The forge had become a place of transformation for Eryndor. Day by day, he could feel himself growing—not in the physical sense, but in the ways that truly mattered. Each lesson, each strike of the hammer, each moment spent poring over formulas or testing materials brought him closer to the person he wanted to become.
Yet, there were days when his frailty loomed over him like a shadow. Days when the weight of the tools, the heat of the forge, or the ache in his limbs made him wonder if he was truly cut out for this path. Calder seemed to sense these doubts, and when they crept in, he always found a way to remind Eryndor of the strength he carried.
One such reminder came on a rare, cool morning. The stormy skies above Brindlemark had parted just enough to let a pale light filter through the haze, and Calder had decided to take Eryndor beyond the village for the first time in weeks.
They walked in silence at first, the rough path winding through barren fields and jagged outcroppings of rock. Calder carried a small pack slung over his shoulder, while Eryndor kept close, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar terrain.
"Do you know why I chose to be a blacksmith?" Calder asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Eryndor glanced at him, surprised by the question. "I always thought it was because you were good at it," he said after a moment.
Calder chuckled. "I am good at it. But that's not why." He stopped, turning to face Eryndor. "When I was your age, I wasn't much stronger than you are now. My family barely scraped by. I spent most of my time scavenging for food, avoiding the beasts that roamed the wasteland."
Eryndor blinked. He had never imagined Calder as anything other than the towering, unshakable figure he knew now.
"One day," Calder continued, "I came across a small village under attack. A pack of Abyssal Beasts had broken through their defenses, and the people were fighting for their lives. I wanted to help, but I had nothing—no weapon, no strength, no way to make a difference. So I hid, and I watched as they fell."
The weight of the story settled over Eryndor like a stone. Calder's voice grew quieter, but his tone was steady. "After that, I swore I'd never be helpless again. I sought out a forge master and begged him to teach me. It took years, but I learned. And when I finally returned to that village, I brought tools and weapons strong enough to keep them safe."
Eryndor stared at his father, a lump forming in his throat. "You were afraid," he said softly.
"Terrified," Calder admitted. "But fear isn't a weakness, Eryn. It's what you do with it that matters. Strength doesn't come from being fearless—it comes from standing your ground, even when you're afraid."
As they continued their walk, Calder led Eryndor to the edge of a small ridge. Below them lay the ruins of a long-abandoned settlement, its walls crumbling and its buildings overgrown with dark-resistant moss.
"This was the village," Calder said, his voice tinged with a mix of sorrow and pride. "It's gone now, but for years, the people here thrived because of what I gave them. They taught me something important, too—strength isn't just about protecting yourself. It's about protecting others."
Eryndor nodded, the ember in his chest flaring with new resolve. Calder wasn't just teaching him to forge metal—he was teaching him to forge himself into someone who could stand tall, even in the face of darkness.
Later that evening, back in the forge, Eryndor worked on a small project of his own. It was a simple carving knife, nothing elaborate, but as he shaped the blade, Calder's words echoed in his mind. Fear isn't a weakness. It's what you do with it that matters.
When the blade was finished, he held it up to the light, his reflection shimmering in the polished steel. It wasn't perfect—far from it—but it was a step forward.
As he set the knife aside, Calder approached, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You're getting stronger, Eryn," he said, his voice low but full of pride. "Not just here." He tapped Eryndor's arm. "But here." He placed a hand over Eryndor's chest.
Eryndor looked up at him, his doubts melting away. "I'll keep going," he said firmly. "No matter what."
Calder smiled. "That's my boy."
In that moment, Eryndor understood what Calder had been trying to teach him all along. Strength wasn't something you were born with—it was something you built, one step at a time. And for the first time, he felt like he was on the right path.