Twilight

The young boy behind the counter seemed like an approachable fella. His coffee-brown hair was in a mess, and some black spots stained his eyes, but he flashed a welcoming smile after locking gazes with Riven, and it made Riven feel welcomed.

He walked inside, allowing the door to shut behind him. He made his way to the counter, his footsteps drowned by the nonstop hammering at the back.

"Good day, welcome to Dark's blacksmith," the boy said.

"Yeah, good morning, I want to buy a sword and some functional gear," Riven said. He glanced around as he did, already looking for what he wanted.

"We have a lot of good swords. It all depends on what exactly you are looking for," the boy said.

"Well, most swords are only fancy to the eye or look sharp and sturdy, when in reality they would snap under heavy pressure.

I want something that was genuinely crafted to be a sword, not an ornamental piece or a sharp blade. Something that is actually a sword through and through," Riven explained.

He had seen how swords shattered in the story, and many lost their lives. He had seen how those beautifully adorned swords did nothing when it came down to it.

The boy behind the counter raised his eyebrow in confusion. What in the world could Riven be talking about?

Suddenly, the clanking sound of hammering at the back stopped, causing an uncomfortable silence to follow.

The burly man got on his feet and stabbed the sword into the furnace again. The coals crackled, releasing beautiful embers that floated up and vanished as soon as they did.

The man turned around and headed out of the back. He trapped a rag from a table as he walked, wiping his hands. His heavy footsteps made it seem like the shop was shaking.

He got to the counter, his massive frame looking out of place there. He pushed back his wet black hair; sweat sprinkled off his hair and fell to the ground and counter.

His eyes looked like the eyes of a predator. His gaze fell on Riven, making Riven swallow hard, subconsciously taking a step back.

"You said you wanted a sword? A real sword. What makes you feel all the swords on the wall are not real enough?" the man asked. His deep voice reverberated—he sounded like a Viking.

"So... sorry, I didn't mean to say all these are not real, because they are. But a sword should not be a tool. It's not like a hoe you take to dig the earth. It's a combat tool and a partner, and no one wants a partner that's one of a million. No, they want one that's one in a million," Riven tried to explain his point of view.

"Hmmmmmm." The man groaned and folded his arms, causing Riven to swallow hard in fear. "If you want a partner, follow me to the back," the man said and walked in.

The young boy was shocked to see his master allow someone into the back—he never did that before. He looked at Riven with an unsure gaze.

Riven followed the man to the back. The wave of heat there hit him like a wall. He took a step back to get his footing. It was like a direct and immediate change from the warm shop to the fiery furnace.

But he couldn't be a wimp now. He gritted his teeth and walked into the back. His skin felt ablaze. He was already sweating buckets from standing there a few seconds.

"Many people come to my shop to buy weapons, to buy tools. I see many of them come back day after day to get theirs fixed and replaced. That's the way business is.

The more they come back, the more money we make. But it never sat well with me. Seeing shattered swords over and over again. So I stopped making them the way I used to, stopped giving people what would take them through the months, not a life.

What you said reminded me of the beginning, of when I crafted weapons and didn't make tools. And because of that, I'll give you a weapon, boy," the man said, approaching a seemingly unimportant barrier of swords at the corner of the room.

He looked inside for a few seconds and then pulled out a sword—with a beautiful black-as-night blade with stars shining on it, and a black hilt with leather tied very beautifully.

The man walked to Riven with the blade and showed it to him. "This is called Twilight. I made her two years ago. This sword carries many mysteries—even I don't know the full extent of her potential.

I'll give you this sword if you swear on your life that you'll take it as a partner rather than a tool," the man said.

Riven's eyes locked on the blade of the sword. It felt like he was getting pulled into the night. It was beautiful, but not in the same way as the ornamental weapons.

"I swear on my life, I'll take her as a partner," he said, his voice carrying a genuine tone.

"Good. You can have her—my gift to a young man like you. Head to the front and pick the armor you want while I work on a scabbard perfect for Twilight," the man said.

Riven nodded and walked out. He got back to the counter where the boy was seated, waiting for him to come back.

"You didn't get anything?" the boy asked.

"Oh, I did. Your master is making a scabbard for it now," Riven said.

"A custom scabbard? How did you get him to do that?" the boy asked, jumping up and leaning over the counter.

"I don't know really, guess he liked me." Riven responded, he didn't really know why the blacksmith chose to help him, but he wasn't going to refuse something like this, not in a million years.

The boy simply looked at him with an unsure gaze, but didn't say anything.