The day of our departure from the outskirts of Buskon Village arrived not with a celebration, but with a heavy, salt-streaked silence. We were finally trading this skeletal timber hut for a life within the village walls, yet the air felt thick with the ghosts of the past.
Felix stood in the damp, knee-high grass, watching his father. Bastro was no longer the roaring, A-Rank adventure who have voice of shaking mountains; he was a broken man kneeling before two weathered stone markers behind the house. He wept openly at the graves of his parents, his broad shoulders heaving with every jagged breath.
"Forgive me, Mother... Father..." he choked out, his voice cracking like dry wood. "I couldn't keep my promise. I couldn't protect the workshop."
He gestured weakly toward the pile of splinters and sawdust that had once been his forge. The previous night's storm had been the final, cruel blow; the termite-ridden, water-logged beams had finally surrendered to the rot, collapsing into a heap of misery. To a stranger, it was just a pile of refuse, but to Bastro, it was the death of a sacred lineage.
Felix watched him from a distance, his small hands tucked into his pockets. To be honest, he felt no sentimental pull toward this drafty hut or the crumbling shed. In his past life, "home" was just a set of walls that kept the world away. But Felix wasn't a fool. He knew that humans forge invisible, unbreakable chains to the most insignificant things—a piece of wood, a patch of dirt, a promise made to the dead. He simply stood behind his parents, a silent sentinel in the shadow of their mourning.
Nellie stepped forward, her hand resting gently on Bastro's shaking shoulder. "Dear, are you alright now? Don't worry... we will come back to visit this place once a month. It isn't truly gone."
Bastro wiped his eyes with a soot-stained sleeve, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah," he said, his voice regaining its gravelly edge. "It's no time to grieve for the past. Let's go. Our new home is waiting."
With that, the Bardeen family began their march. We carried only the essentials: bundles of worn clothes, the heavy iron blacksmithing tools that were Bastro's livelihood, and the family's treasure—the dragon-etched sword, tucked securely away.
As we walked away, I didn't look back. I was already looking toward the village, wondering if a new house meant a new kind of magic.
At the iron-studded gates of the village, the air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the cold authority of the border patrol.
"Please show your verification cards," the guard at the village border barked.
"Right here," Bastro replied, handing over the three identification papers. The guard, a man named Gadym, barely spared them a glance. Instead, his eyes were hungrily anchored to the ornate wooden box under Bastro's arm.
"Hehe... looks like you're hauling something precious in there," Gadym sneered with a predatory glint.
"I apologize, but this is a family heirloom. It is not for sale," Bastro stated firmly.
Gadym didn't even listen; he snatched the box right out of Bastro's hands. "A masterpiece like this is wasted on peasants like you. And don't be confused—who said anything about paying you?"
As the thief gloated, a second figure approached, clad in a far more dignified knight's uniform. "What is this ruckus, Gadym?" the senior officer demanded. He looked at Bastro and his eyes widened. "Oh! Bastro Bardeen? The finest blacksmith in the region—what in the heavens are you doing here?"
The air at the gate suddenly went cold. Gadym turned a sickly shade of pale. "B-Bastro? You mean the Blacksmith Bastro?" He scrambled to re-examine the cards, his knees hitting the dirt in a frantic display of regret. "I—I apologize, Sir Bardeen!"
"Get back to the barracks. I'll deal with you later," the senior knight snapped, his voice vibrating with disgust. Turning to the blacksmith, he gripped Bastro's hand in a firm shake. "I apologize for the idiocy, Bastro. It's been a while."
Felix stood there, the second person in the crowd frozen in pure shock. He watched, bewildered, as the two men spoke with the easy familiarity of old friends.
"So, what brings the Bardeen name to the gates with all this luggage?" senior knight asked.
Bastro replied with a tired but triumphant smile, "We're moving into the village, Vomon."
"I see... then welcome home, Bardeen family."
As they traversed the cobblestone streets, people stopped in their tracks to tip their hats or call out greetings. Felix walked in a daze, his mind spinning. Why is everyone treating this man—who usually just hammers away in a drafty hut—like a local legend?
Nellie, reading the confusion written across Felix's face, leaned down with a warm whisper. "Your father is a hero to these people, Felix. He stood on the front lines against monster raids when the village was most vulnerable. Even when he couldn't fight anymore, he stayed at the forge, providing weapons at nearly no cost just to keep the guards safe."
A new sense of pride and understanding took root in Felix's chest as he looked at the broad back of his father. Three steps ahead, Bastro was trying to maintain a stoic, humble exterior, but a massive, satisfied grin was stretching across his face.
"This is our new home, Felix. What do you think?", Bastro announced.
Felix stared at the structure in front of him, barely able to contain his excitement. It was a massive upgrade—two floors of solid stone and timber, featuring a spacious drawing room, a separate kitchen, and, best of all, a bedroom that was entirely his. Attached to the side was a wide, professional workshop that smelled of cold iron and potential.
"It's perfect, Dad! It's huge, and the forge is amazing!" he replied, a genuine smile breaking across his face.
Bastro chuckled, but his expression quickly softened into something more somber. He knelt slightly to meet Felix's eyes. "I'm glad you like it, Felix. But listen... you saw what happened at the gate, right?" His smile faded entirely. "We are in the heart of the village now. There are many people in surrounding now. People can be selfish; they might try to use you or bring you harm. Just promise me you'll stay cautious. Don't wander too far or stay out after dark."
Felix looked at his parents' worried faces. I know better than anyone how ugly people can be, he thought, remembering the coldness of his past life. "I understand, Dad. I'll be careful."
A few days later, once the crates were unpacked and the hearth was warm, Felix walked into the new workshop. The air hummed with the rhythmic clack-hiss of metal meeting water.
"Dad? I want to ask you something," Felix called out over the sound of his hammer.
Bastro pulled his glowing iron from the anvil and peeled off his heavy leather gloves. "Sorry, Felix, my ears are still ringing from the anvil. You'll have to repeat yourself—what was it you were saying?"
"I want to learn. I want to learn blacksmithing."
Bastro paused, stroking his beard as he looked at Felix's small stature. "Well, you can observe me for now if you like. We'll discuss it properly when I 'come home' later tonight."
Felix glanced at the door connecting the forge to the living room. Home is literally five steps away, he thought dryly. "Uh... okay. I'll wait for you inside."
That evening, the atmosphere in the dining room felt strangely formal, like a silent courtroom. Bastro sat at the head of the table, taking a slow sip of water.
"Call your mother," he directed. If I say yes without her permission, I'm a dead man, he thought, casting a nervous glance toward the kitchen. But if I say no and she wanted him to learn, I'm also a dead man.
Once we were all gathered, Bastro cleared his throat. "Son, state your desires."
"Please teach me the forge! I want to be a blacksmith!"
Nellie didn't explode as Bastro had feared. Instead, she looked at Felix me with a mix of confusion and concern. "Felix... Why so suddenly? You're barely five. This is back-breaking, dangerous work." She paused, her gaze shifting into a fierce, predatory glare directed at the boy's father. "Or did someone put these ideas into your head?"
Bastro held up his hands defensively, looking at Felix with pleading eyes. "Felix! Tell your mother! Did I tell you to say this?!"
Felix suppressed a smirk. It's almost therapeutic to see the 'Almighty Hero' trembling like this. But since he was Felix's only ticket to the forge, he had to bail him out. "No, Mom. No one forced me. I want to learn because I saw the sword... and because I want to be like Dad."
Nellie's expression melted at the compliment, though the worry remained. "But still, it's so early..."
"If the boy has the spark, we shouldn't smother it," Bastro interrupted, regaining some of his bravado. "He can start with small scraps of metal. It's harmless."
Felix turned his most convincing, "sparkling-eyed" look on Nellie. She sighed, defeated by the sheer cuteness of the plea. "Fine. But Bastro, if he so much as singes a hair because you weren't watching the fire, there will be trouble."
Bastro grinned, his confidence returning in full force. "Don't you worry! With me as his teacher, I'll have him swinging a hammer like a pro in a week!"