Blades of grass danced collectively as the sun shined brightly on the fields of the stuff all over. Kids played all around, others sat quietly. A few of those kids, however, had come over to a building closest to those fields of glass. The sounds of metal on metal were carried by the soft winds.

  “Now how bright should the metal be?”

  A group of kids sitting on Da Hote’s demonstration screamed together “grain-yellow!” The flames surrounding the lump of metal flickered in a variety of blues, with the outer edges being of a slight orange.

  “That’s correct, my future swordsmiths! Afterwards, you take your new masterpiece, and then place all your passion and strength into shaping the metal” Da Hote used all of his might as he rhythmically hammered the metal into the perfect shape.

  “Now this process can take anywhere from a couple days to a few months depending on the piece” Da Hote occasionally coughed as the fumes of the fire flooded his throat, “Even with magic, sword making is for those dedicated, with the passion to see it through, right, Mahal?”

  In the corner of the workshop, Mahal gently held one of the recently finished swords, polishing it with a slightly oiled rag. Mahal didn’t look up as Da Hote cleared his throat, “Passion, right, MAHAL?!”

  Almost dropping the sword, Mahal gathered himself, before throwing up a thumbs up.

  Da Hote looked between him, his current project, and the kids. He quickly flicked his fingers, forcing the flames to come alive as figures became visible within the flames. They danced a ballet, a waltz, and all sorts of varieties of move sets as Da Hote walked over.

  Mahal looked back on the blade and the rest of the forge. Slowly, he let down the blade as a sickening ache anchored itself in his stomach. The smell of metal and fire told send a signal to his body to move away.

  “What is on your mind?”

  A reply came to mind as flashes of blood and of moonlight mixed to make a bloody cocktail. But Mahal sat as he reluctantly picked up the blade, continuing the motion of cleaning and oiling the sword.

  Da Hote hugged Mahal, which startled him, but he quickly replied in the same manner. He nearly felt bad for the old man, as he held on to him as if he was dangling over a cliff. He wrapped his arms around him tightly, but Mahal still hesitated to place his hands on his back, as if a touch would make all of this crumble away.

  The hug lasted for a while, long enough to where the fires behind them started to die down, and the spell started to wane. Da Hote got up, patting Mahal on the shoulder before going over to the kids, and giving them a mini-lecture.

  Mahal got up, and looked over the workshop. He noticed that he had been doing that a lot as of recently. Every shield, spear, sword, and decoration had made space within his memory.

  “Come along, Mahal”

  Mahal snapped back into reality, and followed Da Hote as they walked through the field.

  Just outside, town life was as lively as ever, Dhramian kids pranced around, with their parents collectively in an area which had chairs and logs. The buildings themselves were inspired from the single temple the Dhrami had on the ocean.

  Even after all this time, Mahal still took in the sight of the buildings everytime he could. They were nothing compared to buildings in the Elven capital he heard about, but that didn’t matter. To see his people on land, living, playing, just evening existing: the Gods were more likely to die in his mind.

  And there were the fields. The sea of grass. He had never seen so much of it. If he were to lay down for even a second, he felt that he could drown in it.

  But something tugged at his brain. His mind couldn’t comprehend this paradise clearly. But even as he tried to reassure himself, Mahal slowed down until coming to a full stop.

  “Are you sure I’m worthy enough to be here under your tutelage?”

  Da Hote laughed as he stopped and turned, “My answer has not changed from the day before”

  “What if mine has?”

  “I would refuse it, then”

  Mahal almost said something else, but Da Hote already started to walk down. The path they took diverged from the main village, and instead cut right through the fields. Within a few minutes, they arrived at a dilapidated barn, with a set of rotten wood slabs used as doors.

  “Is this yours as well, Da Hote?”

  “You're quite correct. Now, would you do an old man a favor, and open it for me?”

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  Mahal did as he was asked. He looked around the door, looking for the least rotten part of it, before gently swinging it open. Inside, nothing special seemed to be inside, just a few old pieces of furniture, and some old engraved doors.

  “There’s nothing here-”

  As soon as those words were uttered, Da Hote spoke, “Takidor ito tolva ib pabidir nagini buri pagna!” Mahal didn’t recognize a single word as he backed away from the barn. The exterior itself stayed the same, but shifting noises inside made Mahal curious.

  The exterior would have suggested that the inside would’ve been of equal room, but the inside expanded greatly. Heat even exhausted from out the door, crashing onto Mahal as he stood aside to let it dissipate. Once given a chance, he popped his head in

  Tables were strewn all about, with a giant forge that was triple the size of any forge Mahal had seen. Parts hung on either a series of racks, or hooks that were secured within the ceiling. But perhaps the most noticeable was a metal skeleton of a ship of sorts. Under it, a complex collection of parts, both small and large, were strewn about.

  “I’m…”

  “Confused, surprised, ecstatic even?”

  “The, uh, first two”

  Da Hote beckoned Mahal to follow him as he went inside, “This workshop has been my master’s, and his master’s and such. And up there, as I hope you’ve noticed, is one of the last things bestowed from your father, to you”

  Mahal looked at the skeleton again, and then at the table with parts on it. But underneath it, a series of scrolls flattened by the parts were also strewn about.

  Da Hote walked over to the table, and slowly pulled out one of the scrolls, “When I die, I will bestow this place to you”.

  Mahal stayed silent as Da Hote looked over, before continuing, “As long as I’m correct, time is on our side, and that responsibility won’t burden your shoulders for a stretch of time. At the very least, not until we finish this ship”

  The prospect caught Mahal, as he glanced over to Da Hote again. With several scrolls in his hand, he handed them over, as he said, “I’ll be traveling to the village for some of the materials. Feel free to inspect and even continue the progress from here”

  “I can’t”

  “For all of your father’s flaws and misconceptions, he was correct about one thing”

  Mahal raised his eyebrow to Da Hote, who shrugged as he joked, “I can’t remember. Perhaps at the end of this project, as long as you wish to participate, I’ll have my memory refreshed enough to tell you. Do as you wish while I’m away”

  As Da Hote exited the workshop, he paused near the doors, before turning around, “It’ll be okay, Mahal. Surely this will turn right for us”

  Mahal swiftly placed the scrolls back on the table, before going to the corner, and sinking into it. He wanted to will himself to do something, anything, especially to look upon whatever it was that his father had started.

  He tried to close eyes, to maybe take a slumber and let Kakno??me? fill his head with dreams of anything. The Goddess’s gift of dreams were usually his bright spots on days like these.

  But thoughts of that night slogged on to his thoughts. Blood filled the floor, and went up to his ankles. The lights of the forge turned into moonlight as it swayed away from him. Da Hote taught him to focus on the present, but his mind then went to his father’s project. He taught him to focus on his senses too. But his mind filled with the metallic taste of blood.

  Every breath he took forced his body to stiffen, his mind to freeze. Even as his eyes refused to open, a pair of eyes met his gaze. Then a face. The wrinkles showed someone who was roughly middle-aged. There were a few scar marks that had healed over.

  The scent of the sea, the taste of the fumes of a forge, both flooded his senses as his eyes focused on the face in front of him.

  “Father… I can’t. I have failed you in every conceivable way. I ask you permission to join you, wherever the end is”. Mahal sat there, silent as a tomb. How cruel was a world that gave him enough strength to live and remember?

  Words spilled into every inner part of his body. His brain knew he should say something. His mouth wanted to move.

  The scent of salt faded away as he realized he was in the workshop. how long he had sat there, he didn’t know. Eventually he got up, and looked at everything else that he knew wasn’t associated with his dad. Plans for different types of spears, swords, even things like arms powered by magic. The scrolls themselves were worn to a variety of degrees.

  He took one of the simpler looking swords, and started the process of making it. The warmth from the fires and from the metal were the only things to greet him warmly. His hammer felt cold in his hands, as if to try and force him away.

  “Mahal, I’m back! The metal merchant possessed quite the deal on metals from the Volous mines if one could believe it” Da Hote snapped his fingers as a cart drawn by a pair of horses wheeled itself in. As he led it in, he looked to Mahal, before briskly walking over.

  Da hote watched as Mahal’s strikes were unwieldy and generally chaotic. The metal screamed as every other hit dented rather than shaping. As he raised his hammer, Da Hote grabbed it, “Do not seek comfort in the fire. Please, talk to me. You know I will not judge you”

  “Yes, but you would remind me of my father’s death the same day you fortale of your own! You laugh and smile as if there is not a gaping hole, one that consumes me. Unlike you, I cannot pretend it exists, despite my best attempts”

  But as Mahal held himself in anger, Da Hote crumbled to his knees. He started to cough as he said, “I know you suffer. Where there should be happiness, I see the void you hold. By the gods, I should’ve known better”

  Mahal looked at Da Hote, who held his head low as the hammer fell to the ground. He looked towards his mentor, and sat on the floor, “Why?”

  “Expound”

  “Why all this showmanship?”

  “Do you wish for the long or short of it?”

  “How about the medium of it?”

  Da hote let out a short snort as he said, “I know what it's like, to see one’s guardian die. 900 years will give one a lot, but it will also take a lot. Or if you wish to really delve into my mind, perhaps somewhere, I see myself as your guardian, however inadequate I myself am. Or…”

  Da Hote stopped himself short, and instead grabbed the hammer again. He threw into the air a couple times, before grabbing hold of the head of the hammer. “I cannot guarantee that my advice will always be the best”, he inspected it before handing it to Mahal, “-but, I will give you the best I can”

  Mahal sat there for a few seconds, before silently taking the hammer, and walking to the table filled with the plans and parts. The hammer’s grip was warm. Some runes that had been etched in now glowed in ancient silvery light.

  The little speech Da Hote gave him stirred something in Mahal. It didn’t relieve, like he had hoped. But perhaps, they could find a solution. Some absolution.