“Lios, pump them bellows; we need the forge hot for this one!” Darren called out as the boy bounced between the bellows and various stations around the forge, ensuring the other apprentices had everything they needed to work

  “Aye aye !” he called back to acknowledge the command. In the past two months, the boy had yet to hammer a single thing, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Sweat dripped from his brow, his muscles ached from the constant motion, but he was just as eager now as when he had first started.

  He ignored the quiet ding as [Forgetending] increased in level. Now at level eighteen, he was close to reaching the minimum level that Darren had set before he was allowed to start forging things. For the last couple of months, well into summer, Lios had been hard at work training up his base level to twenty-five, and his new skill up to eighteen. Now, at level eighteen he was only a couple of levels from being allowed to work on simple objects. It would be awhile yet before he was allowed to make weapons or armor; Darren required his apprentices [Smithing] to reach level twenty-five prior to anything of the sort.

  The budding blacksmith didn’t mind though. Every bit of what he was being taught, all the work he was putting in, was worthwhile. Tending the forge was just as important as hammering the metal, after all.

  Rampant clanging, the sound of hammers on anvils, filled the morning air as the young forge tender darted from area to area, helping each of the other budding smiths. He kept a careful eye on the forge itself, ensuring that it was at temp. Mana Steel could be a bit finicky and required careful attention to forge properly.

  Once he was sure the temperature was up to standard, seeing that the ingots forge master Darren was working on were beginning to glow a dull red, Lios moved to sweep up any scraps on the floor of the pavilion. It wouldn’t do to let the smiths roll their ankles or stumble over a ball of slag.

  Thus the boy worked and continued to work, darting from station to station. He responded to requests for metal, helped to heat the forge anytime the temperature lowered, and cleaned up after the moneymakers. The entire time, he kept careful watch over those hammering, taking in the motion so that when his chance came, he could repeat it.

  It was while distracted during a slight lull in his movement that he saw his friend walking down the street alongside a boy with an Iron Tigers medallion pinned onto his tunic. The boy looked smug, insufferable. Instantly, Lios didn’t like him.

  He appeared to be around fourteen, just two years older than Rose, if Lios had to guess. Give or take a year, of course. Sometimes, especially with stats influencing appearances, it was difficult to estimate people’s ages. Taking a moment to ensure that none of the apprentices or Darren himself needed anything, Lios leaned out over the fence and called out to his friend.

  “Hey Rose!” Nothing more needed to be said; he simply wished to greet her and didn’t want to disrupt whatever she was doing with the guy too badly.

  She looked about for a few moments before seeing him, her passive face upturning into a smile. “LiLi! How are you? Oh, Hi Uncle Darren!”

  She jogged over to the smithy, Darren waving before returning to his work. The boy she was with seemed to scowl at the interruption.

  “I’m swell, and you? Oh, by the way, I managed to teach Luka and Sky some tricks. Wanna come over tomorrow so I can show you?” Lios excitedly exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. He hadn’t seen much of Rose in the past couple of months, maybe once a week, but even that wasn’t guaranteed. It was a far cry from when they were younger, seeing each other daily.

  “I would love -”

  “She’s busy tomorrow. Who are you anyway?” The boy she was with had made his way over and was glaring down at the shorter boy.

  “I think Rose can speak for herself. And I’m Lios.” The [Bladedancer] couldn’t help but defend Rose, irked at the interruption in their conversation.

  “Well, LiLi, I don’t know what business you have with my dear Rose, but I suggest you put an end to it. Understood?”

  “Your Rose? Who even are you?” Lios scoffed, incredulous. He glanced between his friend and her companion, noticing she was looking away.

  “Ethan Penrose, Rose’s betrothed! And who are you, welp? Some smith’s apprentice? You are unworthy of even speaking to Rose!” the teenager spouted with vitriol.

  Lios took in the words, shot a glance behind him to make sure he was on top of his work, then turned back to Rose. “Hey, are you okay? And don’t worry about tomorrow, just come by if you have time; you know where I’ll be.”

  “Listen here, peasant, I already told you not to talk to-”

  “What will you do? Hmm? If I talk to my childhood friend, who is practically a sister to me? What will you do?”

  “You dare interrupt me? Do you know who my father is? He’ll-”

  “I don’t care who your father is, Ethan. Now don't mind me; I have to get back to work. Rose, it was lovely to see you.”

  Lios ignored the grumbling of the insufferable teen, reeling in the aftermath of the conversation. He resumed his frantic quest to aid the four smiths under the pavilion, earning another level in [Forgetending] for his efforts. As he attempted to distract himself from his earlier conversation, he couldn’t help feeling angry. He knew from some conversations that Rose’s parents had been trying to set her up with a marriage partner, especially as she grew older, but had no idea they had found one.

  Throughout the rest of the day, Lios struggled to get his mind off of his friends’ predicament, forcing himself to stay busy. Work that afternoon became a hot and sweaty thing, soot marking his already soot-stained clothes.

  __________________________________________

  A month later, summer was in full bloom. Lios was met with a now familiar ding, a notification that his skill had risen once more. In the first few months, he had seen rapid growth in his skill levels, but now things were beginning to slow down rather noticeably. He still believed he would level up quickly if he were able to focus on gathering essence, but that required him to go on adventures, and he knew he wasn’t quite ready for that.

  The adventurer’s guild wouldn’t let anyone below level twenty-five even attempt to join up, and he had only just reached that level through sheer effort and training. Granted, he had the advantage of being at level twenty-two as soon as he accepted his class. That wasn’t what was important, though. No, the fact that [Forgetending] had finally met Darren's requirements was enough for him to jolt upward in excitement.

  The smith was inside the building discussing an order with the financial leader of the Iron Tigers. Not wanting to interrupt such an important meeting, even if the importance was mostly due to the reputation boost Darren would get for working with an esteemed guild, Lios worked the forge with renewed vigor. A manic grin crept up his face; the thrill of progress, of having his efforts rewarded, intoxicating.

  He relished hearing that ding, each sound a reminder that he was in a world of magic. Of fantasy. Juxtaposing his manic glee, a melancholy settled within him. It wasn’t overwhelming in any way, but its presence was known. It wasn’t that he really missed his old world; he had long come to the understanding that there was no going back. He didn’t regret his choice either. No, this melancholy was a bit deeper, irreparable. He wished he could share these wonders with the people from his first world.

  That Jess could never witness this magic, the feeling of improvement and gaining strength or having the potential to climb to the height of power, all on your own efforts... It hurt more than Lios expected. He wished often that he could share all of this with them. Just about every time he heard that ding, he thought about them. Removing that sound was always a possibility, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

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  Regardless, he acknowledged the moments of sorrow and then moved on, glad for the meditative techniques he had learned in therapy once upon a time. He wasn’t great at the skill, and hadn’t taken the system version yet, but he still lived by the idea that he didn’t need the system’s help for everything. It was fine to learn things naturally too.

  He darted about, distracting himself with his tasks for the next several minutes. The moment he saw the guild representative leave the smithy with a flat expression, Lios darted into the building eager to inform his boss that he was ready to start using a hammer. Upon entering the open office, Lios spotted a contagious grin on the face of the grizzled smith. Grinning back, Lios stood wringing his hands a bit.

  “Ah, Darren, you know I came in here without a real plan, but here goes. I reached level twenty-five in [Forgetending]. I was hoping you could let me start learning the [Smithing] skill.” The boy shuffled awkwardly, for once appearing every bit the ten-year-old he physically was. His eagerness was palpable, and Darren knew the boy worked his ass off.

  Still, Darren’s grin fell, replaced by an incredulous glare. “Lios, I did not take you for a liar. Do you take me for a fool?” His voice shook the room, a typically restrained presence wrapped around Lios, and the boy was reminded that in this world, he was small. For now.

  For a moment he was stunned; he had never felt anything like that. At some of the festivals, some of the mages and warriors had exerted a sort of aura, but not to this extent. Darren’s was the most oppressive he had felt, and it made him wonder about the man’s past.

  Lios fought through these thoughts and steeled himself. He glowered at the smith before saying assertively, “Darren, I’m telling the truth; how can I prove it to you?”

  The lack of trust hurt, but he could understand. For a moment he had forgotten it was less than four months since his birthday. Most kids took at least a year to hit level twenty-five, and those who got there that quickly were considered fast. To get to twenty-five in the time Lios had... It was practically unheard of.

  It was an oversight on his part due to his eagerness, an oversight that would likely cost him at least one of his secrets. The best-case scenario he could think of was he would have to reveal his class and possibly his stats, though he could display only specific things. He frowned but felt the loss was probably fine. Darren was a person of integrity, so the thought of Lios, a proud worker, lying to Darren to take advantage of the man ignited something in him.

  “Boy, I don’t know what game yer playing, but I swear if you are lying to me, I will not teach you anythin’. Understood?”

  Lios nodded. The oppressive aura was still present, though he could tell it didn’t go past the doorway.

  “Good, close the door and sit.”

  Lios did as he was told, keeping his frown. “Look, I understand it sounds improbable, but I really am level twenty-five, Sir.”

  “Improbable? Improbable? Really? That’s the best you can come up with? But if you say you can prove it, I won’t decline.” From under his maple desk, he brought out a slab of stone with an etched border, some sort of inscription wrapped around the edges. “This here is a Reader. It allows you to show me the information on your status sheet and has enchantments that catch deception skills up to level one hundred. You are to place your hand on the tablet and channel a touch of mana into it. Am I clear?”

  “What exactly does it reveal?” Lios asked, leaning forward. He eyes the tablet, his nerves firing. It wasn’t that he was distrusting, or paranoid, but there were some secrets he wanted very few people to know, at least until a time when it no longer mattered.

  Darren sighed gruffly and leaned back, taking in his young apprentice. He knew the boy was strange, had known it since the guard had first brought him on when he was younger. The boy was a force to be reckoned with and took in information faster than any apprentice Darren had trained, and he had trained a fair number. He knew all of this, but he also couldn’t wrap his head around a boy taking only four months to meet what was commonly called the quarter threshold. After level twenty-five, skills and classes began to see a slump in their growth. Still, even though they were quick to gain at first, it still took even the most prodigious person Darren had ever heard of nine months to get to level twenty-five.

  Yet here was a boy before him claiming to best that record by five entire months. Unheard of. Not just improbable, but impossible. Darren may not have been the most well-read individual, but he had been a scholar once upon a time, and he knew a great deal about a great many influential figures.

  “It will take your class level, a look at your stats, and all of your skills. Mind you, this is nonnegotiable at this point. Unless ye can come up with another way to prove yerself indisputably?” He raised an eyebrow and waved to the tablet, his aura hammering down on the boy but not so much as to debilitate him. He wanted to freak the kid out, not completely destroy him.

  Lios sighed in relief, much to Darren’s surprise, at the disclosure of what would be revealed. His class was a relatively tolerable revelation; his achievements were a much more dangerous proposition. Steeling himself, he reached his hand out and placed it down on the tablet, channeling a small amount of mana into it, keeping eye contact with his employer and teacher.

  It took a few moments for anything to happen, but within a dozen breaths a scroll came into being before Darren. It looked like pieces of parchment were being burned into existence and then seared together, stitched by flame. Then, writing burned into the paper, soot black.

  [Name]

  Alexilios

  [Race]

  Human

  [Stats]

  Str 210

  Con 200

  Dex 483

  Wis 236

  Int 463

  Cha 224

  Luck 36

  [Class]

  [Bladedancer] LVL: 25

  [Class Skills]

  [Martial Weapon Adept] LVL: 25

  [Runedancing] LVL: 18

  [Mana Manipulation] LVL: 21

  [Mana sense] LVL: 21

  [Rune Compendium] LVL: 18

  [He Who Wanders] LVL: 1

  4x Unassigned

  [General Skills]

  [Intuition] LVL: 19

  [Runic Inscribing] LVL: 21

  [Distant Recollections] LVL: 25

  [Fox Raising] LVL: 15

  [Cooking] LVL: 7

  [Dodging] LVL: 18

  [Pain Resistance] LVL: 14

  [Heat Resistance] LVL: 18

  [Forgetending] LVL: 25

  1x unassigned

  “By the gods, ye weren’t lying?” Darren's voice, filled with gravitas and vibrato only moments ago, sank to a low, almost whispered tone. The aura he had been projecting withdrew, no longer smothering Lios.

  Lios remained silent, letting his employer take in the skills for a few moments. He didn’t feel there were any absurd secrets here but knew that if there were, Darren was smart enough to find them. Darren's face shifted from rage to shock to something akin to aghast. He reread the stats and skills from the stone tablet, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath the entire time.

  It took several rereads for the older smith to turn his attention back to the young boy before him. Replacing his previous gruffness, an expression of sheepishness took over. “Well then. I s’pose I owe ye an apology, aye?”

  “That’s not really necessary. I can’t imagine many people would react differently to my claim.” A shrug of the shoulders and tilt of his head was all Lios could think to do, discomfort over the situation continuing to bathe him.

  “No, I can't imagine it either. Still, this status is far more impressive than I expected. A rare class at level ten? Not only that, but it’s a dual focus, in spell-casting and swordsmanship?” Darren stroked his ember-ridden beard, shaking loose tiny metal shavings. His callused hand moved rhythmically, the other hand tapping at the table. “And runes? Were you planning to become an enchanter?”

  “Something like that, sir. An enchanter and a smith, to be honest. Preferably wrapped into a single class, but it’s fine if I need to dedicate some general skills or even if I don’t have skills for a while.”

  “Bah, ye’ll get the right class. If your first class is something ta go by, ye might be somethin of a prodigy. The System always rewards prodigies, so long as they put in ample effort.” The smith glanced back down at the tablet and let out a heavy sigh. “Don’t worry, Lios, I won’ tell nobody about yer class. We will start with nails today. There's always demand fer nails. Once you have them all figured out, we can move to horseshoes.

  “After that, farm tools and carpenter tools. Even for a prodigy, it will take a while before you get to work on weapons and armor. If ye want to try to make some knives on yer own time to level up yer enchanting skills, feel free to do that, but on my time you are making what I tell ye, understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” came Lios’s emphatic reply.

  Darren took one last look at the stat sheet, as though committing it to memory, before dismissing it. The letters vanished, and it was a simple stone tablet once again. The boy followed the master smith out to the forge, where Darren proceeded to show Lios how to cut an ingot to the right size for a nail.

  The rest of the afternoon was spent with Darren personally showing Lios how to correctly hold a hammer. From the grip, to the way he swung the hammer down, to bouncing it off of the anvil so that one's shoulder didn’t burn out halfway through a project. He showed the boy how to draw out a piece of metal and score it as a nail, how to forge the head of the nail and how to keep it straight.

  It took a few hours before Lios got the feel of it, by which time he earned the [Smithing] skill and hastily added it to his repertoire, filling his general skill slots. Once he had the skill, it reminded him of minor details, helping him to focus on his work. The beauty of skills, Lios was realizing, was they took away some of the distractions to a process. For forging, the [Smithing] skill provided feedback about his grip, technique, exerted force, and many other factors, which allowed Lios to focus only on the metal before him and ensure it came out straight.

  Not having to consider all the minute details of his actions, or rather knowing he would be reminded if they were wrong in some way, let him push the majority of his attention on the aspects of [Smithing] that the skill didn’t comment on. By the end of the day, Lios was covered in bits of metal that had flaked off and had a small bucket with a dozen or so nails ready to go. He felt his work in his shoulder and hand, his right peck too. It was a satisfying sensation, the proof of his efforts in his aching muscles.

  With a promise to return in two days, Lios made his way home, where he spent an evening playing with the foxes and brushing them. They followed him outside when he went to practice his sword dances. Luka and Sky weren’t quite as nimble as Brioche had been, but they still made for some petty obstacles for his training. As usual, the boy didn’t complete any of his spells but worked toward perfecting the movements.

  That night when he went to sleep, no dreams met him. He was too tired for such things. His exhaustion let him drift off the moment his head hit the pillow.