Mannat sat cross-legged on his bed. His eyes were wide open and pupils dilated. He was stark naked, with the exception of his plain and loose briefs that were riding up his taut thighs.

His volatile muscles were a sight to behold. They were bold and springy, unlike his father’s hard and stiff muscles. His back had developed nicely over the years, along with his arms and shoulders.

There was a hammer lying in his lap, and his right hand was resting atop of it; his left hand was right above his heart, rising up and down with his chest.

His breath ran aloof in the quiet empty room. There was only a bed inside, and a chest full of his clothes under the said bed. Ah. A pair of wooden three-legged stools sat adjacent to the closed door, so he could entertain Pandit whenever he decided to be a nuisance.

A gust of wind from the open window made red hair dance above his head. His mother had recently given him a nice little trim, and he quite liked the new look. She hadn’t done much, simply trimmed the hair on the sides and back of his head and touched the rest so they looked nice and even. It was a change from his usual even boy cut and made him look manly —as if his wide chin and growing Adam’s apples weren’t enough indications of his age.

“Inspect.” He said in a practiced manner, a change noticeable in the thickness of his voice. There was not a change in his position or demeanor, but his eyes developed a blue sheen. A glowing apparition appeared floating in front of his face. The phenomenon was for his viewing only. More importantly, it showed him the result of his hard work, and also an unfortunate mirror of reality.

Name: Mannat (9y,11m,25d)

Level: 0 (0/100 experience)

[Class: None] / [Jobs: None]

Mana: 71/75

Mana regeneration: 35/hour

Stamina: 14/14

Title: Child of Life

Strength: 7

Intelligence: 15

Perception: Low-Low

Dexterity: 4

Wisdom: 14

Endurance: Low-Low

Constitution: 7

Luck: 0.9

Willpower: Low-Medium

Skills (Inspect only shows the attributes and not the skills.)

Intelligence: (0,10,)

Focus(10), Inspect(4)

Wisdom: (0, 10,)

Analyze(7), Mana Sense(8)

Others: (0, S5,)

General fitness(10)->Vigor*(7),

Condition: Dehydrated and Tense

He looked over the values and closed his eyes. A heavy sigh escaped his mouth; there he let his concentration fall for a second, but he picked it back up just as quickly. The apparition faded from his sight a few seconds later and he opened his eyes.

“Inspect,” he called once more, and the ghostly apparition appeared floating in front of his eyes again without a hint of sound. The thing might be independent of him, but its contents were surely personal to him.

There was still no change. Strength, the physical controller of his fate was refusing to improve. It had been almost a month since any of the attributes had a change. The last time he had heard from Vigor it had just reached level 7. That was weeks ago! It had a long way to go before reaching its maximum potential; unfortunately, there was no more time.

He would be ten years old in five more days. He still didn’t understand the importance of the date, but if his father was adamant then it must have some significance. It couldn’t be a made-up restriction; he was sure of it.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t made any progress in the recent months. His attributes might have stopped rising, but he had made important progress in the smithy.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps in the corridor. The floor creaked and the sounds got louder. Mannat lowered his hand from the chest. He didn’t want the man to know he had been inspecting himself, but his heart grew frantic and he found his free hand furiously gripping the shaft of his hammer. A moment later his father, the tall burly mass of muscle, slammed the door open. He didn’t enter but stared at him from the threshold, like a predator stalking his prey.

His intensity might have scared an onlooker, but it was just that sort of a day. Today, Mannat would be hammering his future into shape. It was time to find out whether he had it in him to become a blacksmith or not. But before that, he had some things to do.

“You are up,” Raesh said. Mannat understood it was not a question and let his father finish. “Then go help your mother with the vegetables. And do the thing, all right?” The last one was a request.

Mannat felt like arguing, but his father was out of the room before he could even open his mouth. So be it then. Mannat changed into a regular set of clothes, picked up the hammer, and walked out of the room. He paused at the door for just enough time to let a breeze chill his back, and he was out of there.

He had a lot on his mind and forgot to clean up, but how could his mother let him sit at the dinner table and cut vegetables with dirty hands and dirt-filled eyes?

“Did you wash up?” He heard just as he was about to set a foot in the lobby and turned back. His mother’s dry coughing rang at the same time in the lobby behind him. Her ringing chest made him pause for the second time before his father’s loud complaints buried them, and he left them alone to give them space. He quickly cleaned himself with the bucket water and joined his mother on the table. His father was no longer there.

He had been excited before, but the sight of his mother’s pale face calmed the fire which the cold water hadn’t managed to put out. She looked so skinny. She had always been slender, but now there was hardly any meat on her bones. It was almost tragic. Worse was that no doctor could tell them what was wrong with her. His parents had even inquired the Witch, but they refused to comment on that front.

There was a cup of steaming tea sitting on the table in front of her, which she hadn’t touched. Mannat had taken a taste of it once after being dared by his mother, and he had stopped forcing her to drink it after that. It was something a doctor had prescribed her for the coughs, and it tasted horrendous.

It was not meant for human consumption, he was sure. However, it did have some effect on her health. Usually, it was his father’s duty to force her to drink it, but since he was absent —Mannat glared out the side window where his father was peeking from and gesturing him to make sure Noor drinks the tea— he had to be the one to do it that morning, and he hated the job. It was not how he wanted to start the day. He wasn’t angry, though; he just didn’t want to force his mother. He loved her too much.

He silently greeted her with a kiss on the forehead and Noor lovingly pat his arm. He took a seat next to her on the table while she continued dicing the cabbages. There was nothing much for him to help her with. She was almost done with it.

She kept dicing the cabbage leaves without looking up and time passed.

Mannat found it hard to start the conversation. Everything in the house revolved around her and the illness. There was nothing else for him to say. He tried to think of something different. He could talk about himself, but that was a nerve-wracking topic for him. He could talk about the snake that Pandit had accidentally caught a few days ago. Yes, his mother had already heard it from Pandit’s mother, Gande, but he had met the boy later and seen him cry. Though that was a buddy secret he’d rather not share, even with his mom. His mother did like hearing about Sharmilla, but—

Noor ruffled his hair. “Are you thinking about your big day?” her soft voice tickled his ears.

Mannat turned his head and saw his mother looking curiously at him. There were dark circles under her faintly red eyes. She looked away suddenly; he must have shown his thoughts. She was fairly good at reading faces, his mother. The knowledge helped him get through the days he believed the ability to be a bane. Something he shared with her had to be a gift, right?

“No. not really,” He answered dropping his head. He had unknowingly been clutching the hammer in his lap ever since he had sat down. It was no longer cold to the touch.

“You are going to be fine,” Noor spoke slowly. “God knows how hard you have worked over the years. They won’t let you down.”

“Will they really, mother? Will they really not let me down?”

“But you have to pray to them.” Mannat heard. When he turned he saw a smile on his mother's face.

Noor’s fingertips were touching her lips, eyes wide open. Even she was surprised at the find. Then she noticed his gaze and pulled her hand down again, a blush turned her face red.

Mannat sat back in the chair and told her, “I’ll pray to them, but only if they can make you drink the tea.”

Noor wasn’t happy. She frowned. “Won’t you pray for your success, instead? You’re a man already. A few years later you will even bring a bride home.” Mannat’s ears twitched at the word bride. Was she being sarcastic? Noor continued unabated. “I want to hear babies crying in my home. That will actually make me happy.”

Mannat snorted. “You are changing the topic again, mother.”

“I know. Is it working?”

“I’ll tell you if you empty the cup of tea.”

“That’s not tea, my dear!” Noor exclaimed, jovial. They were looking at each other, eyes filled with joy. After so many days his mother had found happiness again. Maybe it was not such a bad day?

Then suddenly Noor’s pupils dilated and she started coughing. She hurriedly covered her mouth with a sleeved hand and turned the other way to hide from him. Mannat slipped closer to her, instead. He held the hand she had extended to grab the tabletop and rubbed her back with the other.

“Let it out, mother.” He said craning his neck over her shoulder, worried. “Don’t hold it in. It’s bad for you to hold it in.” Worry crept into his voice.

Noor didn’t. She held back until the convulsions passed. When she turned back she acted as if nothing had happened, but Mannat wasn’t fooled. Her face had gone a shade paler and her hands were shaking. He didn’t say anything, however. He picked the still steaming cup of tea instead and brought it to her lips.

“Take a sip, mother. It’ll wet your throat and ease the pain.” He said dryly, his voice shaking.

She met his eye, but instead of taking a sip, took the cup from his hands and drank its contents in a single breath. Her face changed expressions with every gulp of the dense black liquid, but she didn’t pull the cup away from her lips until it was empty. She let out a groan afterward. She almost slammed the cup on the table but checked herself at the last moment and gently put it down, instead.

“There. “ She said frowning and shielding her mouth with her sleeved right arm. “Are you happy now?”

“Yes.” Mannat nodded, befuddled. “Very happy,” He nodded again, this time to his concerned father who was watching from outside the window.

The main door creaked opened a few seconds later and Raesh barged into the lobby. He gave a passing glance to his wife before his eyes stopped at Mannat.

“Did she drink it all?”

“Yes.”

“Did you check?” He questioned causing Mannat to frown. It was one of those kinds of mornings.

The boy buckled over the table to peek inside the cup —yep, it was empty. He found enough warmth inside to raise a thumb to his father who curtly nodded —stealing glances at his wife from the corner of his eyes— and then left through the front door without saying another word.

“How long will this continue?” Mannat asked his mother. A blush crept over Noor’s neck and she looked away, but not before Mannat saw her lips stretch into a smile. That was a relief. His parents were fighting at the moment —as if it wasn’t obvious enough. There was no shouting, only a debatably calm protest by his father.

“Are you not going?” Noor’s voice made Mannat jump on his seat. He had been lost in thoughts.

Mannat cleared his throat and asked, “Will you be alright, mother?” hearing which Noor turned back.

The hint of color in her face calmed the boy’s frantic heart, and he knew she’d be all right. So when Noor smiled and told him to go, he kissed her cheek and got up. He looked back at the door to say something but got embarrassed upon seeing Noor raising a fist into the air and left without saying goodbye. Had he stayed a bit longer Mannat would have seen fear flash through Noor’s eyes as she stared at her hands, but it was too late by then.

Mannat met Pandit on the road, who promised to hunt a boar for him. They made dinner plans for the night. Pandit decided to butcher the boar and bring it to his home sometime in the evening. He would bring his mother along and they would have a feast at night. It was the perfect celebration for his apprenticeship. His friend was oddly optimistic, but that was simply his way of saying good luck. And Mannat quite liked this side of him. The promise also put some pressure on him, since the boy was really going to hunt the boar. Failure was no longer an option; it would be way beyond embarrassing now, right?

At the shop, Raesh unlocked the large mechanical lock and went inside. Mannat had once asked to let him open the door, but he was denied and told to wait for his turn. It was Raesh’s shop, so it was his duty as the owner to open the smithy for business. It was simple logic.

In the workshop, Raesh hung the finger wide key behind the forge by the rakes, while Mannat entered the storeroom to get supplies.

The storeroom was not a large space, but it was jam-packed with barely any room to get through. There were sealed crates of iron ingots right by the entrance, followed by three large jute bags of some copper, tin, and other softer materials. There wasn’t any gold or silver in the shop, only heavy metals that didn’t have much value in small amounts.

They didn’t have any ore either, since there wasn’t a single mine in the region. Most of their iron was bought from the town. It cost them a tough penny, but no merchant would carry a shipment of ore to their forlorn outskirts when he could make double or triple the profits by selling ingots.

The Shahi coal mine was the only reason most merchants even took the time to travel to their region; it had been named Gareeb for a reason, which meant poor. The rocky region held no monetary value, but for some reason, there were many heritage sites around. It was a mystery.

Other than crates full of iron ingots, there were also solid wooden boxes brimming with powders used to treat wood, and dyes to paint the handles among other supplies. The biggest pile yet was of coal, situated at the end of the room. Other than the raw materials, all the forged goods were also stored in little crates there. None of them had been polished or sharpened. A trade secret which his father said played a big role in saving a smithy from burglars. There was after all little value in stealing a knife that couldn’t cut or a bucket that had no handle.

Mannat carried a beaten black bucket out of the storeroom and found his father waiting for him by the cold forge.

“Sir, the forge,” Mannat asked and was interrupted by a slap on the shoulder. He staggered from the force behind his father’s heavy and calloused hand but managed to stay standing. Mannat didn’t falter and stared back with eyes full of intent.

“Today, you will grow your own flames. You know what to do?” Raesh asked and Mannat was ready. He nodded. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

Mannat got to work.

First, he cleaned the forge, dumped the ash into a waste bucket and pushed it away for the time being. Then he kindled a small fire in the forge, slowly pumping air into the chamber and letting the fire breathe. Once the wood started burning and the fire grew hot, he poured some coke over the burning wood. Evenly layering the fuel, he pumped more air into the forge with the bellow, breathing in a rhythm of three releases followed by a deep resounding breath. He got a bit excited and pumped harder, which caused the fire to lash out at him from the open mouth.

“Easy boy,” His father called, keeping watch. He didn’t interfere otherwise.

As the coke grew color and the temperature rose inside the forge, Mannat dumped coal over the fuming fire. He poked the coal pieces with a rake to arrange them evenly and dumped more fuel in the center once smoke started rising in the chamber. He kept pumping air without stopping; it was the most important task of all. A single lapse in concentration was all it would have taken to drown the fire in smoke. So no matter whether his eye burned or he found it difficult to breathe, Mannat kept his head straight and eyes peeled.

He remembered the first few days when his father had asked him to work on the bellow. He called it a lung, and it taught Mannat why he needed ten points of strength to become a blacksmith apprentice. Working the bellow was hard, grueling work. It was not something he was a fan of, but soon the coals also burned bright and he got busy getting them to grow orange hot.

Raesh craned his neck to look at his work once he was done and rubbed his back.

“Good job, boy.” He said, pleased. “Then shall we get to it?”

If Mannat thought this was it then he was wrong. Raesh handed him the tongs and asked him to heat the ingots. He would get his turn, but they had a consignment to finish and some cups to make before that. They had recently received a large order of utensils from the nearest town keepers. The job paid a good healthy amount of money. Only that the deadline was a bit tight and there wasn’t much room to spare.

Therefore, from morning to evening they tirelessly worked without stopping. It was cumbersome work, but the anticipation of becoming an apprentice kept Mannat going. Yes, there was the small problem of his strength not meeting the requirement, but he had made very fine progress in the last few months. Recently, he had even managed to get the durability of an ax over twenty-five; it was twenty-seven, actually. He hadn’t received the job because his father had helped him, whereas one needed to do everything —from growing the fire, to managing it and holding the piece— on their own to acquire the job. There were also some other hidden requirements like having more than a thousand strikes with his hammer and owning an anvil, but he had long fulfilled them.

And then near evening, his father asked him to rest.

They ate bread and meat and got back at it, going as if there was no tomorrow.

Mannat watched his father as the iron ingot was heating in the forge. Raesh had not shaved since his wife had fallen ill, and now had a curling brown beard that brushed against his chest. At least his head wasn’t such a mess. Mannat was hoping for a wild spark to put an end to the thing, but that was yet to happen.

“Cough—” Raesh coughed.

The ominous sound brought Mannat out of the stupor. For a second he remembered his mother and then realized the ingot was hot and ready to be pulled out. He apologized to his father by bowing his head and shook away the daze.

Mannat picked the tong with one hand and turned the ingot inside the forge, keeping the air flowing; it was glowing bright orange, like a raging beast ready to be beaten into shape. He pulled it out and a small tongue of fire licked the air in front of his face before vanishing into nothingness. The piece was hot enough to burn him on contact, but it was not his first time handling a piece. He remained calm, even though his heart drummed a song of excitement inside his chest.

The waist-high anvil saw it coming and groaned when the burning metal touched its cold face. He held the glowing ingot flat on the anvil —lowered his legs and braced for the pounding— and was confused when his father called him. Confused, he raised his head to look at his father and saw him holding the hammer he had gifted him.

“It’s time,” Raesh said and Mannat felt the world growing cold for a moment. A variety of thoughts buzzed through his mind before calmness settled in. He didn’t question his father, simply shifted the tong to his left hand and received the hammer in his right.

“Do you know what you are making?” Raesh asked.

A smile grew on Mannat’s face. “Yes.” He said. “Mother needs a new knife.”

Raesh found his eyebrows twitching, but didn’t let it bother him much. “Is that so,” he mumbled and left it at that.

Mannat quickly squashed the laugh rising up his throat. His father looked like he was ready to fight a bear; it didn’t seem like a good idea to him to taunt the man at that moment. He had already won the match; now only the battle remained.

Jokes aside, Mannat was ready. He had been waiting for this moment for a very long time. He changed his position and started hammering. Sparks ensued from the ingot every time the hammer touched its surface, and its shape changed little-by-little in the result. A loud ringing sound rang every time at the impact, but it sounded different from when his father on a job. That was natural; there was a gulf of difference in experience between them. Mannat wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could bridge it without a few years under his belt.

He drew out the shape of the knife from the ingot and discarded the rest of the metal. Once that was done, he put the metal back into the forge to reapply heat before pulling it out and flattening it to his requirement. He worked on the piece for about half an hour, heating the metal whenever it got cold and shaping it with intent. He kept his mother's needs in mind and made sure the finished product wouldn’t be too heavy and strenuous on her wrist. He made the knife smaller than his father’s because Noor rarely ever used the edge.

All in all, he was quite happy when he finally dipped the sizzling hot blade into the oil vat for tempering. A plume of fire exploded from the vat and he pulled the dripping black thing out. He doused the fire burning on its surface with a thick non-woolen rag, cleaned the oil, and looked it over.

“How is it?” His father asked in expectation, and Mannat replied truthfully.

“There are minor cracks near the edge, but they can be grounded out. The tail’s a bit heavy, might have to remove some material from there. The warp worries me a little. Hopefully, it won’t break while I’m straightening its spine.” Mannat grew grave as he looked away from the knife and at his father.

“What do you think?” He presented the knife to Raesh who carefully took it in his hands and looked it over, nodding as he swung it around.

“It’s a very good knife, son. Balanced,” Raesh said, balancing the hot piece of metal on his fingertips like it was nothing. He flicked and snapped it out of the air. “I can see that you specifically made it for your mother.” He finished saying and grew serious. “Inspect,” he said next and a glowing prompt floated out of the knife reading: Iron Knife (Rank-E) (Power-6) (Durability-26/30).

Raesh took a sharp breath. He had been duped! When he looked over, the boy was smiling from ear to ear.

“Did you get it?” Raesh hurriedly asked, his expectations were growing out of the roof. “The message, the approval--” He couldn’t even form a proper sentence and the boy started laughing, joyous.

“I got it, father.” Mannat was ecstatic. “I’m an apprentice! I did it!”

Raesh rushed forward and hugged his dear son before he could say anymore. Oh, what a relief it was. He really didn’t know what he’d do if Mannat had failed. He had always said that he wanted it for the boy, but truthfully, he wanted it for himself. His heart had been in his throat. This was good news. This was excellent news!

Mannat couldn’t tell his father to put him down; his sight was filled with glowing apparitions.

Congratulations! You have acquired a new job. You are now a Blacksmith Apprentice.

[Blacksmith: Apprentice][Lv-1/10][Tier-1][Job]

[An apprentice, you have taken your first step into the world. The path has been hard, but don’t slack now for this is only the beginning.]

[Skills Healing Strikes and Blueprint Library unlocked at level 1.]

[Reward: Your strength and Constitution increases by 1 point with every level gained.]

***

[Blueprint Library][Lv-none][Tier-none]

[Check the library for new blueprints every time the job level increases.]

***

[Healing strikes][Lv-1/10][Tier-1][Passive]

[Effect: There is a 1% chance of the hammer strike repairing some durability of the impacted tool.]

[Skill only works on Rank-E or lower products with less than 10% durability.]

[The percentage, amount of repair, mana used, and the durability, all depends upon the skill level.]

[Reward: The skill gives 1 point of Intelligence every time the skill level increases.]

“Father, I can’t breathe. Put me down.”

“AH, forgive me, son.” Raesh put the boy back on the ground. “Here,” he said returning the knife back to Mannat.

And then they both grew silent. There was no awkwardness between them; they simply had nothing to say. Sometimes even happiness is too much to take.

“Father,” Mannat started, but suddenly the front door swung open, and hurried footsteps rang in the workshop.

They both looked over, unable to figure out the cause of the ruckus. Then suddenly a figure appeared at the door covered in the outside glow; it was Pandit. He was breathing laboriously and sweating profusely as if he had come running from the other side of the village. He looked frightened like a pigeon. He was even wearing a blood-covered apron, reminding Mannat of their promise. His heart sank. He knew something was wrong.

“Mannat,” Pandit spoke in a shrill voice thinner than what glass makes when tapped. “It-It’s your mother. She-she coughed black blood and lost consciousness. We-we couldn’t wake her up.”

A shiver went down Mannat’s spine as a sudden gust of wind erupted beside him. His father had just left the workshop. The knife blade slipped out of his hands and clanked lifelessly on the cobbled floor, as he dashed right after him.

Behind them, only the forge remained burning and spitting fire, keeping a small corner of the workshop from being eaten by darkness like the rest of the room.