Bruce let out a long, satisfied sigh.
"Hehehehe~..."
A giggle bubbled out of him like it couldn't be contained, and the grin on his face stretched wide enough to hurt.
"My... master-piece."
Across the forge, Vernon stood hunched over a workbench, surrounded by scattered strips of wood, carving tools, and shavings that clung to his sleeves like snow.
He clicked his tongue.
"Tsk. Making a handle is more difficult than you made it look, dad..."
Bruce's head snapped up immediately, eyes shining.
"Vernon! Come and take a look!"
The excitement in Bruce's voice was so loud it practically shook the walls.
Vernon didn't even glance over.
"Just give me a minute."
Bruce pouted dramatically, as if Vernon had just committed a crime against craftsmanship.
Outside the forge, the air was cooler.
The morning wind rolled through the yard, carrying the smell of iron, ash, and damp stone. Hunk and Derek sat near the old well, their backs against the wooden frame, shoulders relaxed.
They weren't speaking.
Not because they had nothing to say.
But because it felt like the kind of silence that didn't demand to be filled.
Inside, the forge was alive.
A hammer clanged in steady rhythm.
Wood tapped against a table.
Flames puffed and crackled.
Steam hissed whenever Bruce quenched hot metal in water, each burst rising like a ghost and dissolving into the air.
Hunk's gaze stayed forward, but his voice was quiet.
"So..." he said slowly, as if the word itself weighed something. "What's the reason for your return, Derek?"
Derek didn't answer.
His expression was tight-not anger, not fear, not grief.
Just something tangled.
A storm caught behind his eyes.
Hunk waited.
Seconds passed.
The hammering continued.
Bruce laughed at something inside.
Vernon muttered to himself.
And Derek stared at the well like it might speak first.
Hunk exhaled through his nose.
Then, softer:
"Want something to drink?"
Derek blinked, as if he'd forgotten where he was.
"I'm good."
His voice was steady, but the pause before it wasn't.
Hunk didn't push.
He simply nodded once and leaned his elbows onto his knees.
Derek's fingers rubbed over his face, slow and tired. He dragged his hand down his jaw and stared at the dirt beneath his boots.
Then he spoke again.
A little quieter.
"I'm planning on returning to the world."
Hunk's eyes shifted, subtle but sharp.
Derek's mouth twitched-almost like a bitter smile.
"This time... I'll be out there as the thing they labelled me as."
The words were calm.
But they landed like iron.
Hunk's jaw tightened.
"...Why?" he asked simply.
"You could've stayed hidden. No one's bothered you for years."
Derek's gaze flickered.
Not toward Hunk.
But toward the forge.
Toward the sound of the boys.
The rhythm of their work.
As if the answer was already hammering itself into shape inside those walls.
Hunk followed Derek's eyes, and for a moment his expression softened.
Then, as if a thought struck him too late, he asked:
"Where is she?"
The question wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
Derek didn't answer.
The air changed.
The forge still crackled. The hammer still rang. The wind still moved.
But something between them went still-like the world itself had paused, listening.
Clang.
Bruce's hammer struck iron inside.
The sound echoed out.
And the moment snapped back into motion.
Hunk's gaze lowered.
He let out a breath, slow and heavy.
"...I see."
His voice turned quieter, rougher.
"My condolences."
Derek didn't look away.
He didn't nod.
He didn't speak.
But his silence was louder than any confession.
Hunk's hands curled slightly into fists.
"...So that's why."
Derek finally exhaled, and it sounded like the weight had been sitting on his chest for years.
"My promise to protect Vernon and Bruce..." he said slowly, "...is what kept me sane."
His voice didn't tremble.
That was the terrifying part.
"If I didn't have that promise..." Derek continued, eyes narrowing, "I would've rushed into the world blindly. Looking for revenge."
Hunk's head snapped toward him.
"Revenge?"
His tone sharpened.
The calm in his posture cracked like old wood.
"...Someone killed her?"
Anger rose into his face so fast it almost looked unnatural, like it had been waiting under his skin this whole time.
His voice dropped low.
"Do you have a lead?"
Hunk leaned forward slightly, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
"You must have something, Derek. You don't crawl out of hiding for nothing."
Derek was quiet for a moment.
Then he spoke carefully.
"That morning was... fuzzy."
He stared at the well again, like the water inside it held memories.
"I've never felt anything like it. Not before. Not even in war."
His voice slowed.
"But I remember one detail clearly."
Hunk didn't blink.
Derek's gaze lifted.
"A single wooden pillar survived."
Hunk's brow furrowed.
Derek continued.
"It had a crest burned into it."
Hunk stared at him.
Then he let out a short laugh-sharp, almost bitter, but not mocking.
"...That sounds like her."
He shook his head slowly.
"She'd find a way to leave a message even in death."
Derek's lips lifted, faint and fragile.
"Yeah," he murmured. "That was her."
The smile didn't last long.
It couldn't.
Derek's expression hardened again, and when he spoke, it was like he'd decided something long ago and was only now saying it out loud.
"Once we finish forging their weapons..." he said, voice firm, "we move out."
Hunk didn't respond immediately.
He only stared at Derek as if seeing him clearly for the first time in years.
Then, quietly:
"...So you're really doing it."
Derek didn't answer.
But inside the forge-
Bruce's voice rang out again.
"VERNON! LOOK AT THIS!"
Vernon's annoyed reply followed.
And for a brief moment, the world didn't feel like revenge.
It felt like purpose.
Bruce practically vibrated with pride.
"VERNON! Look at this!"
Vernon didn't even turn around. He was hunched over the workbench like a man cursed, surrounded by wood shavings and splinters that clung to his clothes and hair. His fingers moved carefully, carving a groove into the handle blank with a chisel that looked far too small for the task.
"Tch... give me a minute," he muttered. "I'm fighting for my life over here."
Bruce scoffed dramatically.
"Fighting? I'm crafting history."
Vernon finally glanced up, eyes flat.
"You're crafting noise."
Bruce clutched his chest.
"That hurt."
The forge rang again-clang, clang-the sound of Vernon tapping the chisel, followed by the soft rasp of sanding. Bruce stood proudly beside his anvil, holding up a long piece of metal like it was a royal decree.
It wasn't finished.
Not even close.
But the shape was there. A thick spine curved forward into a hooked point, its shape forming the beginnings of a blade that leaned closer to a sickle than a dagger neither a sword.
Bruce admired it with an intensity that made it look like he'd birthed it himself.
"My masterpiece," he whispered again, reverent.
Vernon rolled his eyes.
"It looks like an iron leaf."
"It looks like destiny."
"It looks like a shovel blade."
Bruce's smile twitched.
"...Okay, rude."
Vernon turned back to his handle.
"If you want to impress me, make it symmetrical."
Bruce narrowed his eyes at his work as if the metal had personally betrayed him.
"It is symmetrical."
Vernon didn't look up.
"No."
Bruce's pride visibly cracked.
Outside, the forge door creaked.
Derek stepped in, followed by Hunk's heavy silhouette.
The air shifted immediately.
Not because Derek was angry-he wasn't.
But because Derek had that look again.
That quiet focus that made it feel like even the flames straightened their posture.
Bruce's head snapped toward the entrance.
"Oh! Dad!"
Vernon paused his carving too, glancing over with cautious curiosity.
Hunk leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching like a man observing children playing too close to a river.
Derek's gaze swept across the forge.
The tools laid out.
The materials.
The scattered scraps of iron.
The mess Vernon had made of the table.
And the way Bruce was holding his half-formed weapon like it was sacred.
Derek's eyes narrowed slightly.
"...Good," he said.
Bruce blinked.
"That's it? Just good?"
Derek walked past them toward the anvil, his steps slow and measured.
He picked up Bruce's unfinished piece, weighing it in his hand.
Bruce stood straighter.
Vernon leaned forward slightly, curiosity winning over his pride.
Derek turned the metal in his palm.
Checked the edges.
The thickness.
The taper.
Then he gave a single nod.
"You shaped it clean."
Bruce's grin returned instantly.
"Yes!"
Derek set it down gently.
"But you're too excited."
Bruce froze.
"...What?"
Derek glanced at him.
"If you get excited in a forge, you burn."
Hunk chuckled quietly.
Bruce stared at his father as if Derek had just insulted his entire bloodline.
"That is... not fair."
"It's fair," Derek replied. "The forge doesn't care about your feelings."
Vernon smirked without looking up.
Bruce pointed accusingly.
"Vernon is smirking. Stop him."
"I'm not responsible for his face," Derek said.
Hunk's chuckle grew louder.
Bruce turned his glare toward the large smith.
"You're enjoying this."
Hunk shrugged.
"I enjoy watching young men learn humility."
Bruce's eyes narrowed further.
"I'm going to become a legend, you know."
Hunk leaned forward slightly.
"You're going to become a burn victim if you keep talking."
Vernon snorted.
Bruce huffed, offended, and turned away.
Derek stepped toward Vernon's workbench.
He lifted the half-carved handle blank and examined it.
Vernon watched him closely.
Derek's fingers traced the grooves Vernon had carved.
Then he looked at Vernon.
"Not bad."
Vernon's chest loosened slightly, but he still tried to sound unimpressed.
"...It's harder than it looks."
Derek's mouth twitched.
"It's supposed to be."
Vernon stared at the wood.
"Wood doesn't listen."
Hunk nodded solemnly.
"Wood is stubborn. It thinks it's better than you."
Vernon glanced at him.
"...That's exactly what it feels like."
Bruce crossed his arms.
"Metal listens to me."
Hunk's eyes shifted to Bruce.
"No. Metal tolerates you."
Bruce gasped.
Vernon laughed, actually laughed, and the sound startled him as much as it did Bruce.
Bruce stared at him like he'd just seen a rare animal.
"You can laugh?"
Vernon shot him a look.
"Shut up."
Bruce smiled proudly.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Bruce."
Derek clapped his hands once.
The sound cut through the warmth like a bell.
"Enough."
Both boys immediately straightened.
Derek walked to the grinding stone in the corner.
It sat heavy and old, a wheel mounted on a sturdy frame, with grooves in the stone from decades of sharpening. Nearby lay files, polishing cloth, oil, and a set of chisels meant for engraving.
Hunk pushed off the doorway and walked over, arms still folded.
Derek glanced at the two boys.
"Today you learn sharpening."
Bruce's eyes widened.
"Yes!"
Vernon's expression sharpened with focus.
Derek continued.
"And you learn why weapons are not forged in excitement."
Bruce's smile faded.
"...Because the forge doesn't care about my feelings."
Derek nodded.
"Exactly."
Bruce muttered, "Cruel world..."
Hunk laughed again.
Derek gestured toward Bruce's unfinished blade.
"Bring it."
Bruce hurried forward, nearly tripping over a bucket, and held the metal out like an offering.
Derek took it, then placed it on the anvil.
He ran his finger along the edge.
"This is shaped," he said. "Not sharpened."
Bruce nodded quickly.
Vernon stepped closer too, eyes scanning every movement.
Derek picked up a file and held it in front of them.
"Sharpening is not about force. It's about patience."
He angled the file.
"You do not fight the blade. You guide it."
Then he dragged the file along the edge.
Scrrrrk.
A clean sound.
A clean stroke.
He repeated it.
Again.
Again.
The rhythm was slow.
Even.
Like breathing.
Bruce watched like he was hypnotised.
Vernon's eyes narrowed as he memorised the angle.
Derek spoke without looking up.
"You will ruin your blade if you sharpen too steep. You'll create a weak edge that chips."
He adjusted his grip slightly.
"And you will ruin it if you sharpen too shallow. You'll have a dull edge that never bites."
He dragged the file again.
Scrrrrk.
The metal shivered faintly.
"And you will ruin yourself," Derek added, "if you sharpen without respect."
Bruce blinked.
"...How do you ruin yourself?"
Derek glanced up.
"You'll think you're ready for battle because you have a weapon."
Hunk nodded approvingly.
"That's a fast way to die."
Bruce frowned.
"That's... terrifying."
Vernon spoke quietly.
"But true."
Derek's gaze returned to the blade.
"Your mother always said the same thing."
Hunk's expression shifted slightly.
The air tightened for half a second.
But Derek didn't let the weight linger. He continued, voice even.
"She said a weapon should be honest."
Bruce tilted his head.
"What does that mean?"
Derek's file scraped again.
"It means your weapon should match who you are."
Vernon stared at the blade.
"And if it doesn't?"
Derek's eyes flickered toward Vernon.
"Then you'll try to become someone you're not."
Silence sat between them.
Not heavy.
Just thoughtful.
Bruce scratched his cheek.
"...I'm definitely becoming a legend though."
Hunk snorted.
Vernon muttered, "He's hopeless."
Derek exhaled through his nose.
"...Continue."
After the file work came the stone.
Derek moved to the wheel and poured water over it.
The stone darkened, slick and ready.
He pressed the blade against it carefully.
The wheel turned.
Hrrrmmmm.
The grinding sound filled the forge like a low growl.
Sparks jumped.
Derek's hands didn't flinch.
His wrists moved with control, small adjustments, slight changes in pressure.
"Listen," Derek said over the sound.
Bruce leaned in.
Vernon did too.
Derek pulled the blade away.
The grinding stopped.
"You hear the difference?" Derek asked.
Bruce blinked.
"...It sounded like... it was singing?"
Vernon nodded slowly.
"It changes when it's uneven."
Derek's gaze sharpened.
"Good."
Hunk's eyebrow lifted.
"Fast learners."
Derek didn't respond.
He simply handed the blade to Bruce.
Bruce froze.
"...Me?"
Derek nodded.
"Sharpen."
Bruce swallowed.
He stepped toward the wheel as if approaching a beast.
He placed the blade against the stone.
Immediately, he pushed too hard.
SKRRRCH.
The sound was awful.
The blade jerked.
Bruce stumbled back.
Derek caught the weapon by the spine before it fell.
His voice was calm, but firm.
"Again."
Bruce's face burned red.
"...Sorry."
"Don't apologise," Derek said. "Correct."
Bruce nodded quickly.
He tried again.
This time he pressed more gently.
The wheel hummed.
Sparks danced.
Bruce's expression became serious.
He adjusted his angle.
Slightly.
Too far.
The hum changed.
Vernon spoke immediately.
"You changed the pressure."
Bruce glanced back.
"How do you know?"
"I can hear it," Vernon replied.
Bruce stared at him like Vernon had grown a second head.
"You can hear pressure?"
Vernon shrugged.
"I can hear the stone complaining."
Hunk burst into laughter.
Derek's mouth twitched again.
Bruce muttered, "Of course you can..."
Vernon's turn came next.
He took his unfinished blade-longer, thinner, shaped like something between a sword and a spearhead. It wasn't quite either.
It looked predatory.
Like it wanted to be something that hunted.
Derek watched it closely.
Vernon stepped to the wheel.
He didn't hesitate.
He pressed the blade to the stone with controlled precision.
The hum was smooth.
Even.
Derek's gaze sharpened.
Hunk leaned forward slightly.
Vernon adjusted the angle with care, his breathing matching the wheel's rhythm.
The stone sang.
Bruce stared, stunned.
"...He's doing it like he's done it before."
Vernon didn't answer.
He couldn't.
He was too focused.
Minutes passed.
Then Derek stepped forward and placed his hand on Vernon's shoulder.
Vernon flinched slightly, breaking his trance.
Derek's voice was quiet.
"That's enough for now."
Vernon blinked.
"What?"
"You'll overheat it," Derek said. "Even steel has limits."
Vernon looked down at his blade as if waking from a dream.
"...I didn't notice."
Derek nodded.
"I did."
Hunk whistled low.
"That boy's dangerous."
Bruce frowned.
"Dangerous?"
Hunk pointed his chin toward Vernon's blade.
"He doesn't look like he's working."
Bruce swallowed.
"...Yeah."
Derek stepped back.
"Both of you, quench your blades."
Bruce and Vernon dipped the metal into water.
Steam rose.
The smell of hot iron filled the forge.
After sharpening came engraving.
Derek placed two chisels on the table.
"These are for names," he said.
Bruce's eyes lit up.
"We can name them?"
Vernon frowned.
"Obviously."
Bruce turned toward him.
"I'm naming mine something legendary."
Vernon muttered, "It's going to be embarrassing."
Bruce ignored him completely.
Derek held up the chisel.
"You don't carve a name for fun," Derek said. "You carve it when you mean it."
Bruce's grin faltered.
Vernon's expression softened slightly.
Derek continued.
"A name is a vow."
Hunk nodded once, approving.
Bruce looked down at his weapon.
"Kuri... hmmm Kurigama, Kuri for short! it's perfect."
Vernon stared at the steel.
"...Can it wait?"
Derek nodded.
"It should."
The boys exchanged a look.
A silent agreement between the two - though, only from Vernon's side.
By the time the sun lowered, the forge had grown quieter.
The fire dimmed.
The air cooled.
The scent of ash clung to their hair and clothes.
Hunk had left hours ago, returning to his own work, though he'd paused at the door and said one thing before disappearing:
"Try not to burn the place down."
Bruce had promised confidently.
Vernon had promised reluctantly.
Derek had said nothing.
Now, Derek stood at his own anvil.
His blade-the one he'd carried for years-rested in his hands.
He examined it like a man looking at an old friend.
Then he sharpened it.
The movements were smooth.
Almost intimate.
Bruce watched quietly.
Vernon watched too.
At some point, Vernon noticed something.
Derek sharpened only one again.
Not the second blade that rested nearby, still wrapped in worn cloth.
Vernon's eyes lingered on it.
Then he spoke softly.
"...Why don't you fix the other one?"
Derek didn't look up.
His file scraped once more.
Then he stopped.
For a moment, it looked like he might answer.
But he only shrugged.
"Doesn't need it."
Vernon didn't believe him.
Bruce didn't ask.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
It was simply... there.
Hours passed.
Bruce finished polishing his work.
It was still unfinished.
Still raw.
Still missing parts.
But it was his.
He stepped back and admired it.
Then he exhaled.
"it's almost there.."
Derek walked over.
He took it in his hands.
Turned it.
Checked the edge.
Then nodded.
"You've got good instincts."
Bruce's shoulders loosened.
Derek handed it back.
"But you're impatient. You want results before refinement."
Bruce frowned.
"...Is that bad?"
Derek's eyes met his.
"It's human."
Then he pointed to a small flaw near the spine.
"You need to fold the metal cleaner here next time. And your taper is slightly uneven. You'll feel it when you swing."
Bruce's eyes widened.
"...You can tell that just by looking?"
Derek nodded.
"You'll learn."
Bruce grinned.
"Yes!"