Vincent stared at Cal's face; his eyes raised in surprise in unease.
"Did I say something wrong?"
Cal huffed, his eyes glancing out of the room over and over again, as if he wanted to make sure there weren't any unsuspecting listeners.
"Just... don't ask that question. For both of our sakes."
Vincent's face turned into that of confusion, one of his eyebrows quirked up. His gaze drifted to where Cal kept on glancing, as if trying to see for himself what Cal was so afraid of.
"Why? Do you not want your granddad to hear?"
Cal quickly whipped his head to Vincent, his eyes showing off the answer clear as the sun on a cloudless day.
"If my granddad heard that question... you and I would be subject to the longest and scariest lecture. You want that?"
Vincent's face turned into that of understanding, his head shaking side to side. "Oh... I guess not. Sorry... It's just... You're so strong and-"
"That comes from practice! Nothing else!" Cal could feel the irritation build up in the pit of his stomach again. But it wasn't because of the question itself. Rather, it was because he asked a similar question to Darius before.
And the answer was less than ideal. In fact, it couldn't even be considered one.
"Granddad yelled at me when I asked something like that. He said I was prying for no good reason... and that I'd get into trouble if I kept on doing it. I've never seen him so... angry. Not ever."
Cal felt his throat tightening as he spoke. He tried to think of anything to switch the topic of discussion. But Vincent's question gnawed at Cal's head.
Was it giving rise to that same fiery intrigue he had all those years ago? No... Not possible. He buried all of that.
Right?
------
The sun shone over the horizon as morning time rolled over the earth. Cal's eyes opened as the rays of light cast over his eyes. He rubbed them sleepily before sitting up from the bedding he made the night before, trying his best to fight off the remains of sleep that clung to his skin. He looked to the bed, only to see no one laying in it.
Vincent's already up, huh?
Cal went about his morning routine, freshening himself up and changing into a comfortable set of clothes. As he went down to the workshop, he heard the sounds of chatter and laughter emanating from there.
As he walked down, he saw Vincent standing near the anvil beside Darius, a hammer in his hand. Sweat trickled down his temple, his stance awkward, and his grip too tight with stress. Darius stood behind him, arms crossed, watching with that usual unblinking intensity.
"Don't hold it so tight, boy. You can only do so much," Darius said, his voice low yet sharp. "You'll need to let the hammer carry its own weight when doing your work."
Vincent grunted, swinging again. The hammer bounced off the metal with a pitiful clang.
Cal leaned against the doorway, crossing his arms. "How is it you've shown more interest in teaching him than you have me?"
Vincent startled, nearly dropping the hammer. "Oh— Cal! You could at least say something before sneaking up!"
"Didn't want to interrupt your... performance," Cal replied, smirking. "Pretty sure that ingot's more bent out of shape than it started."
Darius shot Cal a warning glance, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "Mocking him won't make him better, boy."
"Yeah, but it makes the lesson more fun!" Cal shot back.
Vincent gave a sheepish look, smiling in slight embarrassment. "Sorry, I just saw Mr. Virell working and it looked interesting... and then he offered me a chance to try. I'm not good at this at all."
Cal's smug smile softened into a look of understanding, albeit while still enjoying the horrid attempt Vincent had made.
"Things like this take time. You'll get the hang of it in time, I guess."
Cal plucked the hammer from Vincent's hand before he could protest. With a few effortless movements, he adjusted the ingot's position and struck. Each swing landed with precision — rhythm steady, force balanced, sparks scattering like embers in the dim light.
Darius watched, nodding once before turning to Vincent. "See? He's pulling the weight he knows he can pull. In our line of work, it's important to do what we can. We're not people of splendor to do more than we're capable of."
Darius' words had already left his lips, yet they continued resounding in Cal and Vincent's ears. Vincent stared at Cal, not showing a visible reaction at all, but definitely moved.
Cal's hand gripped the hammer tighter than normal and he felt his jaw clench tight.
"We're not people of splendor..."
How many times has he heard this message? How many times was he told their smithing was nothing but meager work? The questions made his body smolder in anger.
Vincent gaped, studying Cal's form. "You make it look so easy."
Cal stopped his movements, looking back at Vincent and trying his best to hide the anger in a complacent grin. "That's because it is. You're just overthinking it..."
Vincent's eyes continued to stay wide in awe, his head moving up and down in slight wonder.
The amazement in Vincent's gaze drew a quiet chuckle from Darius — rare as rain in drought. He turned back to the forge, sliding a half-finished blade into the coals. "Vincent, take a break before you break your arm. Cal, make yourself useful and fetch the rest of the shipment from the back. And for the love of all that's sane, don't start a contest in my shop."
"Yes sir," Cal said, as he walked off.
------
Hours had passed since then, the three of them gathered around a small table near the back of the forge. Darius poured mugs of dark tea — bitter, smoky, the kind that scalded the tongue but cleared the mind.
"Thank you!" Vincent said, his hands already going to pick up a mug, only for him to recoil from the heat and blow on his hands.
"So," Darius began, leaning back in his chair. "You survived your first night in the Hollow Anvil. Are you holding up?"
Vincent smiled. "I'm doing fine, Mr. Virell. Although, it isn't so bad here. You make it sound like it's a low bar."
"Low bars are how you build foundations," Darius replied simply. "Speaking of which — Vincent, how'd you sleep?"
"Very well," Vincent said. "Cal offered me the bed, and it felt great! It was awfully quiet outside, too."
"That's Lamnor City for you," Darius replied. "Not many words to be heard every day. Most you'll get is a drunkard stumbling out of the tavern before passing out. Or Mr. Adams blabbering about the platoon sent from the royal family. Poor man thinks they're out to get him."
Vincent looked thoughtful. "It's kind of... eerie. But beautiful, in a way."
Cal snorted. "That's one word for it. I'd go with 'filthy.' Or 'depressing.'"
"Maybe you've just been here too long," Vincent said.
"Maybe you've not been here long enough."
Darius' voice came in loud this time. "Cal, enough!"
Both boys froze, but Cal started to feel irk rising in his throat. He couldn't say a thing about this place, could he? Not without another lecture on being grateful for it all.
A moment passed before Darius let out a deep exhale as he leaned back, stretching. "Alright, enough talk. Cal, I'd like for you to give our friend here a quick tour of the town. Nothing much. Just stay in the south quarter."
Vincent brightened instantly. "Really?"
Darius' mouth curved slightly into a smile. "Someone needs to show you this place and what it has to offer, even if it isn't much."
Cal sighed before standing up, shrugging the stiffness from his shoulders. "Fine. We'll keep it short."
------
The streets of Lamnor City stretched out before them, swallowed by the haze of morning fog. Gas lamps flickered along the narrow lanes, their light pale against the gray dawn. The ground — while dry from the rain from a few days ago — still carried a damp scent.
Cracked cobblestones ran uneven beneath their boots, slick with old rain. The buildings leaned toward one another like weary men after a long haul, the structure darkened by soot and attrition.
Shutters hung crooked, windows either boarded or half-shattered. Only the caw of distant crows and the echo of dripping water broke the stillness.
"This is the south quarter?" Vincent asked, voice hushed as though afraid to wake something.
Cal nodded, eyes sweeping over the derelict facades. "Well, what it was. Ever since the Evervoid Empire came to power, anyway. Before then, this place was infested with people. At least, that's what granddad told me."
Vincent slowed as they passed a narrow alley. A single lamp buzzed weakly above a door, illuminating the faded lettering of an old sign — Torrin's Badstübe. The door was nailed shut.
"It feels..." Vincent started, hesitating to speak before he continued. "...forgotten."
"Like I said," Cal said simply. "Depressing."
They walked on in silence. Stray cats darted between barrels. A gutter trickled with murky water that reflected the gray sky like tarnished silver. Cal caught sight of a mural on a crumbling wall — once a depiction of the Evervoid crest, now defaced with ash and peeling paint. The Empire's symbol seemed to weep rust.
Vincent broke the silence again. "You ever think it'll change?"
Cal glanced at him. "Change?"
"The city. The people."
Cal's lips twitched, though it wasn't a smile. "Maybe if people went up to the doors of the Evervoid family and wept about this hell and asked them to live in it."
Vincent fell silent, looking as if he desperately wanted to reply. But no words came. The weight of the air seemed heavier with every step, pressing down on both of them. For Vincent, it was the unease of being in a place forgotten by time. For Cal, it was the pull of thoughts he'd tried to bury.
The question from last night started to fester for the first time since then.
"Are you... an Ecliptic?"
He'd brushed it off, but the words clung like a stain he couldn't wash out. Every clang of a hammer, every whisper of his grandfather's lessons came back to him in fragments.
"We're not people of splendor."
"Keep your head down."
"Don't pry where you shouldn't."
Vincent glanced at him, noticing the distance in Cal's eyes. "Hey… you alright?"
Cal blinked, shaking himself back into focus. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"About what?"
Cal didn't reply at first. He just stared off into the unknowing distance. "Nothing worth talking about."
------
By the time the sun dipped low, the two had returned to the Hollow Anvil. The day had passed in sluggish silence, neither boy speaking much after their walk. Vincent retired early, exhausted from the weight of the city and its ghosts. He retired to Cal's bed, while the bedding Cal made for himself had waited nearby.
But Cal had no mind to sleep. Not when he didn't feel like resting.
The forge was quiet now, the hearth cold. He stood in the small yard behind the shop, the faint glow of twilight painting his silhouette in dull amber. The sword in his hand gleamed faintly — his grandfather's own work, worn and familiar.
He exhaled once, steadying his stance. Then he began to move.
Each swing was precise, deliberate — not the clumsy thrashing of a boy, but the motion of someone who knew every arc, every angle. The blade cut through the air with a muted whistle, the sound sharp against the stillness.
Too sharp. Too perfect.
He paused, breath steady, gaze hard.
Why did it always feel so easy? When did it get so easy?
He tried to tell himself it was just training — years under Darius's watch, endless repetition, muscle memory honed by practice. But deep down, he knew it wasn't that. There was something else in him, something that surged when he fought. A rhythm that wasn't entirely his.
From the shadows near the doorway, Darius watched. His arms were crossed, expression unreadable.
He'd seen that ease before — that frightening grace.
A quiet sigh escaped him, lost to the wind. "What am I going to do with you?" he murmured, barely a whisper.
Cal sheathed the blade, unaware. He looked up at the sky — colorless now, the last light gone from the horizon — and felt the faint chill settle in his bones.
The world around him was silent, save for the soft hum of the city breathing somewhere beyond the fog.
It was the kind of silence that never felt peaceful. Only heavy. Like it always had been.