Zephyr walked away from the town square, the crowd behind him fading into a distant murmur. The cobbled streets bustled with people- merchants peddling wares, children tugging at their parents' hands, groups of teenagers laughing, some sporting the fine robes of noble families. He kept his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the crisp evening air. He had never liked crowds much. Too much noise, too many people brushing past. It was easier to just go about his day and keep to himself.
The awakening ceremony had been quick. Without any fanfare or shocked murmurs of admiration. Just a flicker of light, a brief sensation in his chest, and then the verdict- a single-node mana core. The officials had barely even spared him a second glance before moving on to the next hopeful.
He wasn't disappointed, not really. That would have required having expectations in the first place. Zephyr had long since stopped entertaining the idea of being special. He wasn't looking to be scouted by some noble family, wasn't eager to climb the ranks of powerful mages. He didn't want any of the stress that came with it. Glory? Recognition? Those things were for people who thrived under pressure, who craved competition. He just wanted to do his work, earn his keep, and live without unnecessary trouble.
Still, after four years of repeated failure, it was strange to finally have an active mana core, no matter how weak. He'd basically given up on the idea a long time ago, doing the ceremonies more out of obligation than hope. If not for Old Bjorn's insistence, he probably would have stopped altogether. The old dwarf had never let him miss a single attempt, shoving the fee into his hands and pushing him out the door while grumbling under his breath, but never letting Zephyr say no.
Zephyr exhaled slowly, his breath curling into the cold evening air. His boots echoed against the cobbled path as he made his way through the quieter streets. The city walls loomed in the distance, and just beyond them, nestled against the outskirts, was the place he called home: Bjorn's forge.
Bjorn had taken him in when he was young, after his father had died. Zephyr had a few memories of the man, he remembered his rough voice, his heavy hand ruffling his hair, always writing something at his desk by the window side. His mother had passed away at his birth, so after his father was gone, there had been no one left. It was their grumpy old dwarf neighbour that stepped forward to claim him.
Bjorn had never talked much about why he took Zephyr in. It was surprising because the old dwarf had always been known for his temper and impatience. He was fiercely protective of his solitude, so much so that he had turned away countless would-be apprentices, including some with real talent. But for some reason, he had taken Zephyr in and kept him around.
Maybe it was because they were similar in nature. Through the years, the boy never complained. He never whined about the heat of the forge, never made a fuss about doing the grunt work. He learned fast, kept his head down, and never caused trouble.
As Zephyr neared the forge, the familiar clang of metal striking metal echoed through the air. The scent of burning coal and molten iron mixed with the crisp evening breeze. Zephyr stepped inside, bypassing the storefront where weapons lined the walls, gleaming under the flickering lantern light. He headed straight for the back, where Bjorn was hard at work.
The old dwarf was broad and stocky, his brown beard dusted with soot. He barely glanced up as Zephyr entered. "Get started on that," he grunted, jerking his head toward a batch of freshly forged swords.
Zephyr rolled up his sleeves without argument. He picked up one of the blades, running a careful eye along its edge before grabbing the rune-engraving tools. They were very expensive tools, as they were powered purely by mana crystals, since Zephyr had never been able to use mana himself. Bjorn had never hesitated to provide them though. Thanks to that, he'd developed a knack for it, if he did say so himself. Some of his work lining the walls of the store could also attest to that.
The forge settled into its usual rhythm, both of them working in silence, the only sounds were the hiss of hot metal cooling in water, and the steady hammering against the anvil.
It wasn't until dusk that Bjorn finally leaned back against the workbench, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He took a long drink from his flask before turning his sharp gaze on Zephyr.
"So? How'd the awakening ceremony go?"
Zephyr barely looked up as he packed away his tools. "Went fine. I awakened my mana core."
...
His statement was met with silence, which dragged on for a while, causing Zephyr to finally glance up, and he found Bjorn staring at him. Not just staring, his eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape. It was rare to see the old dwarf so caught off guard.
Bjorn took a step closer, then another, stopping just in front of him. Without a word, he reached out and jabbed his finger against Zephyr's sternum, right where his core lay.
Zephyr raised a brow. "Uh—"
Bjorn's face contorted, his expression shifting between shock, disbelief, and something else.
Then, suddenly, he threw his head back and laughed. A deep, belly-shaking laugh that echoed through the forge.
"Ha! You actually awakened?! You actually— by the gods—" Bjorn repeatedly smacked Zephyr on the arm, the force nearly knocking him off balance. "Damn, boy!"
Zephyr winced. "Alright, alright, no need to break my arm!"
Bjorn ignored him, already turning away, gesturing wildly. "This calls for celebration!" He stomped off toward the house, his voice booming. "I'm getting my good wine out for this! We're getting drunk tonight!" His voice echoed from the distance.
Zephyr shook his head, amused. "You just want an excuse to drink that wine!" he called after him.
He chuckled to himself, rubbing his side, sore from the old dwarf's enthusiasm. It was strange, seeing him this excited.
There had to be something else to it. He never got excited for literally anything...
Shaking off the thought, Zephyr finished tidying up and headed inside.
That night, they drank.
Or rather, Bjorn did most of the drinking. But Zephyr drank too, more than he usually would. The fire crackled, filling the small home with warmth. They ate good food, Bjorn launched into a tirade of tales of his heroic deeds after his awakening; Zephyr couldn't tell if they were real or not, so he just listened in silent amusement, letting the old man's gruff laughter fill the space between them.
For the first time that day, he actually felt something close to joy at awakening his mana core.
Even if, at the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed.
...Something big.