The village of Dacot was a relatively quiet place and Trystan liked it that way. The young man had plenty of time to himself after working with his father, the blacksmith, and there was enough work there that his father would give him money to spend around town. As a child he liked to buy candies from the local traders that would come through town, but now fewer had begun to visit and when they did, he wasn’t interested in candy. Trystan’s new pursuits were that of the mind. When the traders would come through, they’d sell books and Trystan was ready and willing to buy. These books contained hundreds of stories and facts from all across Astea. They allowed his mind to drift to lands far beyond his small home. Tales of man-beasts, of creatures that dwelled within mountains and fantastic wars fought to save the world from destruction. However, one story always seemed to elude his grasp: those of the Heir’s War. The conflict had impacted everyone’s lives so drastically, but seemed to never be truly discussed by books or people, only alluded to in the pages of recent history texts. The books only ever discussed the war as one of righteous purpose and being conducted by the holy King Cedric, a figure that was regarded as being so immensely powerful and god-like that it was hard for Trystan to believe, as if it was less realistic than other stories that he had read.

When Trystan asked the people of Dacot questions about the war, he was always dismissed as being someone who was too curious for their own good, or he was given a long-winded speech on the glories of their king. These bored him more than anything else and only urged him on to ask the more important questions that concerned things pertaining directly to what happened during the war, and not just the man behind it. However, people did not answer these questions. Rather, they believed that any questions asked about the war that did not end in the words, “How great is King Cedric?”, were blasphemous. So, instead of asking those who didn’t respect his opinion, he moved on to one who he hoped would: his father.

The building that Trystan and his family lived in was also the one in which he worked with his father. On one side of the house on the exterior was the blacksmith where the furnace, anvil and multiple other smithing tools were kept. On in the inside there were only a few more tools, but the rest was their home. On the first floor was their dining room, kitchen and storage room. On the second floor were two bedrooms, one that belonged to Trystan and his younger brother Dalric and the second room was their father’s.

Colter, the father of the two boys, had just finished preparing dinner for the three of them when Trystan walked through the door, holding a leather-bound book. He looked up from his dinner on the table, smiling at him.

“Ah..you’ve showed up just in time. I’ve got dinner all ready for us,” he said, motioning to the three plates. On each of them was a healthy serving of potatoes, slice carrots and a sliced hunk of pork. Trystan smiled brightly, laying his book aside and sitting down, but before he started on eating, he watched his father for a moment as he enjoyed his own meal. Trystan sat back in his chair and cough into his fist,

“Ahem...dad.” He said, looking to the blacksmith expectantly. Colter looked up mid-chew, swallowing his food and looking at his son curiously.

“Yes, Trystan? Something wrong?” He aksed, arching an eyebrow as he set his fork down to focus all his attention on the boy.

“I was hoping..I could ask you something,” Trystan admitted shyly, looking down at his plate as he poked at the food with his fork. The blacksmith continued to look at Trystan with an expectant expression, waiting for him to continue speaking. When he didn’t ask, Colter rolled his eyes and prodded him for more information,

“About what? I already told you yesterday that I was not going to pay you anymore for the deliveries. We barely have enough as it is to buy dinner every day,” he affirmed as he tried to uncover the question Trystan wished to ask. The young lad rose to meet his father’s gaze and shook his head, giving a small smile.

“No no..uh..that’s not what I wanted to talk about, dad,” he said, his nervous voice still evident. Meanwhile, Dalric, who was about ten years Trystan’s junior, was enjoying his meal while totally ignoring Trystan and their father talking. Colter looked slightly intrigued now, more than he had originally, since the question was now not about money, or atleast not in the way he expected. He leaned back in his chair, looking straight at his son and sighing,

“Alright, Trystan. Ask your questions.” He spoke with a deadpan voice, but with an underlying hint of determination to answer the young blacksmith’s apprentice. Trystan smiled widely, also sitting straight up in his own seat with a glimmer of excitement in his eye.

“I wanna know about the Heir’s War,” he said, freely without any sign of fear from his father disregarding his question completely. On the other side of the table however, Colter was looking at his son with a face of utter confusion and disbelief. He stood up and brought his plate, still half-covered in food, to the sink and left it there. He slowly and quietly made his way past the dinner table and towards the stairway.

“I’ll be in my room if you two need anything,” the blacksmith said as he ascended the stairs to the second floor, and eventually his bedroom. The two brothers heard the sound of a door slamming shut, and ramblings of a man throughout the house, unintelligible words filtering through the old, wooden walls that surrounded them. Trystan frowned, silent as he began eating his food once more, which had now grown cold from being sat and toyed with for far too long.

Dalric, on the other hand, had finished his meal completely, showing the plate to his brother and hopping up from his chair, shouting triumphantly,

“Done!” Then, as quick as he had finished his food and hopped up, the boy had rushed upstairs to his room without another word, leaving Trystan alone with his thoughts and the cold food on his plate. As he looked around the room, he eyed the creations of his father: hammers, adzes, skinning knives, woodcutting axes, but not one single sword. He wondered if his father ever had crafted a sword before, being a blacksmith and all. The question intrigued him to the point of no return, and Trystan decided to set out and answer that question for himself.

Setting his plate by the sink, Trystan walked outside in the cold, autumn night. He smiled as he watched the houses down the street fill with light from their respective candles, smoke curling up into the sky as it rose from chimneys. It was quiet and peaceful, the perfect place to live, he thought. As he walked around the house to the outdoor forge, he began to examine more creations that his father made on a daily basis. A good majority were horseshoes, with some shears, a couple pitchforks and a few spades. The forge still had a few hot coals left within it from the day’s work, and they gave off an eerie glow underneath the wooden roofing of the building, allowing him to see everything within the small area as it grew ever darker.

As Trystan eyed the workspace, he noticed a small, wooden box that sat up against the house, hidden in plain sight, but ignored by those who did not have the time to observe and investigate. He grabbed the box, but as he picked it up, Trystan realized the box was of an immense weight that he could barely keep it within his grasp. He quickly, but carefully, set the box on the anvil near the edge of the forge area and gave a quick huff as he was relieved of the weight. The curiosity he was experiencing was coming to a head, and he simply had to know what was within the box. Trystan saw a flash of light in the sky: lightning, and not soon afterward he heard the roll of thunder overhead.

Swiftly picking up a hammer and chisel, Trystan began to crack open the box. It took him some time, as hitting something metal with a hammer did often cause a ruckus, and at night it was not going to go unheard. After a few moments of effort, the box was opened and what was within made Trystan’s eyes open wide: a dozen bars of the finest iron he had ever laid eyes on, definitely not for the forging of farmers’ tools or horseshoes. He picked up one of the bars, holding it in his hand and smirking at its weight. He laid it back in the box with its comrades, then immediately a new question came to mind: why were these here?

Lightning cracked through the sky, lightning up the surrounding area and filling the air with the sound of thunder. Trystan shrank away from the outside edge of the forge as rain began pouring down with no warning. The young blacksmith’s apprentice grabbed up the box, turning around swiftly to place it back where he found it. But as he turned, he noticed a large, looming figure, standing directly in front of him, his face hidden by the dark of the night. Trystan stepped back, eyes filling with fear as the figure started to approach. But suddenly, his face was illuminated by the flashing of lightning and Trystan was relieved as he realized it was his father, Colter.

“What the hell are you doing out here so late? And what are you doing with those?” The blacksmith asked, anger in his voice as he motioned to the box of iron bars. Trystan looked down at the bars, then back at his father. The young man’s face was filling up with guilt as he spoke,

“I..you had never made a sword before..so I came out and I-”

“And you thought you’d come out and see if I was hiding a sword from you somewhere, eh?” The blacksmith growled out, grabbing the box from Trystan and covering it with a thick, black tarp in a corner of the forge. He turned back to his son and folded his arms in front, looking down with a look of disdain. Trystan frowned, looking down and speaking quietly,

“W-why...do you have those?” Trystan’s curiosity could not be bound by fear or embarrassment, and Colter recognized this, his expression softening as he approached his young son, ruffling his brown hair. The blacksmith grabbed a stool and pulled it up, sitting down and sighing.

“What do you wanna know about the Heir’s War?” He said, conceding to Trystan’s question from earlier, but it was clear he wasn’t entirely pleased with having to answer it. Trystan, however, was immediately filled with excitement, his face being filled in with a smile. The questions began processing through his brain, trying to figure out the order in which they should be asked. As looked to his father, opening his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by the blacksmith speaking his own words,

“How about...I start with why it happened?” Colter suggested,waiting for his son’s approval. Trystan simply smiled, giving a nod of his head and sat down, looking up at the blacksmith with wide, excited eyes. Colter, sighed with a smile, shaking his head as he looked into the dying embers of the forge and spoke, as if he was remembering.

“It was a long time before you were born...when the land was at peace, and no race thought of wars, or feared for the lives of their citizens. When the people of the cities, like Kaydon, and even those of the villages like this one, traded often with the Fairies of the woodland realm. People traveled freely from both forest and human city, being kind, sharing knowledge of both physical and magical nature. It was a good time,” the blacksmith said, looking down at his son with a big smile. The thoughts gave him joy and he reminisced of the days gone by. Then he frowned.

“Alas..times such as these do not always last..” he sighed, turning his gaze to the ground, then back up again.

“What happened, dad?” Trystan questioned, looking up in a mixed expression of both confusion and curiosity. Colter returned his gaze to his son and nodded with eyes closed.

“A young man named Cedric came into the largest fortune in the city of Kaydon, not too far west from here, and evidently found a text that stated he was the descendant of a long-since dead monarch of an ancient kingdom that once saved the world from utter destruction,” Colter answered, setting his hands in his lap. “Several men believed him, but others were not so certain. However, their doubts were soon crushed when a force of Minoan raiders, massive bull-like beasts from the western plains, came to pillage the city. Cedric and a small force of his personal guard marched out and fought the Minoans, driving them back and saving the city,” the blacksmith continued, speaking as though the feat were unimaginable and almost impossible. Trystan’s eyes opened wide in disbelief, stuttering at the start of his next question,

“How? How did he do it, dad?” He asked, about to jump up from his seat on the ground. The blacksmith shook his head, then gave a shrug.

“No one knows. But what everyone in Kaydon believed was that he was the descendant of the man known only as the Sorcerer King, and that the power gave him the ability to fight the Minoans and lead his men to victory. They crowned him their King and followed his every command,” Colter said, nodding his head solemnly.

“What happened after?” Trystan asked, head tilted in curiosity. Colter sighed, groaning as he stood up and looked down at the young man, offering a calloused hand.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. It’s getting late, and it’s long past your bedtime,” he said with a smirk on his face. Trystan reached up, grasping his father’s hand and stood, being pulled up by the large muscles of the burly blacksmith. As he began walking back to the front door of the blacksmith, a disappointed expression on his face, he looked back to notice his father looking up to the rain clouds above, a thoughtful look had consumed him.

“What are you gonna do?” Trystan asked, crossing his arms. Colter looked back, shaking his head.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be in before long, just gonna stay out here and enjoy the rain for awhile. We don’t get much of it, ya know. Now go on to bed, you have a lot of work tomorrow, son,” the blacksmith said, smiling at his son before looking back out towards the sky.

Trystan shook his head, snickering, as he opened up the door and wandered inside. After he closed the door behind him, Colter quickly looked back to check that the door was indeed shut. After making double-sure, the blacksmith quickly rushed over to the bars of iron, carefully inspecting each bar to make sure they were unharmed and all were there. With a sigh of relief, he wandered back over to his stool and sat down with another groan and a huff. He continued watching the rain fall lightning crackle through the sky with a gaze filled with wonder, smiling. Then, his smile turned to one of determination and guile as he shifted his eyes towards the forge.

“Never seen me make a sword, but I’ll show you what happens when I do, lad,” he whispered to himself, chuckling softly. He stood slowly and made his way to the front door, opening it and stepping inside. He looked back outside for another moment towards his forge.

“Yes...we’ll show him,” he said, drifting back into the house and shutting the door behind him until the morning came, and with it more work for both him and his inquisitive son.

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