Every morning, the chiming lifts of Lindblum rattled outside as merchants prepared their stalls and steam whistles echoed across the city. But within Torres's Synth Shop, time moved to a different rhythm — the strike of a hammer, the hiss of quenching, the low roar of the furnace that never cooled.
Nibelo stood on a stool barely tall enough to see over the anvil, ears twitching as Torres barked orders.
"Again, fuzzball. Sweep clockwise, not back and forth. You'll just push the soot around if you don't listen."
The moogle huffed, pom-pom bobbing indignantly. "I am nyot a fuzzball! I'm a blacksmith in training!" His tiny paws gripped the broom, brushing furiously across the floor. Dust and ash swirled up, coating his nose until he sneezed so hard he nearly toppled off the stool.
Nyx, leaning against the doorway with arms folded, chuckled. "Careful, Nibs. You'll bury yourself before you finish the floor."
"Nyx!" Nibelo squeaked, glaring with watery eyes. "Y-you're supposed to support me, not laugh!"
But Torres grunted approvingly, setting down a glowing rod of steel. "Better he laughs now than the fire does later. Fire's less forgiving."
---
By midday, Nibelo's fur was gray with soot. He had polished tongs until they shone, sorted scrap heaps into neat piles, and even struggled with the bellows, puffing his cheeks with every pull.
Finally, Torres handed him a hammer half his size. "Time you struck steel instead of sweeping it."
Nibelo's wings buzzed nervously. "R-really? Already?"
Torres's gaze was steady. "You said you wanted to learn. Then learn. Strike when I say, and not a heartbeat sooner."
The anvil rang like a bell as Torres positioned the glowing ingot. "Now!"
Nibelo swung. The hammer connected with a sharp clink, sending sparks flying. The force jolted up his tiny arms, nearly knocking him backward, but he planted his feet stubbornly.
"Again," Torres commanded.
The moogle struck. Again. And again. Each hit uneven, too light or off-center, but never stopping. Sweat matted his fur, his pom-pom dimmed with exhaustion, yet his eyes shone brighter with each attempt.
At last Torres pulled the metal away, quenching it with a hiss. He examined the rough, dented piece and gave a short nod. "Ugly. Crooked. Weak. But it's yours."
He handed the cooled fragment to Nibelo, who cradled it like a treasure. "M-my first… strike…"
Nyx stepped forward, clapping the little moogle gently on the back. "Not bad, kid. Most recruits would've dropped that hammer after the first jolt."
Nibelo puffed out his chest, though his arms still trembled. "Nyot me! I'll swing until my wings fall off!"
---
Day Two
The second day, Torres gave him a different task: sorting materials for synthesis. Piles of cracked gemstones, bent daggers, and rusty gears covered the benches.
"Each has a story," Torres said, folding his thick arms. "But only some can combine. Learn the difference, or you'll ruin both."
Nibelo leaned close, eyes gleaming. He sniffed each piece, tapped them with claws, even held them to his pom-pom for resonance. More often than not, Torres smacked his hand away.
"Don't guess. Listen. Steel has a voice, moogle. Gemstones too. If you can't hear them yet, you're not ready to join them."
Hours passed. Nibelo finally picked a chipped ruby and a short sword with a cracked hilt. Torres raised a brow.
"You're certain?"
Nibelo's ears twitched, but he nodded firmly. "They… they both want to shine again. Together."
Torres placed them in the forge. Flames consumed them, and with Nibelo's trembling strike, a new blade emerged — rough, uneven, but glowing faintly red.
Torres's stern mouth curved into the barest smile. "Better. Not good, but better."
Nyx muttered under his breath, "You're spoiling him."
But Torres shook his head. "No. I'm teaching him the cost. Every choice matters."
---
Day Three
By the third day, Nibelo's enthusiasm collided with exhaustion. His paws blistered, his fur smelled perpetually of smoke, and even his pom-pom drooped.
When Torres ordered him to polish a rack of half-finished weapons, Nibelo groaned, "My paws are nyumb… I can't feel my claws anymore."
Torres didn't soften. "Then polish with your wings if you must. The forge waits for no one."
Nibelo scowled, but he obeyed. Hours later, he collapsed onto a bench, asleep with a sword still clutched in his paws. Nyx found him there and gently pulled a rag over him like a blanket.
Torres watched quietly from the shadows. "The boy's stubborn."
Nyx gave a half-smile. "That's what makes him dangerous. He'll burn himself out if we don't keep him steady."
Torres grunted, but his eyes softened. "Or he'll burn brighter than any flame I've seen."
---
Day Four
On the fourth day, Torres tested him with a real synthesis.
He placed two items on the table: an old longsword and a cracked emerald. "Your choice, moogle. Refuse, and no shame in it. Accept, and the cost is yours."
Nibelo's paws hovered uncertainly. He thought of Sirius's words — creation is not always about holding on. His throat tightened. Then he nodded.
The forge roared. He struck once, twice, thrice, each blow steadier than the last. When the smoke cleared, a green-veined blade shimmered on the anvil.
Nibelo's wings trembled as he lifted it. "It's… beautiful."
Torres's voice was firm, but there was pride beneath it. "Not beautiful. Hard-won. You chose to lose two, and in return you gained one. That's the price of creation."
That night, Nyx and Nibelo sat on Lindblum's rooftops, overlooking the glowing aircabs that zipped like fireflies between towers.
Nibelo clutched the emerald blade to his chest. "It still feels sad… to lose things. But it also feels… right. Like they're not gone, just… changed."
Nyx watched the moogle's pom-pom flicker against the night. "That's life, kid. Every soldier I knew carried that truth. We lose things, people… and sometimes we make something new from the loss. Doesn't mean it stops hurting. Just means we keep going."
Nibelo leaned against his shoulder, small but warm. "Then I'll keep going. I'll forge forward nyo matter what."
For once, Nyx didn't tease him. He only looked out at the glowing city and thought of Sirius, knowing the moogle's path was just beginning — but already, he was shining.