Broken stood in front of Fokil’s Smithy with a satisfied smile, finally setting foot on this ground and breathing in the fresh Yunatea air through his virtual nostrils. As he opened the door, the resounding clang of metal filled his ears. The air was thick with the heat of melting metal, the sweet aroma of burning coal, and the lingering scent of old fires. His nose tingled with the fragrance of singed ore, heated blades, and the sweat of hard labor.
“Good Morning, sir,” he greeted.
“Close the door and immediately do your job,” Fokil gruffly commanded.
“Yes, sir,” Broken replied, trying to maintain a steady voice.
He quietly made his way to the forge, finally getting the chance to do what he had been longing for. He prepared all the equipment, materials, and blueprints. There were five items he intended to work on, determined to complete them all in this session to ensure he equipped himself with a full set of superior armor and a sword. This way, he could explore more comfortably and find out how to craft his next ultimate weapon.
Without much preamble, he immediately focused on his tasks with great enthusiasm. Time seemed to pass quickly as he immersed himself in his work, undisturbed by anyone else. He enjoyed the stillness, the quietness, where the only sounds were the hammer hitting the metal on the anvil or the sparks flying from the forge. Even Fokil worked in silence, each of them seeming to inhabit their own world.
Broken could feel the heat of the sparks against his skin and the warmth on his face, as well as the metal slowly shaping under his hammer. The experience felt incredibly real, completely absorbing him and allowing him to forget about any lingering thoughts that had been disturbing his peace.
He recalled one thing Fokil had said to him: that focus and determination were the keys to successful blacksmith crafting. It was how a blacksmith communicated with their crafted items, infusing their soul into each creation. The deeper the bond between a blacksmith and their craft, the better the results would be.
Hours passed, and Broken remained completely focused on his work. This caught Fokil’s attention, making him wonder if Broken was quieter than usual. Was it just Fokil’s perception, or was Broken truly different today? Normally cheerful and smiling, Broken now seemed silent, not asking Fokil any questions. Fokil wondered if the young man was feeling sad and if he could perhaps cheer him up a bit.
Fokil stood up and walked over to him.
“Blacksmithing needs time, brat. You must take it slowly,” Fokil said encouragingly. “One does not become a Master rank in the blink of an eye, you know it very well, don’t you?”
Broken met Fokil’s gaze and nodded in agreement. “I understand, sir,” he replied, his nod vigorous. “But I assure you that I will do my best to reach that goal.”
Fokil smiled reassuringly at him and patted him on the shoulder.
“But I am quite impressed with your dedication, and I hope you maintain that determination until the results you desire truly come to you,” Fokil added before going back to his workstation.
As the day passed, Broken completed all his smelting tasks. He now had a collection of high- quality steel bars, enough to fulfill all his crafting needs. He felt satisfied with his progress and eagerly prepared to start crafting his armor, deciding to begin with the helmet.
However, despite the day slipping by, Broken remained unusually quiet. Fokil couldn’t help but feel increasingly concerned about him. Attempting to spark conversation, Fokil noticed Broken’s continued silence.
“Broken,” Fokil said, his tone laced with worry. “You haven’t eaten all day! Remember, humans need nourishment to stay strong. You’re not as resilient as dwarves.”
Still engrossed in his work, Broken didn’t respond, the clang of his hammer against the anvil and the crackling of the forge drowning out Fokil’s words.
“How about I whip up something for you? A small snack to keep you energized until dinner?” Fokil suggested, hoping to break through Broken’s focus.
But there was no reply, Broken remained silent, fully absorbed in his crafting.
Broken felt as though he was being pulled into a dark void, his connection to the outside world slipping further away. Lost in his craft, he hammered down on the metal with a rhythm that matched the beating of his heart, feeling completely immersed in his work.
“What’s troubling you, kid? Has someone broken your heart?” Fokil’s voice was filled with concern as he tried to break through Broken’s detachment.
“You’re still young; there’s plenty of time ahead of you, although humans don’t live as long as dwarves. But don’t worry, there are plenty of fish in the sea! You’re a Royal Blacksmith, be proud of it,” Fokil encouraged, hoping to lift Broken’s spirits.
Hours later, the heavy door to the blacksmith’s workshop creaked open, revealing a young woman in her early twenties with straight, flowing blonde hair cascading down her back as she entered carrying a basket of food.
The girl’s face radiated kindness, her serene smile adding warmth to the dim and fiery forge. Standing at 1.68 meters (5.52ft) tall, her presence seemed to light up the room, drawing attention away from the intense heat of the workshop.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Fokil,” she greeted cheerfully. “I’ve brought lunch for you.”
Fokil rose from his seat, greeting her warmly. “Hello, Ivana.”
Ivana approached Fokil with an air of excitement evident on her face.
“Mr. Fokil, my mother is doing better! She’s been talking more and eating well,” she exclaimed, her voice filled with joy.
Her words briefly stirred Broken from his intense focus on hammering the metal. He glanced over at her, a flicker of curiosity crossing his mind as he wondered about the girl’s identity. However, he quickly returned his attention to his work, the rhythmic pounding of his hammer resuming.
Fokil’s eyes sparkled with happiness. “That’s wonderful to hear. I’ll make sure to visit her as soon as I can, once I’m finished with my tasks,” he responded enthusiastically, a rare laugh escaping him, a testament to the bond he shared with the young woman’s mother.
“My mother mentioned a lot about someone named Broken, saying things started changing since she met him,” Ivana continued, her mention of Broken catching his attention and causing him to slow his hammering.
Glancing around the room, Ivana spotted a man sweating profusely at the workstation, diligently hammering away at the metal on the anvil. In the flickering light of the forge, his muscles glistened with exertion as he forged something with skillful precision. Pointing towards Broken, Fokil explained, “He’s the one, the player who named Broken.”
Ivana glanced back at Broken, and a warm smile appeared on her face. “Ah, so he’s the one who has brought about miracles for my mother.” she said giggling. “But he seems very focused on his work? Maybe I can wait to express my gratitude to him?”
Broken couldn’t recall clearly, but he vaguely remembered Gia mentioning her daughter. He found it hard to believe that Gia, who was around… 80 years old? could have a daughter who looked like she was in her 20s. However, he was grateful because the old woman who had helped him immensely was now recovering. He wondered if it was because he had successfully mined for moonstones?