The Charm
INT. OLD BRIDGE RUINS – EARLY MORNING
Water flows beneath the broken stone bridge. Ryu crouches at the edge, fingers trailing in the current.
His reflection ripples.
His mind races.
Ryu (thinking):"She tracked me.""Not some bounty hunter.""Empire?"
He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly.
Ryu (thinking):"The caravan. She must've seen me there.""Assassin. Probably elite."
A flash of her smile. That mocking voice.
Ryu (mutters):"...She wasn't sent to kill. Just to scout."
(beat)
"Which means more are coming."
"I need a settlement. Somewhere off-grid. Warriors I can use... people I can trust."
He scoffs under his breath.
Trust.
Ryu (mutters):"...That's the part I don't have."
He leans back, staring up at the overcast sky. Silence presses in.
Suddenly—he grabs his head.
A flicker of frustration.
Ryu (thinking):"It's too much. Too many threads. If I move wrong, I'll pull them all down on me."
His hand tightens around something inside his cloak.
He pulls it out—
The Black Charm.
It pulses faintly. Faint mana swirls inside like oil in ink—dense, unnatural. Unreadable.
Ryu (quietly):"...You're still useless. No idea what you are."
He pockets it again.
EXT. BLACKSMITH FORGE – LATER
A dull rhythmic hammering echoes through the air. Firelight glows inside a stone forge tucked behind a stall. Ryu steps through the doorway, ducking under a beam.
The blacksmith is huge. Arms like tree trunks. Bald. Apron stained with ash and oil.
He pauses mid-swing, wiping his brow.
Blacksmith (gruff):"You want what?"
Ryu (flat):"Make this into an accessory. Earring, pendant—anything small."
He tosses the black charm onto the table.
The blacksmith eyes it.
Then tries to pick it up.
It buzzes faintly—resisting.
His fingers twitch. Then he gets a better grip and raises it toward the heat.
He lowers it into the crucible—
Nothing.
No change.
No melt.
No reaction.
The flame seems to shy away from it.
Blacksmith (blinking):"…Huh."
He tries again, adjusting the heat.
Still nothing.
Blacksmith (mutters):"This ain't steel. Ain't obsidian. Not even mythril."
(beat)
"What the hell is this thing?"
Ryu doesn't answer.
Blacksmith (eyes narrowing):"This ain't from around here, is it?"
Ryu stays silent. The blacksmith frowns deeper.
Blacksmith:"Only ones who might even try shaping this are the dwarves."
Ryu:"Not interested."
Blacksmith (grins slightly):"You will be. If you want this turned into something other than paperweight, you're gonna need the Stoneforged."
Ryu turns to leave.
EXT. CITY STREETS – SHORTLY AFTER
Ryu moves through the crowd.
Eyes scanning every shadow. Every face.
The weight of the charm feels heavier in his pocket now. Not in mass—in presence.
He doesn't like it.
His hand drifts near the hilt of nothing.
Ryu (thinking):"No sword. No backup. Just this thing."
He watches two cloaked figures down the road. They pass without incident.
Then a child trips and falls behind him—he turns without thinking.
Too many eyes.
Too many thoughts.
Ryu (low, to himself):"I need quiet."
EXT. MERCHANT STREET – LATER
Ryu leans against a stone wall, shadows sliding across his face as townsfolk pass.
His fingers tap the black charm in his pocket—thoughtful. Calculating.
He opens his eyes. Scans the rooftops again—quiet.
Then looks at the charm once more. Flicks it into the air. Catches it.
Like it doesn't belong to this world.
Ryu (flat):"You're not a weapon."
(beat)
"Yet."
He tucks it away.
His mind rewinds to the blacksmith's words.
"Only the dwarves can shape this."
Ryu (quietly, to himself):"Maybe... I should visit the dwarves after all."
(beat)
"Let's see what you really are."
He begins walking, Into a tavern
INT. TAVERN – DUSK
The room buzzes with low chatter, clinking mugs, and the scratch of dice on wood.
A haze of smoke hangs above the tables. Lanterns flicker. A bard tunes a broken lute in the corner—off-key.
Ryu steps inside, cloak fluttering. His presence barely registers… but a few eyes track him.
He moves to the bar. Quiet. Calm.
BARTENDER (gruff):"What'll it be?"
Ryu (flat):"Information."
The bartender stops wiping the glass.
Ryu:"Dwarves. Their settlements. Trade routes. Safe ones."
(beat)
"I'll pay."
He slides a few silver pieces across the bar.
The bartender glances once—then leans in.
BARTENDER (low):"Drovak's the name. West ridge of the Crimson Range. Built into the rock. Hard to find if you don't know the cracks."
(beat)
"They trade iron, rune tools… but they don't like strangers."
Ryu:"They ever deal with... strange metals?"
BARTENDER:"Hah. You mean cursed ones? Or just weird?"
Ryu doesn't answer.
The bartender's tone shifts slightly.
BARTENDER:"There's a smith down there. Old dwarf. Name's Kurzek."
(beat)
"If anyone can melt whatever you have—it's him."
Ryu exits.
EXT. MARKET STALLS – NIGHT
Ryu walks beneath a flickering torch. Buys a dark travel cloak. Pays without a word.
EXT. MERCHANT ROAD – EARLY MORNING
A wagon rolls across cracked stone roads. The wheels creak with age.
A stout merchant, chewing something dry and bitter, glances back nervously.
MERCHANT:"You... uh... sure you just need a ride?"
Ryu sits in the back—hood down, head resting on the sideboard.
Still. Silent.
MERCHANT (muttering):"Gods above… guy hasn't blinked since dawn…"
He shifts in his seat.
MERCHANT (to himself):"What is he... a bounty hunter? Assassin? Or worse... a debt collector...?"
A crow flies overhead. The path winds west.
Crimson mountains rise in the distance—jagged like broken teeth.
The road to the dwarves has begun.