, with an unknown means. But she was courageless to do even a small movement, at the end her mind didn't find the answers to the questions it was continuously asking: What was the reason she was crying so heavily for? What was the reason that Mr Targil had run away so fearfully? What had actually happened inside that room in the meantime?
She figured out, it surely had to do something with her class teacher's behaviour from earlier. But that gave her another topic to ponder over: What was the, so very cause, for Mr Targil's dislike against him, that he was trying to blame him, so shamelessly, even after being proved wrong in front of everyone??