The sun was barely peeking over the towers of the city when Kai knocked on the door.
— Get up, Metal boy. — he called. — Time for your first mission.
Hinokami opened his eyes. He hadn't slept much. During the night, the shadow had passed by the window several times — yet this time, it didn't bring fear, but a strange feeling of being watched.
He put on his armor — simple, but sturdy. He took a sword — an ordinary one, bought from the market, yet perfectly balanced.
When his fingers wrapped around the hilt, he thought he felt the metal tremble — as if it recognized him.
You're not my true flame… but you'll do, Hinokami thought.
The two of them left through the eastern gate.
The wind was fresh, carrying the scent of dew and wet earth. The three moons — still pale — hung above the horizon as the sun shyly pushed its way into the sky.
— You've no idea how quiet it gets outside the walls. — said Kai. — The city never sleeps, but out here… it's different.
They followed a narrow path strewn with stones and dry flowers.
The task was simple — gathering herbs from the valley near the river. "A mission for Metal-ranks," as Kai liked to joke.
— Come on, fire boy. — he grinned. — Today we're not burning demons, we're picking weeds.
— As long as the weeds don't decide to burn back. — replied Hinokami.
Kai laughed — genuinely this time.
They began collecting plants into leather pouches.
Some herbs carried a heavy aroma; others — nearly scentless, but faintly glowing. One of them shimmered under the moonlight, as if dusted with starlight.
Then they heard it.
A low growl.
Then footsteps.
Heavy. Fast.
From the shadows of a nearby rock emerged five figures.
Goblins.
The same kind Hinokami had seen in the forest… but not quite.
Their bodies were leaner, their eyes murkier, their skin marked with pale glowing lines.
— They shouldn't be this close to the city. — whispered Kai.
— Someone drove them here. — replied Hinokami. — Look at the runes on their skin.
The goblins spread out, surrounding them.
Smells like fear… but not ours, thought Hinokami. They're afraid too — of something behind us. Or above us.
Kai raised his hand. His quill flared, summoning a small shield of light before him.
— I can hold off two. — he said. — The rest are yours. Don't die, I didn't bring a complaint scroll.
— I'll try. — Hinokami answered.
He drew his sword.
The flame within his chest stirred — first as a memory, then as a spark.
The first goblin leapt.
Hinokami moved.
The motion was swift, yet gentle — not a strike, but a dance.
The blade cut through the air.
And then…
Fire burst forth.
Not like wildfire, but like light. A wave of heat flowed along the blade, glowing deep orange-red.
Each strike left a trace of embers — glowing lines lingering for a heartbeat before vanishing, swallowed by the world.
Kai froze in awe.
That's no ordinary elemental magic… That's… living fire.
The goblins charged.
Hinokami didn't think in terms of strikes — but of steps.
One step left. A breath. A twist of the wrist. I don't hate you. You're not to blame. Someone drove you here.
The sword sang.
The fire didn't burn their bodies as usual — when the blade touched them, something black peeled away — like a shell.
Their eyes gleamed for an instant, as if awakening, and they nodded slightly toward Hinokami before retreating.
The last goblin fell to its knees.
Understanding flickered in its gaze. Fear gave way to peace.
It wasn't my choice, said its eyes.
Hinokami stood still.
The sword still glowed in his hand.
Then, the blade cracked.
The metal crumbled — turning into ash that rose slowly, carried away by the wind.
From within his chest came a faint male voice:
"Thank you… for wielding me as I was meant to be.Thank you… for giving me life, even for a moment."
The ashes dispersed.
Only the hilt remained in his hand.
Kai stood speechless beside him.
— Hinokami… what was that? — he whispered.
Hinokami stared at the hilt.
— No sword lives forever. But this one… at least it died singing.
— The gift of the Smith. — he said quietly. — But this time, I didn't summon it. It… just happened.
Kai swallowed hard.
The gift of the Smith… the First Flame… the Purple Eye… this boy is a walking legend who doesn't yet know he's one. And legends either save cities… or burn them.
They sat by the river.
The water reflected the three moons — the violet, the white, and the blood-red — like three eyes watching even the flow itself.
Kai took out a small flask and handed it to him.
— Drink. — he said. — Helps when the world decides to be too strange for one morning.
Hinokami drank.
— You promised to tell me. — he reminded. — About the First Flame.
Kai was silent for a long time.
If I tell him everything, he might fear himself. If I don't… he might burn us all.
Finally, he began:
— The legends speak of a man… — he said softly. — A man who could give life to fire. Not just control it — but make it think, feel, choose.
An image formed in Hinokami's mind — a figure wrapped in light, with eyes burning with entire worlds.
— They say he grew so powerful that the world itself grew afraid of him. — Kai continued. — And so, they sealed him away.
— Where? — Hinokami asked.
— In light. — Kai answered.
— In… what?
— In the light of the three moons. — he looked up. — They aren't just celestial bodies. They're seals.
Hinokami felt his blood turn cold.
Three moons. Three seals. And the fire in me stirs when I look at them…
— And if someone awakens that flame again? — he asked.
— Then the beginning will repeat. — said Kai. — And the city will burn.
He paused, then added softly:
— Some whisper that the Purple Eye is the mark of the one who carries that spark within. A rank above all ranks. Not for the guild — for the world.
Hinokami looked at his reflection in the water.
For a moment, he thought he saw a faint purple glow in his eyes.
Then it faded.
When they returned to the city, it was late night. The moons hung above the towers — three eyes that never slept.
At the gate stood a figure wrapped in a long gray cloak.
It neither spoke nor moved — only watched.
Kai walked past without paying attention. To him, it was just another city oddity.
But Hinokami stopped.
The gaze beneath the hood turned toward him.
Eyes the color of the Blood Moon — deep and heavy.
— You're the one they call the Gray Watcher. — Hinokami said quietly.
The figure smiled — barely.
— A watcher, yes. — the voice was calm, aged, strangely pure. — But not only that. I see the flame in you is not blind.
— Who are you? — Hinokami asked.
— I am the Smith of Smiths. — the man replied. — The first who ever spoke to metal itself.
And one of the last who remember the true name of the First Flame, he thought.
— I saw your blade when it shattered. — he went on. — And I saw you — how you gave it life without enslaving it.
Hinokami said nothing.
This man… stands here as if he's just guarding the gate. But beneath that cloak, the same song hums as in my chest.
— You are different. — said the Gray One. — You do not forge to create weapons. You forge to heal.
He stepped closer — his movements silent.
— Come to me when the moons align again. — he said. — I will teach you things no man should ever know.
— Why me? — Hinokami asked.
The Gray One looked at him for a long moment.
— Because, Hinokami… the fire within you does not wish to burn. — he said softly. — It wishes to understand.
He turned and walked into the darkness.
The wind lifted his cloak, and for an instant, a golden symbol shimmered on his back — ancient, familiar to the heart though unknown to the mind.
The symbol of the First Flame.
Hinokami stood there for a long time, staring after him.
Then he looked down at the hilt in his hand.
On one side — once smooth — now glowed a tiny mark, the same he'd seen on the back of the Gray One.
"The Smith of Smiths… the First Flame… the Purple Eye…"
— So… you're not an enemy. — he whispered. — Maybe you just want to see if I survive.
Kai caught up to him.
— Who were you talking to? — he asked, slightly out of breath.
Hinokami looked at him and smiled faintly.
— A teacher. — he said. — Or… a warning.
The three moons shone over the city.
The violet — heavy and watchful.The white — cold and clear.The blood-red — restless.
And somewhere between them, unseen by all, the First Flame stirred faintly in its sleep.