Chapter 1. Mark

Mark's hammer rang sharply against the steel, sparks leaping like angry fireflies. His gloves softened in the heat; sweat slid down his back in cold rivulets. Each strike formed the spearhead as each hiss of steam told him he was exactly where he belonged.

A groan from the workshop's old wooden door cracked the rhythm. Mark paused, breathing smoke and iron. Rick's voice drifted in: "You're burning it. Again."

Mark's jaw clenched, keeping his thoughts to himself. 'Rick never understood precision. . .he always only cared for quick profits.'

He wiped sweat and charcoal from his forehead. "Almost done," he replied, voice low. No point in arguing.

The metal cooled. Mark squeezed the spear shaft, testing the balance. Satisfied, he lifted it over his head for better lighting. 'The hunter's eyes will light up when they see what their money has gotten them.'

Behind him, the forge's glow painted his father's silhouette. James watched, head tossed forward in his tired, almost silent demeanor. Mark briefly met his father's blank stare and kept shaping the steel. His hands showed more care than words ever could.

When he finished, Mark wordlessly packed up the newly sharpened spear. He walked past his emotionally distant father without a word and pressed on to the village to deliver the weapon.

As he walked through the gathering area of the village, he heard some snippets of whispered chatter here and there.

"Who is that?"

"That is Mark, the blacksmith's son, you know. . . James Feng?"

"Oh! He has grown up so quickly. . . I wonder how he got so large?"

"I know, he even dwarfs his father in both stature and physique."

"Aren't his two older brothers Rick and George?"

"I love Rick! He has helped so much with pricing from the merchants!"

"I hear he is leaving soon with a caravan."

"I think that is just a rumor, you know, those caravan merchants are obsessed with Rick because of his skills in adding."

Mark thought to himself as he was finally out of earshot of the villagers, 'Those gossiping busybodies, all they ever do around here is gossip about anyone and everyone. . .'

When he got to the hunter's house, no one was home, as Mark assumed would be the case with a hunter. He dropped off the spear next to the front door and headed home the long way, to avoid the gossiping villagers.

Upon returning home, Rick met Mark near the forge, blocking his path as he harassed his younger brother.

"Did you receive payment?"

Mark scoffed and rolled his eyes at his older brother.

"You know Torvald is good for the money, and we know where he lives. Don't go harassing one of the hunters."

Rick just stepped aside to let his disappointing brother pass as he shook his head in disappointment.

Rick thought to himself, 'I don't despise Mark, I just don't understand him. . .'

Mark thought nothing of it as he went right back to work, where he felt most at home.

He briefly thought, 'If Ricky would just pick up a hammer, he could make sure the deliveries are made how he wants.'

Mark finds himself drawn into the flame while he leans into the ping of his hammer on metal. 

Ever since they were young kids, the three siblings have just never gotten along. There was no animosity between them; they just never had any similar interests.

Mark's father, James, had a loving wife for about 15 years. She died just a few years ago when Mark was about 11 years old. Since her death, James has spent more time at the forge than with his children as he tries to drown himself in work when he is not trying to drown himself in alcohol.

Since James enjoys the forge more than the company of his family, he tends to teach Mark more than his other sons. He can't be bothered with their reluctance to learn the trade, and he knows that his oldest is bound to be a merchant rather than a blacksmith. 

Ever since the oldest son, Rick, started learning math, he found himself capable of adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing even large numbers within seconds, as everyone else had to use some sort of tool to keep track of the numbers.

Since he had become so proficient in numbers, he had been able to earn the favor of many villagers as traveling merchants would tend to round up prices and other shady things with numbers that the simple villagers were unable to catch.

Rather than earning the ire of the merchants, Rick caught their attention, and after a few years, he started learning from the most popular traveling merchant about the outside world and the nearby villages.

In the past, James would have put more effort into teaching his oldest son about the pride of the craft passed down by his father and his father's father before him as long as their family had lived in the mountains.

As far as James knows, their family had lived in the mountains forever. Therefore, James looked at his craft as an ancient and profound skill that could not be learned anywhere else.

Since James has one son who loves working at the forge, why should he bother with his other two ungrateful sons who have no respect for such an ancient and noble discipline? He gets more time to drink booze and forget about his troubles when he has Mark do more and more of the work so it's better to just focus on this one prodigy.

Mark is now 15 years old, and he has noticed that Rick has been away more and more as he is now near the age when a child will either start to take over their parents' business or move out and find other work to do.

'meh, Ricky can do whatever he wants, I just want to spend more time with the forge.'

Mark usually dismisses his siblings with similar thoughts, as he really cares for nothing but the forge and his father, because his father still knows more about the blacksmith art.

George, the middle child, has not even been in the house for months at this point, and no one has noticed. He found a girlfriend in the town at the base of the mountains that they live in, and he got there by paying for a spot on a merchant caravan.

George was only 17 years old, but he had been self-sufficient since he was 15, as he found people loved the wild fruits that grew on the mountains, but no one liked to climb the steep parts or the sheer faces in most of the area of the range.

Since he was in good shape and did not fear the mountain beasts, he regularly ventured out to fill his gathering sack before delivering his goods to his regular customers in the village or to the curious merchants who were always trying to get their hands on the elusive fruits of this particular mountain that were rumored to give a person extraordinary powers.

George had never found any of the fruits to actually give any powers, but the rarer fruits were able to be sold to the merchants for many times what the other fruits could be sold for.

Thus, George had already found a woman he would soon marry, whose father would provide them with a house to live in and a job for George.

Today, Mark was at the forge as per usual and already had the coals burning hot as he looked over the rest of his work list.

"3 pairs of shears needing some sort of repair, a sickle that needs the blade maintained and the shaft reinforced."

Mark had a habit of reading the work order list out loud to himself as he usually had no one to work with, and since this was the 5th day of the week, his father would be busy getting drunk in the house.

He was soon lost in the swing of his hammer as each strike made a clear, crisp ding that lulled Mark into a trance.

"Ding."

"Ding."

"Ping."

When he came to, he realized he had already repaired the items, and they looked even better than when he started.

It was normal for Mark to get lost in his work, and it was one of the reasons he loved the forge so much. He would just focus entirely on what he was doing, and before he knew it, he had repaired or created something better than even his father was capable of producing.

He never thought too much about it as he would just continue to work through the order list.

His father had noticed that Mark was capable of handling the work orders better than himself and decided to leverage the talent of his son to take more time off of work.

Since Mark could handle the work on his own, James had more time to drink himself into a stupor. 

"If only you were still here, Delilah. . ."

James often thought of his dead wife as he drank alcohol by himself. He had been depressed ever since the death of his wife.

The villagers had tried to help him and his sons at first, but James, Mark, and George had pushed them away as their personalities never matched the villagers.

Rick had always been a sociable person, so when he started to get more attention from the village, he started to spend less time with his broken family.

Mark didn't really even notice the changes in his house since he was always absorbed in the forge.

He knew his father was more inclined to drink alcohol than to work at the forge, but Mark figured that's just what people did when they lost a spouse.