Korrin walked carefully toward his brother, his grip tightening on the pommel of his wooden blade. He could feel the audience’s gazes of distaste lingering on his back as he took every step.

  Finally, he arrived in front of Vaelin and straightened his posture, positioning his arms at his side.

  Vaelin stared blankly at Korrin for a moment, then put two fingers a few inches from Korrin’s forehead. In Karn, the imperial tongue of Ironhelm, Vaelin chanted, “Thryvek āhn’kor valdrik—st?l iren vakthar.”

  Vaelin opened his shut eyes, revealing a silver flame swelling within them. A surge of energy soon gathered at Vaelin’s fingertips, their yellow glow radiating intense heat.

  Vaelin finished the blessing by restating the chant in Lingua, the common language. “By iron and anvil, may your spirit be tempered—stand with unbreakable honor.”

  With those words, Vaelin pressed his fingers against Korrin’s forehead, their rising heat engraving an anvil symbol into his skin.

  Tears welled up in Korrin’s eyes as he tried to resist the pain, but he knew showing weakness to the crowd would only ostracize him further. After a few seconds, Vaelin finished engraving the symbol and stopped the circulation of mana in his fingers.

  “Go, Korrin.”

  With those curt words, Vaelin turned around, leaving Korrin to step forward toward Haldrek. Once in front of the chief, Korrin knelt down and presented his sword, which Haldrek took with his right hand.

  Without a second to waste, Haldrek raised the sword and shouted, “Korrin of Hearthglen, do you swear on your honor to dedicate your life to the path you have chosen, to serve with courage, skill, and unwavering loyalty?”

  “I… do.”

  “Then gaze toward the village with pride! Proclaim your path!”

  Korrin suddenly felt his stomach twisting. He knew the next words to come out of his mouth were going to push him further away from the village, more than he already was.

  But he was weak. He couldn’t swing his sword, or manipulate mana, or work in harsh mining conditions. And, he had a dream, a dream he knew he could accomplish with a bit of time and effort.

  “I choose… I choose the path of the scribe!”

  Instantly, the crowd grew quiet. Not even the rustling of leaves could be heard through the village square. Glancing to his left, he could see Vaelin’s brows tighten as he gave a harsh stare of disappointment toward Korrin, which quickly faded into his usual indifferent self.

  Haldrek seemed to be caught the most off guard, but quickly composed himself and gave a loud cough.

  “Very… well. May the gods be with you.”

  With a tap of the sword on both shoulders, the ceremony was over, and Korrin quickly departed from the village square.

  As the sun began to loom over the sharp mountains on the horizon, Korrin sat a few feet away from a cliff that overlooked Hearthglen. Although the breeze roughly rustled his clothes, he remained utterly motionless, staring at the village below.

  Hearthglen rose from the hilled metallic plains with low stone bunkers and riveted metal-framed homes clustered tightly around a smoking communal forge whose steady clang echoed faintly in the evening air.

  Angular rooftops of black iron and reinforced slate caught the blazing sunlight. Bronze helm-spires gleamed as they faced the imposing mountains to the north. Meanwhile, to the east and west, dense forests enclosed the village in silver-green walls, the leaves reflecting a metallic tint.

  Korrin loved this cliff. From here, all his worries seemed so small. As he watched the other villagers mingle below, he closed his eyes. To pursue his path, he would have to leave the village and seek out Stonegate, the largest city in the southern region.

  His decision to become a scribe wasn’t random. He had already carefully constructed a plan and forged connections within Stonegate to achieve his dream.

  More than anything, although he was cursed with his inability to feel mana or possess great strength, his one saving grace was the fact that he was able to understand text, even unfamiliar ones, since childhood.

  Korrin was sure he was—

  “Scribe, was it? The village failure wants to be a scribe!”

  Korrin’s gaze suddenly became cold. Turning around, he saw a group of five boys his age approaching him. He recognized them well; they had also received their ceremony today.

  Rushing to his feet, Korrin gazed sharply at the leading Ironclad with a hint of disdain in his eyes.

  The Ironclad towered over the others, broad-shouldered and thick through the chest, his frame packed with dense muscle that strained against a sleeveless iron-banded tunic. His skin held a faint ashen-bronze hue, and his cropped dark hair framed a square jaw, giving his sneer an imposing edge.

  “I can’t believe it! This fucker believes he’s a man now just because he attended some ceremony!”

  Behind him, his Bladesinger and Forgekin lackeys snickered.

  “Draeven…”

  “What? Speak louder! I can’t hear you!” With those words, Draeven curled his hand and took a quick step towards Korrin, stopping his fist an inch from Korrin’s face. Korrin could do nothing but flinch.

  Looking almost disappointed, Draeven clicked his tongue.

  “Spineless coward. Have you no honor? Your foolish parents graced a manaless mutant with a roof, and how do you reciprocate? By spitting in their face. And in our faces too!”

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  “Can I leave, Draeven? Please, I don’t want to fight.”

  To Korrin’s request, Draeven took his fist from Korrin’s face and seemed to consider it for a second, his gang snickering behind him.

  “Korrin, do you know what your problem is?” Draeven said, his smile transforming into a frown. “It’s not that you're manaless, and it's not that you look funny—It’s that you’re weak. By the end of training school, you couldn’t even wield a sword!”

  A cruel smile now reappeared on Draeven’s face as he began to push Korrin around.

  “Weak, pitiful, yet always doted and protected. Korrin, you’re not a man! If you were even half of one, your sister—!”

  Before he could even finish his sentence, Korrin’s fist flew forward, impacting Draeven’s face and sending the shocked boy staggering a few steps back.

  “Don’t talk about my sister, you bastard!”

  Regaining his composure, Draeven formed a wicked smile on his face. The gang behind him already had their arms up and ready, mana circulation swelling their bodies and igniting a silver glow in their eyes.

  “That’s more like it! Your sister‘s a sore spot, aye?”

  But before either side could take another step, the yell of a young girl suddenly echoed throughout the hill.

  “Take one more step, I dare you!”

  In an instant, Rikka stood between Draeven and Korrin, her sword pointed at Draeven’s neck. Draeven was taken aback at first, but returned a grin a moment later.

  “Whoa there, Rikka. Be careful where you point that thing,” Draeven said sarcastically.

  “Get out of here. I don’t want to see you again today.”

  Glaring at Rikka, Draeven sighed. “Alright, let's move out. Top student’s orders.”

  With a final glance at Korrin, Draeven began walking down the hill, his lackeys in quick pursuit.

  “Oh, and Korrin! Take advantage of her protection while you can! She might not be the best for much longer!”

  With those words, Draeven disappeared behind the crest of a nearby hill, leaving Rikka and Korrin alone on the cliff.

  Rikka sighed and quickly sheathed her sword. Turning to Korrin, she asked worryingly, “Are you okay? They didn’t rough you up too much, did they?”

  “No, I’m fine. I can handle it…”

  Rikka suddenly elbowed him in the stomach, leaving Korrin gasping for air. He was about to shout at her, but turned and saw tears welling up in her beautiful copper eyes.

  “Seriously, okay? If you need anything, I’m here. Don’t try to do everything alone.”

  “Yes… I know…”

  “…”

  Sensing the awkward atmosphere swelling between them, Rikka quickly wiped her eyes and put on a smile. Reaching inside her bag, she pulled a simple necklace out and handed it to Korrin.

  “Here, I meant to give you this at the ceremony, but I got stuck with everyone congratulating me and everything.”

  In Korrin’s hand was a simple necklace, with a handcrafted replica of a silverbloom flower resting on its end. Though a novice craft, one could tell that it was built with extreme tenderness and care.

  Giving Rikka a faint smile, Korrin put it around his neck, marveling at the flower as it hung.

  “Thanks, Rikka. You’ve… always been here for me.”

  A slight blush spread across Rikka’s face as she quickly turned her head in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. Korrin could only chuckle at the sight.

  “W-well, of course! We’re… friends! After all…”

  Once again, an atmosphere of awkwardness enveloped the duo.

  “A-anyways, I’ve got to go! My families throwing a party for me, but I’ll come over soon. To thank your mother, of course!”

  With those words, Rikka quickly scurried off, waving to Korrin as she left the cliff. And soon, he was once again alone.

  Alone. Empty. Those were words he resonated with. All his life, he felt something was missing within him, as if he were hollow. This feeling of acceptance was rare, and it almost made him uncomfortable.

  With one last glance at the distant mountains and at the setting sun, Korrin soon departed from the cliff as well.

  As Korrin reached the door of his home, the night was already in full swing. Only the cold breeze and chirping insects could be heard moving about. As he opened the door, he was instantly hit by a powerful hug and loud cheers.

  “Korry~! Congratulations on becoming an adult! I’m so proud. So proud!”

  As Korrin’s mother slowly released him from her powerful Bladesinger embrace, he suddenly saw his father standing behind her, applauding him as well.

  “Yes, great job, son. A scribe… is surprising! But…”

  His mother suddenly gave his father a sharp look, and his father had no choice but to cough and continue his speech.

  “But congratulations nonetheless!”

  Korrin’s father approached him and gave him a powerful pat on Korrin’s back, his father’s Ironclad strength causing Korrin to stumble forward a little.

  “Yeah, thanks father…”

  “Anyway, this is a cause for celebration! Look what Mother made today, Korrin. It’s your favorite stew!”

  “Come here Korry, sit down. It’s time to enjoy this meal! Oh, I can’t believe it! It was just yesterday that we were picking you up from the forest floor… But look at you now! All grown up.”

  One by one, Korrin’s mother filled three bowls with stew, the delicious meat of an ironmaw reflecting against a shimmering copper broth. Looking around, Korrin noticed Vaelin was absent, but that was not unusual. Ever since the incident four years ago, Vaelin was rarely present at all.

  “Alright,” said Korrin’s mother. “Let’s say our prayers and eat. Ready? Oh, Smith-Father, Lord in Heaven, may you bless…”

  As Korrin ate, his mind wandered. Even though this day was supposed to be a joyous occasion, and the food he was eating was supposed to taste delicious, he could not help but feel as if everything was… empty.

  “So, Korrin. Which merchant did you say you talked to? Stonegate… that’s far away, son. Are you sure you don’t want to stay here?”

  Snapping out of his daydream, Korrin quickly responded.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. So a few weeks ago…”

  The family talked long into the night. They might have had their fair share of problems, but if one thing was going to make him whole, he believed it was his family.

  “Err, Korrin? Is your father in?”

  As Korrin was helping his mother feed her cattle the next day, his neighbor came knocking on their front door.

  “Yes, he is. I’ll get him for you.”

  Rushing into the house, he saw his father passed out on a chair. For some reason, his father was coming home later and later these days. Shaking his father’s shoulder, Korrin attempted to wake him up.

  “Father, father. Father, the neighbor’s at the door.”

  “...wuh… huh? Oh, thank you, Korrin. I’ll come speak to him in a second. Let him know, will you?”

  Grabbing a sack of cattle feed, Korrin walked through the yard into their enclosure, passing by the neighbor on the way out. After passing his father’s message, he began moving through the crowd of moltenbleats, sticking his hand out to feed them as he passed by.

  Once the bag was empty, he went back into the house to retrieve another, passing by his father and neighbor in the process.

  “...the captain wants you to take another, Bramm. The Sub-Warden issued the chief to increase ore production ‘cause of the war. I know you’ve been picking lot ‘a mining shifts lately, but make sure to take care of your body, okay?”

  Patting his father’s back, the neighbor walked off, leaving his father to grimace at the news alone.

  Not wanting to disturb his father, Korrin quickly grabbed another bag and left.

  For some reason, a foreboding feeling lingered as he fed the bleating cattle.