Chapter 68 - Reflections of Sparks

In the kingdom of Tamasi, more precisely in a weapons forge, the sound of iron rang through the air as blades were repaired and forged, sparks blooming from every strike. An old man, his curly hair streaked with gray beneath his work uniform, hammered away at a sword in the making.

"Go on, come in. I can feel you standing by the door," said the blacksmith, without looking up.

Stepping inside the shop was none other than Marshal Mildura.

"My apologies for the intrusion," said the marshal, setting his work hat down on a table near the entrance.

"I fixed your sword a week ago, didn't I? I don't suppose it's broken already?" the blacksmith asked, still focused on the weapon in his hands, never meeting the marshal's eyes.

"The sword you forged for me is perfect, just like every weapon that passes through your hands, Eduart Magees," the marshal replied, watching the craftsman work.

The blacksmith paused for a moment when he heard his full name spoken aloud.

"So, what brings you here at this hour?" he asked.

"Your son's name is Aodhan, isn't it?" asked the marshal.

"Yes. Why do you ask? Has he done something wrong?" the blacksmith said.

"Nothing of the sort. I just wanted to confirm something," the marshal replied.

"And what would that be?" asked the blacksmith, curiosity now in his voice.

"I've learned that your nephew shares the same name as your son. Any reason behind that?" the marshal asked.

"You're not the first to ask," said the blacksmith, resuming his work.

The clash of metal filled the silence between them, sparks illuminating the space between the marshal's eyes and the glowing blade. Behind them, the furnace burned steadily, consuming the wood in quiet rhythm.

"There's a race of mortals, humans, to be exact, living near the center of their continent," the blacksmith began. "They call themselves the Zapalets. They named the tree that divides our world from theirs, called 'Ao'Dek'Trista.' Ao means life, Dek means beyond, and Trista means tree. The tree beyond life. That's what they call it. The name Aodhan, when you blend our tongue of Arnhaic with theirs, means 'the meaning of life.'"

The marshal listened intently, saying nothing, his expression unreadable.

"Maybe my brother and I were both searching for the meaning of life," Eduart continued, "when we gave our sons the same name. We never thought much about why. It just... happened. Names are just words, meant to describe something about you. The world doesn't change, even if your name is tangled with another's. What truly separates us is how we carry that name, how we live the word we were given the day we were born. Maybe I've had too much wine tonight; I hardly know what I'm saying anymore," the blacksmith said with a weary laugh.

"Your son still works at the vineyard near the forge, doesn't he?" the marshal asked.

"He enjoys that work. I see no reason to take it away from him, do you?" replied Eduart, still hammering.

"How was your relationship with your brother? With Aoran?" the marshal asked.

"Aoran was a cold man. He didn't share his emotions with anyone. All he cared about was battle, swords. I saw the fire in him for the blade, and that's why I began forging them. I made the swords, he wielded them, broke them. I forged, he fought, he broke them again. That went on for two hundred years. Only the steel of those blades ever truly knew Aoran, no one else. I realized too late that through my swords, I was trying to get closer to him, in the only way he'd allow. But I never understood him. And when he gave his son the same name as mine, I was stunned. Maybe it was the opposite all along, maybe he understood me before I ever understood him. Funny, isn't it? You can never really know what's in someone's mind, even if you're a god. Everyone hides something," the blacksmith said, locking eyes with the marshal.

"Any idea why he chose the same name?" asked the marshal.

"None at all. To this day, I don't know. Aodhan the teacher and Aodhan the wine seller live completely different lives. Maybe what I said earlier is true, something about that Ao—"

"Ao'Dek'Trista," the marshal finished for him.

"The wine's talking again," said the blacksmith with a grin.

"I'll keep that in mind. But tell me, do you know anything about what Aodhan the teacher does outside his work? In his daily life?" the marshal asked.

"Like his father, he keeps to himself. I think that boy overthinks everything, that's probably why he's not married yet. Hahaha!" the blacksmith chuckled.

"Where does he live? I'd like to pay him a visit myself," the marshal said seriously.

"Two minutes east by flight. There's a building marked with a winged bell. He lives on the third floor," Eduart answered, never looking up from his work.

"A winged bell? These youngsters..." said the marshal, placing his hat back on his head over his short brown hair. "Thank you for your time, Eduart."

"Sure you don't want a glass of wine before you go?" the blacksmith offered.

"Maybe after I speak with your nephew," said the marshal.

"What are you seeing him for?" asked Eduart.

"Just a conversation, nothing more. He's been entrusted with educating Voidanos, so I want to see how he's faring. It's no small burden," the marshal replied.

"Uanamangura, huh? Igorus' boy... I haven't seen Igorus today. Do you know where he is?" asked the blacksmith.

"He went for his weekly inspection in the forest. Should be back any minute now," the marshal said.

"The trouble a child can cause... even the gods can't match it. In this case, Uanamangura fits both sides of that saying. Ironic, isn't it? Others see his birth as a triumph," said the blacksmith, stopping mid-strike.

"Something wrong, Eduart?" asked the marshal.

"N–No, nothing. Don't know what came over me. We'll talk another day, Marshal," the blacksmith said, returning to his hammering.

"Of course, Eduart. Until next time," said the marshal as he unfolded his wings and took flight toward Aodhan's home.

"Better if you'd never been born at all, Uanamangura..." muttered the blacksmith, striking the blade once more...