Gratefulness

A Kingdom lay cradled deep within the embrace of towering mountains, so isolated that the outside world had long forgotten it. The snow-capped peaks rose like eternal sentinels that shielded us from the winds of change. Time here moved as slowly and the worries of distant lands felt as remote as the valley’s boundaries.

Our Kingdom was where every face was familiar and every story well-worn. The houses built from timber and stone, seemed as old as the mountains. Their gently sloping roofs, designed to shed the winter's heavy snow, were lined with wooden beams darkened by age and soot. Wind chimes and small charms hung from the eaves, their delicate sounds carried by the mountain breeze. Artfully crafted lanterns lit the winding paths that crisscrossed the village, illuminating the streets.

At first glance, it was a peaceful life.

But peace was a matter of perspective. Some might call us slaves. Others called us servants of the kingdom. All I know is that we are the hands that keep the kingdom strong, and we should be grateful for that. Serving is a privilege—to work, build, and protect the kingdom that shelters us. Without the mountains, the storms would consume us. Without the kingdom, chaos would devour us.

I was lucky enough to have been chosen to work as a blacksmith. Not everyone gets to work in the forge, shaping steel into blades, bows, and armour for the soldiers who protect our land. The hours were long, and the overseers’ gazes were sharper than any blade we made. But the work gave me purpose. I told myself I was fortunate to have such an important duty.

We worked hard to sustain us, often with little food or water. If the overseers were in good spirits, a bowl of rice in the morning, a few sips of water throughout the day, and maybe a stale roll of bread at night. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. It had to be. And for that, I was grateful.

Gratefulness was something Satoshi always reminded me of. He often said, “Renjiro, not everyone gets to shape destiny with their own hands. Be proud of the work you do. Be grateful you were chosen.” And I was. His words carried weight, and the way he spoke of the craft made it feel sacred. A blade wasn’t just steel; it was life, strength, and honor forged into something eternal.

The punishments, though harsh, were reminders of the standards we were expected to uphold. I never questioned them. When someone faltered—their hammer strikes were too weak, or their discipline wavered—they were made an example of. The crack of the overseers’ whips or the heavy silence of confinement taught us to be better. It wasn’t cruelty; it was correction. That’s what we were told, and we believed it. I believed it.

The people here were like the mountains—resilient and unchanging. Some carried the weight of their duties silently, while others took pride in their work. I was somewhere in between. I didn’t love the long hours, the aching muscles, or the blisters that formed on my hands, but I was thankful for the chance to serve. To contribute. To belong.

This was the only home I had ever known. The mountains were as familiar as the forge. For all their grandeur, they sometimes felt like a cage. Whenever I could steal a moment, I’d climb to the highest peak, where the wind tugged at my hair and the landscape stretched endlessly before me. Up there, I could pretend there was more to life than the anvil and hammer. I’d gaze beyond the peaks, wondering what else was out there. Could there be more than this? I’d heard tales from passing travelers—stories of distant lands and strange wonders. But were they real, or just the imaginings of weary souls looking to entertain themselves? Still, the thought lingered, igniting a quiet longing in me. A world waiting to be unveiled,  just beyond my reach.

But it never lasted.

Reality always called me back.

Strike harder, Renjiro! You’ll never make a proper blade like that.”

Satoshi’s voice rang through the forge, sharp and commanding. 

He was the head blacksmith of the lower part of the kingdom, a master of his craft whose skill was unmatched. The forge was his domain, thriving with apprentices and fellow blacksmiths who worked tirelessly under his watchful eye. Each dedicated themselves to the art as they hammered, tempered, and honed steel. Some of the apprentices, who were even younger than me, were already producing work that Satoshi praised—a contrast to my own struggles. Their precision and discipline reminded me of what I had yet to achieve. Satoshi wasn’t just my mentor; he was the man who raised me and the only family I’d ever know.

He stood across from me, arms crossed, scrutinizing my work. The red-hot steel on the anvil glowed, but the shape was all wrong.

“I’m trying,” I muttered, gripping the hammer tighter. Sweat dripped down my face, stinging my eyes.

“No, you’re not trying,” he snapped. “You’re rushing. The craft demands respect. Patience. If you’re going to be a great kajiya, you must honor the work."

I flinched. Satoshi had said something like this before, but today, it felt heavier, like an accusation. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” He stepped closer, “I’ve seen you lately. Daydreaming while you hammer. Rushing through your strikes. If that steel could talk, it would curse you.”

I frowned, “You think I don’t care about this?”

Satoshi sighed, “I know you care. But caring isn’t enough, Renjiro. It takes discipline. That blade you’re holding—it’s more than just steel. It’s life, strength, protection. You dishonor it when you treat it like a simple chore.”

The forge fell silent except for the hiss of the fire. I looked down at the half-shaped blade. He was right, of course. But how could I explain the restlessness clawing at me? As much as I loved it, the forge sometimes felt like chains around my wrists.

“I’ll finish it,” I said quietly.

As I raised the hammer, Rikuto leaned against the workbench, his tone dripping with irritation. “You better, Renjiro. I don’t know why Satoshi even bothers with you sometimes. You’re supposed to be his little prodigy, aren’t you?"

“Prodigy? More like an… uh, what’s the word—an anomaly?” Kaito chimed in, laughing and glancing at the others for approval.

“The only thing that’s an anomaly is how bad your breath smells,”  I smirked.

Laughter rippled from some of the other apprentices, and the smug grin slid right of Kaito’s face. His cheeks flushed red as he grabbed a hammer and pointed it at me like a weapon. “Why, you bastard! Say that again, I dare you!”

I shrugged, my smirk growing. “Didn’t think I needed to. Everyone here’s already suffering enough.”

“Quiet!” The forge fell silent as Satoshi strode toward us, “This is a forge, not a damn schoolyard. If you’ve got time to run your mouths, you’ve got time to work. Back to it. Now.”

Rikuto hesitated, gripping the hammer tightly, but slammed it back onto the bench under Satoshi's sharp gaze. Muttering under his breath, he stomped back to his station. Kaito shot me a parting glare before following. 

Satoshi turned to me, his eyes narrowing. “And you,” he said, “Finish that blade before I give you something real to complain about.”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered, returning to the anvil. My heart was still racing, but I forced myself to focus, lifting the hammer again. I could feel the others watching me, their mutters quiet but cutting. I clenched my jaw, ignoring them. I’d give them one strike at a time if they wanted proof.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The gentle thrum of the forge echoed in my head, and Satoshi’s words gnawed at me. Respect the craft. Honor the work. But was this really what I wanted? To spend my whole life shaping blades I’d never use in a village that the world had forgotten?

The cool night breeze rustled the curtains beside my bed. I stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“Renjiro,” a voice whispered.

I sat up, startled. Kaelan stood by my window, his sly grin gleaming in the moonlight. “You awake?”

Kaelan wasn’t like us. Even though he knew all of us in the forge—spoke with us, laughed with us—he didn’t belong here. He wasn’t bound by the same chains we were. Born into the upper class, Kaelan’s life wasn’t one of toil and obedience. He wasn’t confined to the forge or watched by overseers. He moved freely, wandering the kingdom as he pleased. That freedom left an air of mischief about him, a boldness that made it hard for him to say no.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed, though I wasn’t surprised.

Kaelan slipped into my room like a shadow, filled with excitement. “I found something. Out in the woods. You’ve got to see it.”

I blinked, still groggy. “In the woods? What is it?”

“I’m not telling,” he said, his grin widening. 

“But trust me, you’re gonna want to see it”

I glanced toward the door to Satoshi’s room, my heart pounding. If he found out… No, when he found out, the punishment would be swift. Leaving the village was forbidden, especially for someone like me. If we were caught, I’d face the overseers’ wrath, and worse, Satoshi would bear some of the blame for not keeping me in line. The thought of him being punished for my recklessness made my stomach twist.

Kaelan, sensing my hesitation, stepped closer and waved a hand dismissively. “Relax, Renjiro. We won’t be gone long. Besides, no one will even notice. I leave the kingdom all the time.”

“All the time?” My mind raced, “Kaelan, if we’re caught—”

“We won’t be,” he interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Do you think I’d bring you along if I thought there was a chance of that? Come on. Don’t tell me you’re not curious.”

The truth was, I was curious. I always was. Kaelan had a way of stirring that restless spark in me, the part that wanted to break free of the forge and see what lay beyond the mountains. His confidence made the world outside feel closer, almost reachable like I could slip past this wall and taste a life I’d only ever imagined.

Sighing, I grabbed my boots and followed him into the cool night.

The village disappeared behind us as we ventured into the woods. The air was colder here, the silence punctuated by the crunch of leaves underfoot.

“What did you find?” I asked as we picked our way through the trees.

Kaelan didn’t answer immediately. “You’ll see. But trust me, it’s worth it.”

I shook my head, half-annoyed, half-amused—typical Kaelan.

After several minutes, we reached a small clearing. Kaelan crouched and pointed to the ground. I knelt beside him, following his gaze.

A torn cloth lay half-buried beneath the leaves, its edges frayed and worn. But what caught my eye was the symbol stitched onto it: a blue crest shaped like a phoenix.

“What is this?” I asked, brushing away the dirt.

Kaelan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Probably some fancy buckle. Whoever lost it must've been rich.”

Before I could reply, a low growl echoed through the clearing.

The sound sent a chill up my spine.

I turned toward the edge of the clearing. Something moved in the shadows—large and watching us.

“Kaelan…” I whispered.

The creature stepped into the moonlight, its thick fur matted and its growl rumbling like distant thunder. It was massive, and its claws glinted with an unnatural sharpness.

“Run!” Kaelan shouted.

We bolted into the trees, the beast crashing after us with terrifying speed. My breath came in ragged gasps, my legs burning as I sprinted. Branches whipped at my face, but I didn’t dare look back.

“Kaelan!” I yelled, but there was no answer. Panic surged through me. Where was he?

The beast was gaining. Desperate, I veered off the path, spotting a narrow crack in the rocks of a nearby mountain. Without thinking, I dove into the crevice as the rough stone scraped against my arms and legs. It was tight and suffocating. The stale air clung to me as the walls pressed in, trapping me in their uneven grasp. Each movement was a struggle. The narrow path forced me to squeeze through with shallow, deliberate breaths in the stifling darkness.”

The beast reached the crack seconds later. Its growls turned to furious snarls as its claws scraped against the stone, trying to force its way through. Its jagged jaws snapped inches from my face, the hot stench of its breath making me gag. My heart thundered in my chest, and I pressed myself further back, desperate for the creature not to reach me.

As I shuffled backward, my fingers brushed faint markings on the walls. Patterns etched into the stone. 

The beast’s claws sank deeper into the crack, the tips scraping closer to me. Its growls filled the small space, reverberating through the rock like a drumbeat. Then, out of nowhere, a loud metallic clang echoed outside.

The beast roared in pain, its jaws snapping away from me. Another deafening clang followed, then a low, guttural growl that turned into a whimper. I heard the sound of steel pounding flesh and bone, followed by a loud thud.

It was chaos. The sounds of a brutal fight echoed around me—grunting, growling, the sickening crunch of metal meeting flesh. My heart raced as I strained to hear through the noise, but all I could see from my cramped vantage point were fleeting shadows emitted by the moonlight outside.

Then, silence.

I stayed still, my breath catching in my throat. Was it over? My body trembled, every muscle screaming at me to stay put, but curiosity won over fear as I slowly shuffled out of the crack.

The sight that greeted me made me freeze.

Satoshi stood with his hammer tightly gripped, his knuckles white. His clothes were torn, his chest rising and falling heavily as blood trickled down his arm. He was battered and bruised, but he stood tall, unfazed. The beast lay several feet away, whimpering and dragging itself into the shadows, retreating into the forest.

Satoshi turned to me. His eyes were filled with a mix of relief and anger. “Renjiro, are you hurt? Are you alright?”

“I… I’m fine,” I stammered.

The relief on his face was fleeting. His expression darkened as he clenched his jaw. “What were you thinking, leaving the village at night? You know how dangerous it is out here!”

Before I could respond, Kaelan appeared from behind a nearby tree with a pale face. “Is it gone?” he asked, his voice shaking.

Satoshi’s glare shifted to him. “ you!” he barked, pointing the bloodied hammer in Kaelan’s direction. “You’re dragging Renjiro into your adventures again? How often do I have to tell you—this is not some game!”

Kaelan winced but tried to defend himself. “We were just exploring! We didn’t mean for this to happen!”

“Exploring?” Satoshi’s voice was sharp as steel. “You call this exploring? You could have been killed. Both of you!” He turned back to me, his tone even harsher. “And you, Renjiro. Do you think this is a joke? Wandering off at night, thinking you can handle yourself out here? This isn’t a fantasy—it’s reality!”

The weight of his words pressed down on me, and I looked away, ashamed. He was right, of course. I’d acted recklessly, and it had nearly cost us our lives.

Satoshi let out a heavy sigh, his grip on the hammer loosening. “Come on. We’re going back. Now.”

He started walking, his limp barely noticeable as he led the way. Kaelan and I followed silently, the gravity of the situation sinking in with every step.

Eventually, we reached the gates to the kingdom. I thought we made it back unnoticed, but then came the sharp clang of armor and footsteps heading our way.

"Halt!"

Three soldiers, wearing lacquered chest plates and helmets, reflected the moonlight. Their blades rested at their sides, reinforcing their unyielding authority. One was tall, with a scar sliced across his cheek. His faded haori was marked with the orange crest of the kingdom.

"Out for a midnight stroll, I see. How did you get past the gate, and why aren't you in your quarters?" he said with a snarl.

Satoshi quickly stepped in front of us, bowing low. " Please. Forgive us. The boys were curious, and I failed to guide them properly. It won't happen again."

The soldier titled his head, "Failed, did you? I assume you know what the cost of failure is, kajiya?"

Satoshi snapped, hearing the soldier's words, "They're children. They don’t know any better, so there’s no reason to punish them for thi—."

"Are you talking back to me, doro-ashi?"

The insult was like a slap. Doro-ashi—“mud feet.” A slur used for those at the bottom of the kingdom.

"No, sir. I wouldn't—"

The soldier stepped forward and struck him with the hilt of his blade. The impact sent Satoshi staggering, but he didn't fall. His fists were clenched at his sides, yet he said nothing.

"Stop it!" I shouted, stepping forward, but another soldier grabbed me by the collar and elbowed my jaw, pinning me to the ground.

The soldier drove the hilt of his katana into Satoshi’s ribs again and again, each strike landing with a wet, sickening thud like something inside him was shifting with every blow. He gasped sharply, wheezing as if each strike was squeezing the life from his lungs. His hand trembled as it moved toward his mouth, covering it like he was holding something back. I froze, staring at him. Why is he doing that?

"Get up," the soldier barked. But Satoshi didn't move fast enough. The soldier grabbed him by the hair and threw him to the dirt, placing a boot on the side of his head and grinding it into the soil.

"Look at you," he sneered with mockery. "kajiya, who can't even control his apprentice? Do you think that title makes you worth anything? Look at you squealing in the dirt. That's all you are. Say it. Say you're dirt."

He pressed harder with his boot, forcing Satoshi's face further into the dirt.

I Locked eyes with Satoshi, but the words I expected never came. His eyes were heavy with pain, yet he stayed silent.

"say it."

Satoshi's hand dropped from his mouth. His voice was soft and shameful: "I... I'm dirt."

The soldier leaned closer, his grin widening. "Let your apprentice hear you."

"I'm dirt," he said.

Anger went through me as my nails dug into my palms. I would fight back, but I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything.

Finally, the soldier stepped back, removed his boot, and sheathed his katana with a satisfying sneer. "Good. Keep your doro-ashi in line. Or next time, I might not be so generous."

The soldiers turned away, disappearing into the shadows. I rushed to Satoshi's side, kneeling beside him. "can you stand?"

He groaned, "I'll be fine."

“You’re not fine,” I whispered, “This is my fault. If I hadn’t—”

“Don’t,” Satoshi interrupted. His voice was firm despite his injuries. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

Behind me, Kaelan stood frozen, uneased. He didn’t intervene, shout, or demand the soldiers stop. He simply watched. He could have done something, or maybe he was torn between the safety his status afforded him and the brutality unfolding before his eyes. 

 I slid my arm under him to help him up. But my mind wouldn’t stop replaying the moment—how he covered his mouth like he feared what might come out—the look in his eyes.

“Why did you cover your mouth?” I asked softly.

Satoshi didn’t answer. He leaned heavily on me as we walked; his silence was louder than any words he could have spoken.