TWENTY EIGHT: First Bloom (Patreon)

“You guys are still here?” I shouted as I jogged towards the fountain.

“Yup.” Jamie gave a thumbs up.

“Course.” Bill’s stomach growled in approval, and he rubbed his belly sheepishly.

“Hm.” Finn mumbled, staring up at the sky.

“Y-yeah.” Magia confirmed, adjusting her glasses slightly.

“We couldn’t leave without you.” Phill said, smiling as he leaned back onto the fountain.

Surely they didn’t wait here this whole time? It’d been at least an hour. That would be even crazier than seeing a butterfly that changed colours every other minute. Wait—

“So what’s the plan?” Bill said, scratching his tummy.

“More plants and stuff right?” Jamie asked, tilting his head as he waited for my answer.

“Actually, I’ve got something to do today.” I scratched my head, glancing at their expectant faces.

I felt bad knowing they’d waited all this time but I really did have something important to do. It wasn’t anything personal or anything… it was just business.

“Huh, you’re leaving after you made us wait all this time?” Bill cried out tugging at the hem of his shirt nervously.

Well, I didn’t exactly make you wait all this time.

“How long will you be?” Magia said. That was… a very good question. I shrugged.

“Maybe an hour or two?”

“What is it that you’re doing?” Phill said slowly, his hand dipping into the fountain slightly.

“Well, you all know how I’ve been learning to forge from Grandpa Stox, right? I’ve got a really important forging lesson.”

How could I possibly miss the chance to become a real blacksmith? This wasn’t something you could do whenever you wanted. A real blacksmith—think about it—this was everything I’d ever dreamed of back on Earth!

“So it’s like that…” Jamie mumbled, shrugging slightly. “Ah, whatever. You go on ahead, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

“Hm.” Finn nodded, eyes flickering.

I’m glad Jamie was so understanding. Magia on the other hand seemed—less than pleased. I guess I’ll visit her later today and talk about more books to make it up to her. Or maybe ask her about that thing she’s been hiding from me. That’ll get a real reaction out of her.

“I’ll join up with you guys later if I still can okay?” I said turning in the direction of Stox’s blacksmith shop.

“Sure thing.” Jamie nodded, giving a light smile as he did.

Stox’s blacksmith store. It was a store that never got old no matter how many dozens of times I visited it. Rows upon rows of swords lined up endlessly each with a unique aesthetic and appeal. And of course, today I’d be adding my own work to one of those walls.

“Hey Grandpa.” I smiled as my foot tapped nervously against the floor. Stox let out a deep, low grunt. It was his way of saying hello.

“Today I’ll be forging my own sword right?” I said quickly. Without realising it, my foot had begun to tap faster and my hands had started shaking. Calm down, Reno—just act like you’ve done it before. Stox’s eyes softened slightly when we made eye contact.

“That’s the plan.” He nodded, shoulders straightening slightly.

Finally, it was time for all my hard work to pay off.

“Follow me.” He called out, wandering towards the room at the back. I stepped behind him, feeling the weight of his presence fill the room.

He seemed bigger than usual. I’d gotten a lot taller over the past year and a half but Stox’s back only seemed to grow wider.

“You’ve learnt diligently over the past year. Well done, Reno. You’ve already surpassed both me and Glyffe when we were your age.”

What? No way, right?

“Didn’t Glyffe make a sword around my age?”

He shook his head slowly. “What Glyffe made back then couldn’t be called a sword. Not only that, his craftsmanship wasn’t nearly as good as yours. Look.” He pointed to the wooden swords I’d carved over the past year, his eyes narrowing with focus.

“I couldn’t do that when I was your age and Glyffe definitely couldn’t either. He’d tell you the same.” His voice rumbled out, like it was shaking the earth.

 Even Glyffe would… say the same?

“Trust me, you’ve got talent.” He said every word slowly, but with a strong, palpable conviction.

This was the most Stox had said apart from when he was teaching. And it was to compliment me of all things. I guess what he was trying to get across was how proud he was, but then he wasn’t really the affectionate type who’d embrace you and tell you directly like Silvia.

I felt tears welling up as my heart warmed, and I brushed a hand over my eyes so quickly he wouldn’t notice. Stox was always so… caring. But it was so subtle that it was hard to notice sometimes. I had to make sure I never let him down—not now and not in the future. Not when he’d put this much faith in me.

One day I wanted to make a sword for him. No, that wouldn’t do—he wasn’t a fighter but a craftsman, after all.

Then maybe a… hammer. One day I’d make him a hammer great enough for him to forge his finest works with. That’s the only way I’d ever be able to repay some of the kindness he’d shown to me and Glyffe all these years.

“Let’s get started.” He pointed to a sacred area I hadn’t dared to venture near before.

The anvil.

Above it was a flaming hot metal waiting to be shaped. I dialled in, hammer in hand, trying to recreate Stox’s focus. Remember it, Reno.

His stance was immovable as a mountain. His gaze, gentle as the wind. His blows, ferocious as an inferno. His patience, like a quiet forest.

My hands tingled in anticipation. Yes—that’s it.

It’s go time.

I swung the hammer down.

Bam!

Sparks arced off the anvil. A small surge of triumph ran through me. Not perfect, but good enough. One strike, then another—bam! bam!—the rhythm formed like it had in training, and I let myself relax.

Then it slipped. My grip shifted ever so slightly, the hammer striking too far to one side.

Clang!

The metal groaned as its edge wobbled, and a thin curl of smoke rose. My stomach sank.

Oh no, no, no.

I yanked it back, inspecting the steel. The curve was off. My first real sword, and I’d already messed it up.

Stox didn’t speak, he just leaned slightly on his hammer, eyes unreadable. I swallowed hard and forced my shoulders back.

Okay Reno, you can fix this, just reheat it. Don’t lose focus.

I placed the green steel back into the furnace. Heat licked my gloves, and the air around me shimmered. The metal glowed brighter, almost daring me to strike again. Sweat dripped into my stinging eyes. I wiped it away with the back of my forearm and swung again.

Bam! Sparks flew. Bam! Another strike. Better… maybe.

I could feel the steel resisting, stiffening. Each blow required more effort, more precision. My arms shook as I struck again. Clang! A deeper, harsher sound. The steel had warped slightly where I hadn’t hit it evenly.

“Keep your angle consistent,” Stox said, voice low and calm. “Don’t let frustration guide your hand.”

I nodded, trying to ignore how my heart was pounding in my chest. I adjusted my stance, hammer raised. Bam! I hit the centre perfectly, followed immediately by another misstep. Clang! Sparks flared wildly. I could feel the metal distorting under my blows.

Damn it, this’ll have to do.

The quench. I had to do it right, or everything would be ruined. My hands shook as I carried the red-hot blade to the water trough. Heat radiated from the metal, searing through my gloves.

Shhhh!

Steam hissed violently as steel met water. I froze, holding it steady, but the warping was obvious. A thin line of stress ran along the blade, twisting slightly.

“No… no, no, no…” My voice barely rose above a whisper, but my chest heaved. Stox stepped closer, eyes sharp but gentle. “Steady. Don’t rush the process.”

I held the sword for what felt like eternity. Steam rose in thick clouds as I heard the sizzle and faint crack of stress in the metal. My stomach knotted.

My first sword, ruined before it even left the water.

I set it down carefully on the rack, heart hammering. I had to remind myself to breathe, but each inhale felt hot and heavy—filled with the smell of coal, metal, and sweat.

Stox’s voice was quiet but firm. “Mistakes are part of the process. You’ve learned the basics. Now it’s time to learn patience.”

I nodded, but my hands clenched into fists. Patience, is that what I need?

I glanced at Stox. His posture was calm, grounded. No surprise, no disappointment. Just watchfulness. I wished I could feel the same calm. Instead, my chest thudded like a drum, arms trembling from exertion and nerves.

Maybe I was rushing things too much…

I picked up the blade again, this time to inspect it closer. The warp was minor, but enough to ruin the edge. I could fix it, I told myself. I could reheat and hammer it back into shape. But the thought of repeating the process, risking further mistakes, made my hands shake uncontrollably.

Bam! I struck the metal again. Sparks flew. Bam! Another strike, my rhythm forming. For a moment, hope. But a slight misangle—clang!—and the edge bent just enough to make me grit my teeth. It was destroyed.

Completely.

“You must learn more than just technique,” Stox said slowly. “You must learn how to handle failure. How to face it, and how to overcome it.”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. The sweat stung, my muscles screamed and my gloves were scorched in places from the heat. And yet… I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t walk away. My hands gripped the hammer tighter.

I stood still, looking at the disaster I’d created. Stox said nothing, he just waited quietly and patiently, letting me come to terms with what had just happened.

I failed. But then why do I feel this fire… this fire to keep going? To not let this be the end?

Failure wasn’t the end. Not if I could learn from it and return to the forge with patience, focus, and respect for the metal that had just mocked me. I turned to Stox, but he had already gotten up and was fishing another piece of the same green metal out of a sack.

He nodded as he placed it onto the furnace again, the meaning behind his actions clear as day.

Try again.

I discarded the twisted sword in front of me. Someday, I swear, I’ll make the most perfect sword in the world. Then I’d never have to feel this disappointment again.

My fingers itched to pick up the hammer again. I could feel Stox’s calm presence behind me, steadying me, guiding me without words. I straightened my shoulders and wiped the sweat from my forehead, picking up the hammer as I did.

The first sword had failed, but that didn’t mean anything. I could always try again and improve.

Bam! Sparks flared again. This time I’d make it work.

I wiped the sweat from my brow and took a deep breath. The forge heat pressed against me, but this time I didn’t panic. My gloves felt heavy with moisture, my arms still quivered, but I focused on the steel.

It wasn’t just a piece of metal—it was a lesson, a challenge, a reflection of everything I’d learned. I lifted the warped blade again, eyes tracing its lines, imagining how it should look. This time, I’ll pay attention to every movement.

Stox watched silently, his presence grounding me like the anvil beneath the blade. I adjusted my stance, feet firm against the floor, hammer held high. The first strike—careful, precise—Bam!

Sparks arced in a controlled shower, just a light rain compared to the monsoon of my previous attempt. The steel shivered under the blow, yielding to my rhythm.

I struck again. Bam! Bam! The rhythm solidified, hammer falling in a steady, measured dance. My muscles burned, sweat ran down my neck, but the exhaustion felt different this time. It wasn’t panic. It was focus, discipline, and anticipation, every strike guiding the metal closer to perfection.

Stox’s eyes followed me, calm, unwavering. His voice cut through the heat. “Remember to read the steel. Feel its tension. Let it guide your blows.”

I nodded, adjusting the hammer’s angle. The steel responded beautifully, curving smoothly with each controlled strike. Sparks flew from the anvil—cha!—and I felt excited. For the first time, I wasn’t fighting the metal, I was working with it.

The glow of the blade deepened, signalling it was time for the quench. My heart thumped in my chest. I carried the hot steel to the trough, careful not to slip. My gloves burned slightly from residual heat, but I focused on the blade.

Shhhh! The steam hissed as the metal met the water. Unlike before, the quench held. The blade straightened, hardened perfectly, and I could feel the subtle vibration of its temper through my fingers. Relief and pride mingled in my chest.

Back at the anvil, I reheated and struck again, refining the shape, perfecting the balance. Bam! Each blow was measured and each spark seemed to cheer me on. My muscles screamed in protest, but I barely noticed. It didn’t hold a candle to all the swings Glyffe had put me through. I was lost in the rhythm, a symphony of fire, steel, and motion. I tested the blade carefully.

RING!

The sound resonated, solid and true. I ran my fingers along the smooth blade.

This was it. My first sword, moulded by my own two hands. It didn’t feel… real. But it was. And man was I happy that it was.

Stox stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly as he inspected the blade. He cocked the blade into a perfectly fitting hilt and placed a sheath over. “Good sword,” he said quietly.

I continued with the final touches, filing the edges, polishing the surface, smoothing every curve. My arms ached and my back screamed, but it was all worth it. The steel gleamed, catching the light from the forge, reflecting every drop of sweat and of effort I’d poured into it.

I held the blade out carefully. Light bounced across its surface, gleaming like liquid green. My chest swelled with pride, but also gratitude as I looked at Stox. His eyes softened.

I sheathed it briefly, then unsheathed it again, feeling the balance and the weight. It was… amazing.

“You’ve done well, Reno,” Stox said finally. His voice was calm, but I could hear the pride buried beneath the surface. “You’ve learned to respect the mountain. The first step towards any goal is to understand how difficult it is and what it’ll take to succeed. Never lose respect for the mountain--that is what makes a true craftsman.”

I nodded, taking his words to heart. Always respect the mountain.

In this case, he meant to respect how difficult the journey would be but to not let that break you. There was a time I wanted to stop but ultimately Stox guided me to keep going. There wasn’t a mountain we couldn’t overcome—I mean, haven’t people managed to climb even Everest?

“Put it over there.” He pointed to the wall where the replicas of Glyffe’s old swords had been placed. I guess that was the most fitting.

“Have you thought of a name?”

Well, about that. I inspected the forest green sword before me. The metal used was a green steel called Flore which I had personally picked out. It reminded me of plants so I chose it impulsively, but luckily enough it was quite a beginner friendly metal for apprentices to use.

As for a name…

“How about First Bloom?” the name was leaning heavily on the idea of growth and blooming. It only felt right to name it something related to plants in some way. I’d thought about countless other names but this one was the one which always stuck with me.

It represented my first big crafting achievement, in a way it was the ‘first time I bloomed’ as a smith.

“Not bad.” Stox nodded with approval. “Hang it up.”

I moved towards the wall with all of Glyffe’s creations. It felt weird seeing all the swords I’d seen over the past years laid out with mine nearby. I wonder how Glyffe would feel if he was to see this? Would he be proud? Or more so shocked than anything else?

Slowly, I placed First Bloom right next to Night’s Watch. The green blade next to the dark blade. Throughout this endless night I’ll always be watching over you—through the forest where Glyffe initially left through.

It was kinda fitting, wasn’t it?

“So,” I turned to Stox after admiring my creation for longer than I wanted to admit. “What should I learn next?”

“You’ll be making a new sword every week from now.” He said slowly. A new sword every week… that sounded fun.

“How good is that sword overall?” I said curiously. I still couldn’t quite tell the quality of most swords unless it was obviously clear cut. To me, they all seemed fairly similar in quality.

“It’s not bad but,” he paused. “You still have a long way to go.”

Right, I thought as much.

“But you can be proud, you’ve made something worth celebrating,” he said calmly.

It was all about the small victories and that was something I couldn’t and shouldn’t ever take for granted. I ran a finger along the cool edge of the blade one last time before stepping back. No matter how far I still had to go, this was proof I’d taken my first step.