Night's Watch

"Onwards to Stox's blacksmith shop!" I shouted, grinning.

"Well someone's happy, aren't they? I wish people would buy me things too," Glyffe muttered.

"Oh I forgot—thank you, Dad. This gift means a lot to me." I smiled genuinely.

I was glad I was able to turn that negative interaction into a positive one. In the future, I planned to frequent her stall whenever I wanted to buy any plants or gardening tools. That was only right.

"Well when you put it like that..." Glyffe rubbed his nose, a faint smile creeping in. "I guess it was nothing special. A couple Teaves is nothing to your old man, Reno. Hahahaha!"

"You sure did change your tune quickly," Silvia said in a playful tone.

"Ah well, when your son is as grateful as Reno, any father would."

"Is that so? Maybe I should bring Reno next time I go on a shopping spree. You'll pay for everything then, right?"

Glyffe's complexion turned pale. "Uhm... I'm afraid that wouldn't settle under the category of 'a couple Teaves'."

"Isn't your darling wife worth more than 'a couple Teaves'? Or am I not as grateful as Reno?" Silvia said with a bright, amicable smile.

"A-ah. About that..." Glyffe said dryly.

"Well?"

"Y-yeah I guess I could spend more than a couple Teaves on my wife..."

From the looks of things, Glyffe would have his hands full and his pockets empty next time those two went shopping.

"Anyway," Silvia said, turning to me. "I'm proud of you, Reno."

"Hm?" Her sudden praise caught me off guard.

"What you did today was extremely mature. Not a lot of kids your age or even older could pull off what you just did."

Glyffe nodded along, completely in agreement. "You would be surprised just how many adults can't bring themselves even just to say 'I'm sorry'."

"I... it was only right after what I did to her." I said while lowering my head.

Apologising had been the right thing to do and now I felt much better. And while this meant there'd be no more chaos tag, that was... okay.

Somethings are better off left in the past as sweet memories than dragged into the present as a sour reality. It was a small kind of growth. Subtle. Easy to miss if you weren't paying attention.

"Even so, to go and apologise of your own accord without us or anyone else telling you to is amazing. Today you made the both of us proud." Silvia said softly, a loving maternal smile tugging at her lips.

"Way to go, Reno!"

"Wa-wait!"

He scooped me up and tossed me into the air, holding me by the shoulders.

"Good job!"

"Oh my. You haven't done that to Reno since he was a baby."

"He deserves it today!" Glyffe said with a smile.

"Don't you remember he didn't like it when he was a baby?"

He looked over to me. "Hm?"

"Pu-put me down!!" I cried.

"Oh." He lowered me down. "So all this time he didn't like it? He always stopped crying when I did it, so I thought he loved it?"

"..."

"Glyffe, you—" Silvia sighed. "Nevermind."

He ruffled through my hair. "I guess I'll just settle for this."

"Yes, that works. Much better." I smiled. I did not want to be flung in the air again—experiencing that as a baby was more than enough.

"In any case, what Glyffe was trying to show was the fact we're very proud of you okay, Reno?"

Silvia bent down and hugged me, stopping our journey to the central district momentarily. It was warm, soft, and still. For a few long seconds, it was just me and Mum—then two larger arms wrapped around us both. A family hug.

"Was apologising really something worth a celebration this big?"

"Of course. That's the sort of behaviour we love to see. Moments like that make our parenting feel truly worth it, you know?" Glyffe said.

Hm. Truthfully, I never really considered it from either of their perspectives but I wonder how they must've felt seeing their child act so maturely. Definitely some pride and joy, but also probably some relief. Like 'my son is already maturing so quickly'.

"You'll understand it when one day you have kids of your own." Glyffe continued.

"That day is very, very far off." I said.

"Well you never know. Time passes so fast that before you know it, you're suddenly a father." He gave a bittersweet smile.

"Then I hope time moves nice and slow for Reno," Silvia said, brushing my cheek. "I want to keep my little baby for as long as I can."

"Mum, I'm not a baby anymore," I said, turning slightly red.

"No, you'll always be my baby boy," She said softly.

"Do you have to say baby?"

She smiled. "Oh, Reno."

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

The sound of hammering metal echoed through the streets. At some point, we'd made our way out of the inner district and arrived at the central one.

"He certainly works hard doesn't he? Grandpa Stox that is."

"Pfft. You got that right. All he ever does is forge—that's all he's ever known." Glyffe said, a nostalgic glint in his eyes.

Lah! Laah! Laaah!

The euphonious crunch of Melodia grass rang out from below as we stepped into the shop.

"Coming through."

We returned to the world of swords for the first time in six or seven hours. It was just as beautiful as I remembered. It's a different feeling to Clevio's bookstore but equally overwhelming. More of a mechanised feel than the homely, comfortable feel of the bookstore.

The till was empty, lacking the figure of a lonely giant. Instead a red light painted the curtains to the left of the till.

Cling! Clung! Cloong!

A rhythmic melody echoed from behind the curtains. A master was at work.

"Boy does this bring back memories." Glyffe smiled. His expression mirrored what I imagined mine had been when I first entered the bookstore—only he didn't run around touching all the swords. He simply stood there and smiled, taking in the scenery with quiet maturity. He stepped forwards.

"Is it okay for us to just go into his personal forge like this?" I said, concerned.

"Naturally. You wouldn't think it but Stox is quite the showman, he loves an audience when he's forging. Not that he notices them through his extreme focus."

"Well if you say so." I shrugged hesitantly, stepping in after Glyffe with Silvia following shortly behind.

A rocky floor greeted us, a significant difference from the pristine wooden one in the store. A large forge lay in front of us but therein was a larger, giant of a man. A low hum hung in the air—the giant's voice.

A mouth of flames lay open, roaring and biting towards the figure opposite. And in the fire's wake sat a titan with a hammer. In front of him lay a raw, unprocessed clump of silver-like metal he'd just fished from the flames. My eyes drifted, glued to the raised shimmering moonlit hammer. It fell with the wrath of a collapsing star.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

In a mesmerising display, the metal was showered with blow after blow, the firm clump yielding under his firm grip and unrelenting barrage. One hit. The next. One hit. The next. Strike after strike, the hammer shaped the clump of metal, thinning it slowly.

Time passed in a blur, the metal eventually forming the shape of a beautiful blade. The craftsman placed the blade back into the furnace. Only then did I remember that there was a craftsman involved. He'd managed to direct all the attention to his work—the sign of mastery every artist strives for.

His stance was rooted like a mountain, unshakable. His eyes were focused and his gaze was as still as a forest at dusk. He was waiting for something.

Now!

He moved like the wind—swift and unseen.

The blade's structure had changed ever so slightly but he noticed instantly.

Shissh!

The blade plunged into a clear, still river of water with a sharp hiss. The blade darkened and stiffened, its edges sharpening as if by instinct.

Whish!

Stox waved his hands, and the furnace sizzled in response. The fire shifted, bright crimson softening to red, then orange, then a smoldering yellow. The flames hissed and flared, roaring in protest at the giant who dared to bend them to his will.

Gargle!

He struck like fire—sudden and violent—as he seized the blade and plunged it into the yellow furnace. It hardened before our eyes, the metal tightening, growing firmer with every second. Then, without pause, he pulled it free and let it cool in the open air.

Without missing a beat, he reached for the whetstone. The blade met it with precision, landing square and steady, ready to be honed.

Krrrr!

An ear-splitting sound echoed as the blade was grinded, sanded and polished until it was limitlessly sharp, symmetric and spotless.

The craftsman examined the gleaming blade. It glinted like lightning caught in steel—clean enough to see one's reflection, sharp enough to cut any gaze that lingered too long. But a blade alone was still incomplete.

He moved again, this time with the calm precision of an artist nearing their final brushstroke.

From a wooden rack beside the forge, he selected the components: the hilt, the guard, the pommel. Each was carved from deep-brown hardwood, polished to a dark sheen, reinforced with bands of blackened iron. Ancient characters—faint and worn—ran along the guard like whispered memories.

Click.

He slid the tang of the blade into the hollowed hilt, pressing it deep, every movement sacred, exact with a practiced ease.

Tck.

The guard slid into place, firm and unmoving. He twisted it slightly, then tapped once with the hammer—not a blow of force, but of affirmation.

Then came the final piece: the pommel. He held it for a moment in his palm, the weight of completion settling in his hand. With one final motion, he set it in place and turned a small hidden pin to lock the structure together.

Silence. A silent ovation.

He held the finished sword out in front of him, level and still. It looked like it had always existed, merely pulled from fire and will into reality.

The blade was dark and beautiful, its surface deep and rich like tempered obsidian. With every tilt, a faint shimmer traced the edge, like moonlight sliding over still water, only to vanish into the darkness.

It didn't just reflect light—it devoured it, cloaking itself in a soft, velvety black that hinted at a great power looming within.

"But that's... Night's Watch." Nostalgia tinged his voice, and his eyes began to gleam.

"You recognise it, Dad?"

Glyffe didn't respond, he just walked forwards towards his father.

Silvia giggled. "How could he not recognise it? He used to walk around carrying that very sword everywhere."

Huh? How could that be if Stox literally just made that sword? Unless what Stox just made was a replica of some sort?

"Oh, so you've come." Stox said softly, but his voice still reverberated around the forge. The acoustics made it seem as if Stox's voice came from everywhere at once, as though he'd become one with the forge itself.

"That's Night's Watch, right?" Glyffe said with a smug smile. "Someone's feeling nostalgic."

"Save it." Stox groaned. "What you're here for is over there." He pointed to a table with three elegantly crafted wooden swords on it. One of the swords, however, was significantly smaller than the rest.

"What's Night's Watch?" I asked, curious.

"It's the last sword your Dad made before he left for the academy."

Oh wow, then Stox really was feeling nostalgic.

"Who named it?"

"I did. Glyffe decided to leave for the academy at the break of twilight, right after he finished making his last sword. So, I decided to name it Night's Watch."

"Huh? I don't get it."

"'Even though we'll be separated by this endless night, I'll still be watching over you', right? Those are the last words you said to me as I left. I've kept those words close to my heart. They'll never leave me." He paused. "Not until my endless night ends."

"Hmph." The giant harrumphed.

What a... thoughtful but tragic sentiment. He really, really didn't want Glyffe to leave. But I guess Stox found comfort knowing that he'd always be with Glyffe, watching over him in the form of a sword.

"Glyffe didn't know how good he had it..." I whispered to Silvia.

"I know, right?" Silvia giggled.

"What's this?" Glyffe said, turning his attention to a table in the corner of the room.

"Wolf's Mask, Snake's Tail, Skyfall... and—is that... Lunar Light?" His voice was soft as he lifted the marble white sword and swung it freely.

Wow, to think my dad had made so many swords... and that they both remembered each one by name. There was a lot was discovering about Dad today.

"Ha! This feels just like the real thing! Old man, did you really remake all of my old swords? In just one day?"

"When inspiration calls you must strike while the iron is hot. Wasn't that one of the first things I taught you?"

"Ah, of course right, right." Glyffe scratched his head. "I missed you too, Dad."

For a split second, Stox's back straightened—just a little. Like he'd caught something warm, then let it pass.

I didn't know what to say—and it seemed like never did Stox. I just watched, trying to etch this moment into memory.

"I'm busy now. Get what you came for."

He got up and grabbed a clump of metal and flung it into the furnace. Then he sprinkled something over it, and the fire changed colours again from a mild yellow to a ruby-red.

"What was that powder?" I asked.

"Fanning powder. One kind riles up flames, the other soothes them. Works well with this sort of fire. Watch."

He extended his hand toward the flames.

"Wa—wait, don't do tha—what?"

His palm hovered in the fire, untouched. "This fire doesn't burn humans. It only affects metal and lifeless things."

Wait what—stuff like that exists? Does that mean humans born here have something which biologically differentiates them from a non-living thing? Like the flame can sense the presence of a soul?

"How curious..." I inspected it, slowly inching my hand towards it.

"AAAAAaaaaa.... ah?" . Nothing. I felt nothing. No heat, no pain—just a weird tingling feeling, which was probably placebo. What? It genuinely has no effect at all on humans? Would it work the same way with plants?

"See? Harmless."

"So... strange." My brain refused to comprehend it. The thought of jumping in came to mind but I quickly chased the idea away. Who knows, maybe it'll react differently to a whole human compared to just a hand or two.

"Grandpa, will you teach me how to forge like that someday?" After seeing him forge, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit jealous. I wanted to learn to forge like that. But mastery of that level takes decades—it wasn't something to be jealous of, rather something to admire.

He ruffled my hair. "Sure—when you're older. Forging takes strength. More than you've got in those skinny arms."

"I know..." I muttered. "Still—I want to learn."

"Maybe I'll start you on something light. Carving, maybe." He smiled, just barely.

"I'd love that. And until then, can I watch you forge sometimes?"

He paused.

"You're welcome anytime... Grandson."

I smiled. That was the first time he called me that all day. I guess he really was feeling nostalgic. Admittedly, Grandson has a nice ring to it.

"We should let him get back to work," Silvia said gently.

We headed for the door. Glyffe's eyes lingered on the swords—the replicas of his past work.

"Bye, Grandpa!"

"Take care, old man," Glyffe said calmly.

Stox didn't answer, instead, he just nodded. The melancholic clang of his hammer echoed behind us like a quiet farewell.

We left the shop, making sure to pick up our three wooden swords. The illustrious Moonbirch alone was enough to tell us they were high quality, not to mention the craftsmanship and line work.

"These are some of his best works," Glyffe said, holding in a breath.

"So make sure you use them well, okay?" Silvia said.

"There's three there, don't think you're out of this one."

"You know how to use a sword, Mum?"

"Well." She half smiled. "I knew a thing or two way back when, but I'm not so sure I'd be good at it nowadays."

"Humble to a fault." Glyffe smiled wryly. "All in all today's been nice. How did you find Butter Town, Reno?"

How could I even begin to answer that?

It started with the outer district—straight out of a period drama. New flowers bloomed in strange colours. Animals I'd never seen darted across sunlit paths. Merchants shouted above the rush of a river. Everything moved like it had its own pulse.

Then came the inner district: a sprawling maze of stalls, colours and smells. So many people. So many choices. So many memories—some good, some... less so.

How could I forget the beautiful central plaza? A fountain stood at the heart of it all, with two pristine rows of shops lining either side like a painting come to life. Each store was a world of its own—one filled with ancient tomes, another glittering with swords, and one overflowing with clothes like falling leaves in Autumn.

And the people...

Jamie and the Little Dreamers. Rosette and the pre-scouts. The stall lady. The sleepless shopkeeper. Grandpa Stox. Magia.

Not to mention my chance encounter with a witch or, as she prefers, a 'mage'.

I tried to wrap all of it—everything I felt, everything I saw—into a single sentence.

"I loved it."

"Haha! Perfect!" Glyffe laughed. "I already promised your friend Jamie you'd play with him every day, so don't worry, you'll be visiting Butter Town a lot more."

I smiled. That wouldn't be so bad, honestly. Though we'd need to find some other way to have fun. I'd left the days of playing chaos tag behind me after that apology.

As we climbed the familiar hills surrounding our house, a feeling of sadness came over me. I didn't want the fun to end. In that sense, I guess I was still immature.

I wanted to sit and talk about various books with Magia again. I wanted to laugh and splash around in the fountain with Jamie. I wouldn't even mind getting lectured by Rosette.

Though, given the choice, I'd still rather go home than face Zyra and her group again.

Still... it was bittersweet. I was looking forward to tomorrow. Even if it was just a silly competition—I wouldn't mind, as long as the Little Dreamers were together again.

It was already late, the sun setting in the background. Quite fitting, actually. When we reached the front of our house, it looked unfamiliar for a moment—at least compared to Stox's forge or Clevio's bookstore.

"Mum can I plant something now?"

"Right now? Sorry, Reno it's too late. How about we do it together tomorrow morning?"

"Oh, okay."

Swish!

Our front door swung open. The labyrinth I'd explored for all these years looked more mundane now. But it still felt... homely.

"Mum, Dad, I'm off to bed!" I called out, racing up the stairs.

"And there he goes," I heard Silvia say, her voice trailing behind.

I dove onto my bed and snuggled up, cozy and warm. The only way for tomorrow to come quicker was to sleep today away.