Enoch returned to the workshop silver clinking in his hands. He put it into the satchel and patted it gently. He walked to the steel pile and took a blob of steel and put it inside the forge. A few moments later pulled it out with tongs and started hammering into it again.
He started folding it once again,
"Tamahagane will make a good body for the rapier." He murmured to himself
He folded this piece of steel 16 times this time and then proceeded to shape the body of the rapier.
He made the rapier have a sharp tip and then flattened it a little bit creating a sharp edge but a thin body. He covered the middle parts of the rapier with thick clay keeping the edges covered in a thinner layer.
Then he poured water onto the blade to quench it. He then turned down the heat and put the body of the rapier into the forge. He watched it without moving his eyes from it and took it out then cooled it and repeated the process 3 times. Just as he was contemplating putting it inside again he heard the bell from the temple in the distance and ran it across a whetstone. Hearing it ring loudly he smiled and placed it onto a rack on his work bench then walked out to the temple.
He walked casually as a large group of people were starting to form in front of the temple. The temple was the only white building in the whole village and it was adorned with a golden door and a horizontal line with smaller vertical lines of differing lengths coming from it.
The bell tolled just before midday, its sound rolling across Greywood village in slow, heavy waves. Enoch joined the stream of villagers moving toward the temple, his hands folded loosely in front of him, his expression calm and unreadable.
The temple of Order stood at the village center, built from pale stone that caught the light even under the dull sky. Tall columns lined the entrance, each carved with repeating symbols of balance and restraint. Inside, the air smelled of incense and clean stone. People filled the benches quickly, sitting straight-backed and quiet, as if the building itself demanded it.
Enoch took a seat near the middle, close enough to hear clearly but not so close as to draw attention. He had learned quickly that blending in meant more than silence. It meant posture, timing, and knowing when to lower your eyes.
The priest stepped forward, robed in white and gold. His voice was steady, practiced, and carried easily through the hall.
"Order is not comfort," the priest began. "It is discipline. It is knowing your place and remaining within it."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the congregation.
"The world beyond our borders is chaos," he continued. "Foreign ideas weaken the soul. Other gods corrupt the mind and to listen is to invite decay."
Enoch kept his face neutral, he nodded when others nodded. He bowed his head when they did.
"The god of Order protects us because we do not waver," the priest said. "We do not question, we do not bend to other influences. Control is freedom, obedience is clarity."
The words pressed in on Enoch, suffocating him, and disgusting him. Not because they were loud, but because they were absolute. There was no room for doubt in them, no room for thoughts other than the ones being instilled.
He reminded himself to breathe slowly.
"Those who stray," the priest went on, "those who entertain foreign beliefs or show sympathy to fallen faiths, bring ruin not only upon themselves, but upon all."
Enoch's hands tightened briefly, then relaxed, thankfully no one noticed.
He thought of Adam, of choice, of will. He let none of his thoughts show.
When the prayer ended and the congregation rose, Enoch rose with them. He recited the words he had memorized, careful to match the rhythm of the others. When it was over, he left with the crowd, head down, steps unhurried.
Outside, the air felt lighter, though the sky remained its usual grey. The village slowly returned to life, vendors called out, children ran ahead of their parents.
The bell fell silent.
Enoch walked home alone.
When he opened the door, warmth greeted him at once. Not just from the hearth, but from the sound of voices.
Laughter, loud, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
As he stepped inside, the scent of fish mixed with the smells of baked bread and herbs. He paused near the staircase, his eyes catching on something resting on a chair beside it.
A gambison, well-kept but clearly used, lay folded over the back. A sword rested against the seat, its scabbard plain but sturdy.
Enoch frowned slightly.
He set his boots aside and moved quietly toward the kitchen.
Rose's voice carried clearly now, animated and sharp in a way he had not heard before.
"I told you, Thomas, you always had a sharp tongue," she was saying. "And it's gotten you into more trouble than you care to admit."
A man's voice replied, amused and dismissive. "You always did exaggerate, Mother."
Enoch stepped into the doorway.
The young man stood near the table, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing travel-stained clothes. His hair was neatly cut, his posture confident to the point of arrogance. He turned at the sound of footsteps, his eyes flicking over Enoch with open assessment.
For just a moment, his mouth tightened.
Rose noticed Enoch at once.
"Enoch," she said brightly, her face lighting up. She crossed the room quickly and took his arm, pulling him forward. "You're back just in time."
She guided him toward the young man with clear enthusiasm.
"This is my son," she said, pride and tension tangled together in her voice. "Thomas."
Thomas inclined his head slightly, not quite a bow. "So you're the one staying here."
Enoch met his gaze evenly. "I am. My name is Enoch Magnus."
Rose smiled between them, unaware or choosing not to notice the edge in the air.
"He arrived this morning. Can you believe it, after all this time?"
Thomas gave a short laugh. "Duty brings a man where letters do not."
Rose shot him a look. "And arrogance brings him back with it intact."
Enoch said nothing, only offering a polite nod. Inside, his thoughts were already moving, careful and measured.
This house had just become more complicated.
Enoch moved quickly after standing there like a fool. Without being asked, he stepped past Thomas and went to the sideboard, pulling out plates and setting them neatly on the table. His movements were calm and practiced, the kind that came from habit rather than eagerness. He laid out the cutlery evenly, then fetched the simple clay cups Rose used for guests.
Thomas did not help.
He stood near the wall instead, arms loosely crossed, watching Enoch in silence. His eyes followed every movement, sharp and measuring, as if trying to place him into a category that refused to fit neatly.
Rose returned from the hearth carrying a wide wooden serving plate. On it lay thick portions of greycomb fish, lightly charred, the skin crisp and the flesh pale and steaming. As she set it down in the center of the table, the aroma bloomed outward, rich and savory, filling the room at once.
"Oh, this smells wonderful," she said cheerfully.
She turned to Enoch and, without warning, reached up and pinched his cheeks between her fingers.
"You're such a good boy," she said warmly. "Always helping, never complaining. Thank you, dear."
Enoch blinked in surprise, then gave a small, awkward smile. "It's nothing, Rose."
Thomas's jaw tightened, just a little.
Rose continued bustling about, clearly pleased. Bread was brought out next, still warm, followed by slices of goat cheese wrapped in cloth. A bowl of bamboo shoots was placed beside a smaller dish of stir-fried spinach, dark green and glossy with oil. Finally, she set a jug of spiced wine on the table, the scent of cloves and fruit rising as she poured.
She clapped her hands together lightly. "Alright then. Food is served. Let's eat."
They took their seats. Rose settled at the head of the table, Thomas to her right, Enoch across from him.
Enoch reached for the cheese, lifting a soft white piece between his fingers, about to break it apart.
Thomas's voice cut through the room.
"We should pray first."
Enoch paused. Slowly, he set the cheese back down. He inclined his head slightly and gave Thomas a short nod.
"Of course."
Thomas looked at him for a moment longer than necessary, his frown deepening, then closed his eyes and began.
"Order that stands above all," he began, voice firm and practiced.
"Watcher of men and keeper of law, we thank you for the structure that keeps the world from falling into chaos."
"Grant us clarity of thought," Thomas continued,
"so we are not swayed by foreign ideas or false freedoms. Let our wills remain steady, our paths straight, and our hands obedient to the design you have set."
His prayer was long and rigid, filled with praise for Order, obedience, and purity. He thanked the god for structure, for clarity, for shielding the faithful from corruption. His words sounded memorized, polished from repetition rather than belief.
Rose bowed her head respectfully, hands folded. Enoch mirrored her posture, his face calm but his thoughts elsewhere.
When Thomas finally finished, he opened his eyes with a satisfied look.
They began eating.
For a while, only the sounds of cutlery and quiet chewing filled the room.
Thomas took a long drink of wine before speaking, clearly settling into himself.
"Greywood has been quiet," he said. "Too quiet. That usually means something is being planned elsewhere."
Rose leaned forward. "Is that so?"
"Yes," Thomas replied. "We cleared a border settlement last winter. A nest of dissenters. They were spreading ideas that weakened loyalty to the Order."
"What happened to them?" Rose asked.
"They were dealt with," he said plainly. "Swiftly. Mercy only breeds hesitation."
Rose nodded, though her smile wavered. "I see"
Thomas smiled faintly at that.
"We marched at dawn," he went on. "Cold air, mud everywhere. Men complaining, as they always do. But once steel is drawn, they remember why discipline matters."
He glanced at Enoch. "You ever seen real battle?"
Enoch swallowed his food and shook his head. "No. Just the forge."
Thomas hummed. "Then you wouldn't understand. There's comfort in command. When men stop thinking and start following."
Rose laughed softly. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is simple," Thomas said. "People complicate things when they think too much."
He continued between bites.
"There was one village that resisted. Not violently. Just… quietly. Wouldn't kneel. Wouldn't recite the prayers properly."
Rose's brow creased. "And?"
"We removed the influence," Thomas replied. "Burned the meeting house, took the leaders away."
"Taken where?" Rose asked.
Thomas shrugged. "That isn't my concern."
He took another drink.
"Order keeps the world clean," he said. "If we allow doubt, everything rots, faith must be firm."
Rose nodded again, slower this time. "I.. I suppose that's.. that's true."
Thomas leaned back slightly, clearly warming to the attention.
"That's why Count Esthen chose me," he said. "He needs men who don't hesitate. Men who understand that peace is built on obedience."
The stories went on. Battles blurred together. Names meant nothing to Enoch, he just focused on the food, on finishing his portion neatly.
When the plates were finally empty, Enoch stood.
"I'll clear these," he said gently. "You two should keep talking."
Rose smiled warmly at him again. "You're too thoughtful, dear."
Thomas said nothing.
Enoch gathered the plates and cups and carried them to the wash basin. He cleaned them quickly and quietly, setting them aside to dry. As he turned back toward the dining room, Rose's voice reached him, suddenly sharp.
"No."
Enoch stopped.
"I won't have it," Rose continued, louder now. "I am not leaving this village for some place I don't know."
He stood in the doorway, unseen.
Thomas's voice followed, controlled but firm. "Mother, listen to me."
"No," she said again. "You disappear for years, write when it suits you, and now you expect me to accept this without question?"
"I've been appointed Knight Lord," Thomas said. "Under Count Esthen himself. This is not a whim."
There was a pause.
"My duties will increase," he went on. "I will be busy. I may not be able to write often. That is why I want to see you while I can. Every day, if possible."
Rose laughed bitterly. "You think that makes it better?"
Footsteps sounded, sharp and quick. Then the sound of someone ascending the stairs.
"I said no," Rose shouted, her voice breaking. A door slammed above them.
Thomas muttered something under his breath and strode toward the staircase.
Enoch stepped back just in time, pressing himself against the wall as Thomas passed him without a glance, already moving upward after her.