I'm sorry…. I know I'm so mean… I promise, you'll see what happened to Leo in this chapter.
Rawgrim was a simple nexian, and he liked his quiet life very much, thank you.
A blacksmith in a small fishing village in the nexus, about half a day's travel from the Daimyo's palace, Rawgrim had carved out a peaceful patch of paradise for himself. He'd used to live in the larger city, had a forge nearby the palace where every three years he'd delighted in serving the many warriors competing in the games, however, about two years ago he'd felt it was time for a change as he longed for the slower pace of the countryside. Thus, he'd moved here. Granted, he stuck out like a sore thumb, what with his large muscular build, back hooves and curving horns, all covered in jet black hair. Compared to the tall willowy figures of the country folk, with pointed elf ears and long slender necks, he certainly wasn't going to blend in with a crowd. When in the city, he'd been described by a human as resembling something called a Minotaur, what that meant he wasn't sure, but the way the Terran had said it made Rawgrim feel strong and proud. Indeed, his strength was legendary, especially in his new home. Working long hours in the forge does that to you, whether you like it or not. Thankfully, the country folk of this small inlet didn't hold his appearance against him, but rather welcomed him and his skills with open arms.
Speaking of which, the nexian turned the blade he was hammering over, his keen gaze looking it over for signs of cracking or any impurities within the metal that might warp the shape, making the sword useless. Finding none, Rawgrim smirked. This was going to be a fine weapon, once it was finished. He'd found some particularly good steel salvaged from a fallen meteor, and the metal smith was eager to test its limits and forge it into something new and exciting. Shoving the white hot metal bar back into the flame of the furnace, the nexian pulled his apron up to wipe the sweat from his face, allowing himself a moment to look out at the world around his small shop, and admire his home.
The fishing village wasn't much, barely big enough to be considered a village, to be honest. However, the people were honest and the neighbor's kind. It wasn't uncommon for the residents to join forces and help if any suffered tragedy, or injury. Even Rawgrim had been on the receiving end of their kindness when his anvil base broke, and the ensuing tumble shattered his leg, the local wives and mothers had brought him three square meals a day, and the men had assisted in rebuilding the anvil base so he could get back to work once he'd recovered. It was a simple life, one where the farming community and the fishing village coexisted and threw some rather enjoyable weekend markets, if Rawgrim did say so himself. His forge was in the center of town, with the local market sprawled all around him. His shop was connected to a small house with a main bedroom, and a guest room that Rawgrim assumed was supposed to house any apprentices. It was a cozy home, and while plain, suited the blacksmith just fine.
A crash nearby startled the nexian out of his thoughts, bringing his dark brown gaze over to the small grocery across the street. Rawgrim perked up. The newcomer was there, a child of about sixteen to seventeen years, working diligently to pick up the display he'd knocked over. The young reptile looked much like a Terran turtle, or what pictures he'd seen of them, but was bipedal. He also had a pair of dazzling blue eyes, shining with intelligence and wisdom like two gems, at least when they weren't heavy with some unnameable sorrow. The child was a quiet one but had been silently adopted by the village as he had proven himself to be a hard worker. Showing up out of the blue, silent as the grave, and looking like a veteran fresh from the war in ragged black clothes, the young one had made something of a life here. Or, as much of a life as a homeless child could.
He'd become rather well known in the village. If someone had an odd job, be it fixing the roof, weeding the garden, or even babysitting a child so the mother could go grocery shopping, he was ready and willing; only asking to be paid in food. He would approach various local businesses, asking if he could work in their establishment in exchange for a hot meal, and then after several hours of consistent help, never slacking off or causing problems, he'd disappear into the nearby woods munching on his reward. No one knew his name, he never said (not that he said much anyway, beyond asking for work), so he'd come to be known as Small One. He was much smaller than the other residents, and his meek nature didn't lend much in the way of increasing his stature, so it seemed fitting.
"Don't worry, child," the grocer chuckled, patting the green shoulder when the sapphire eyes glanced up in panic at his mistake, "it wasn't you, those are impossible to stock when they insist on rolling away!"
The child slumped, quiet as ever, obviously not believing the grocer's platitudes, but the store owner merely smiled, "I said not to worry about it! Now, why don't we go inside? My wife has made a delicious meal and I'm sure you're hungry?"
Once again, the youngling glanced at the display, stooping so to finish picking up the last of the round fruits and wordlessly placing them back on the table. The grocer gave the child another encouraging pat, "That's fine, now let's go eat, hm?"
Rawgrim breathed a soft chuckle, knowing the store owner, he and his wife would once again attempt to convince Small One to stay with them in their home. The kid always said no, though. No one knew where he lived, or how he was taking care of himself beyond the odd jobs he requested, but he was often the topic of conversation at the local pub with many of the men of the village discussing how they could help the youngling. Many families had tried to convince him to move in with them, multiple times, but yet the child wouldn't accept the offered kindness. Not that it was any of his business. Rawgrim wasn't one for children, nor never wanted to start a family. He preferred the quiet sanctuary of his forge where he could create to his heart's content.
….
It had been a few weeks since the nexian had seen Small One, though why he felt the need to check on the child was beyond him.
However, check he had, and Rawgrim soon found that the youngling had volunteered to help on a fishing boat. Good work for a growing child, although a tad harsh of an environment. Not that he could complain too much. His father had put him in the forge at the tender age of nine, teaching him the basics before he was ever allowed to shape metal. He'd suffered many burns, and bore many scars from his profession, but Rawgrim never regretted it. Fishing boats, however, had a more variables to consider than his forge did. Here, the nexian was in control of the heat of the flame and had many safety measures in place to ensure neither he nor his shop were burned up in an accident. On a fishing boat, every swell of the waves could prove deadly. As shown by the inexplicable storm that blew in destroying entire sections of the village and crippled many fishing boats; maybe that was why he scanned the horizon every day, searching for the boat bearing Small One, hoping that the child was safe. When the day came that he saw the boat moored in their small dock, Rawgrim was shocked to find himself striding over to question the captain of their voyage and how the child fared.
"He was a hard worker, as always," Devlin nodded, "but I'm worried about him."
"Worried?" Rawgrim's deep baritone shook with strange concern.
The captain gave a soft hum of affirmation, "Yeah, it got real cold out there, and then the storm made the temperature drop even more. Poor kid developed a cough real quick. He didn't let it stop his work, though, and he kept up with the rest of us, even put some of the veterans to shame, but…"
Devlin trailed off, before shaking his head, "I wish I knew where the kid actually lived, I'd like to check on him at the very least."
Wouldn't they all?
Returning to his forge after finishing his morning errands, the nexian groaned as he remembered a chore he'd been putting off that could no longer be ignored. The storm had lasted the better part of the last two weeks, and Rawgrim was quick to discover his store of wood to keep the furnace burning was depleted to the point he needed to go to the woods to chop more. He had procrastinated, as chopping wood in the forest wasn't nearly as enjoyable as pulling art out of an unyielding substance, however, now he had no choice. He had to go. Shrugging on his backpack, and grabbing an old axe, the blacksmith ventured out of his forge, heaving a resigned sigh at the drippy job ahead in the forest.
The morning passed, with a chilly afternoon blowing in on a brisk wind, and the large nexian continued his chopping. The pile of wood he was building growing with every passing hour. Eventually, the day turned into early evening, the temperature dropping steadily, until even Rawgrim couldn't stand it. Shoulders shuddering against the cold, the blacksmith pulled the load of wood he'd procured further up his shoulders and began the long trudge home. It was during then, as he tromped through the woods, that he heard an odd sound unsuited to the forest. A cough, alongside a sniffle, the sounds so soft a kitten could have made them. Rawgrim's long ears began to scan his surroundings, searching for the source of the sound, when he caught it yet again. Another cough, weaker this time. The nexian's heart clenched, and abandoning his pack to the trail, he plunged into the underbrush.
It took a good twenty minutes of searching, following the sounds and wondering where they were coming from, before he finally found the place Small One had been using as his base, or stumbled on it would be more accurate.
The site was impeccably hidden, only someone who knew it was there would have been able to find it. A bivouac made of tree branches, foliage and bushes provided shelter, while a carefully camouflaged fire pit held rudimentary items for boiling water and…was that a teapot? He must have bought that with his earnings at the store. A sneeze made Rawgrim jolt, and the large nexian knelt down on his hairy knees to peer into the living space, unsurprised to see Small One, but more than a little shocked at his condition. His scales were reduced to a pale green, blue eyes glassy with fever even as his muscular frame twitched and convulsed in erratic shivers. The child was curled up as tight as he could manage on his side, pressing deeply into the foliage of his shelter, seeking warmth. Every few seconds a rattling cough shook the youngling, prompting harsh wheezing breathes to whistle up the swollen throat. The child was sick, horribly so, that was more than evident.
"Small One?" Rawgrim rumbled, sticking his large head further into the space, wincing when his horns caught on the underbrush woven into the roof, "Child, can you hear me?"
Nothing, not even the smallest twitch. The youngling merely continued to tremble feebly; gaze lost into the middle distance. The nexian heaved a sigh, pursing his lips as he considered his options. He could go get help, surely a member of the community would be more than happy to take him in. However, Rawgrim wasn't confident that he'd be able to find the campsite again. He'd only stumbled across it due to following the child's weakening coughs. Another such croup left the youngling, making the nexian's heart clench. He needed help and leaving him here in this condition on such a cold and wet day will only make his sickness worse. The nexian breathed out a mighty sigh, worry mingled with frustration. Looks like he was going to be entertaining a house guest for the indefinite future.
His large hand reach deep into the shelter, feeling around until he found Small One's equally tiny foot. Thick fingers wound around the trembling ankle, and then pulled in what the nexian hoped was a gentle yank. The movement seemed to register with the sick youngling, a soft congested gasp rattling in his chest as a wheeze, before the child immediately began to fight against the hand pulling him out of the bivouac. Raspy whimpers were swallowed by the foliage, green hands scrabbling in the dirt, seeking purchase to get away from his attacker, even as the small feet gave feeble kicks. Not that this caused any problems for the nexian. Honestly, the child's attempts weren't that difficult to overpower. Rawgrim found himself frowning at the sluggishness of the youngling's resistance, noting how even his brief fight made Small One melt into another round of coughing, clutching his chest, face twisted in pain.
"Come on, Small One," Rawgrim murmured in what he hoped was a soothing tone, pulling the struggling child the rest of the way out of his shelter, "it's too cold out here for one such as you."
As if to emphasize his point, a chill wind blew through the duo, making the child react by curling up into a tight ball, arms and legs drawn tight to his chest. A fresh wave of shivers rattled the youngling, even as he began to croup helplessly into the grass. Rawgrim leaned down to place his massive hairy paw across Small One's brow and gave an unhappy growl. Fever raged, making the child's skin a veritable furnace. Small One leaned into the touch, seeking out the nexian's heat, and also likely the comfort of the physical touch.
"Father," the child breathed, blue eyes rolling into the back of his head in a swoon, "Fa-ather," then the youngling went limp, face pressed into the nexian's paw.
Oh, this was going to be a problem.
Paternal instincts that Rawgrim wasn't even aware that he had roared into existence, and it was all the nexian could do not to immediately declare this child as his own. That wouldn't be wise, though. As it was quite apparent the youngling had a father already, one he loved, if his calling out for him wasn't proof enough. Though, where that parent would be, the nexian wasn't sure. Judging by the quiet nature of Small One, as well as his bedraggled and battered appearance, the child could easily have survived some terrible tragedy that claimed the lives of his family. Or, Rawgrim grimaced as an unpleasant thought hit his mind, God forbid this sweet child was abandoned? An odd surge of anger lit the furnace of the nexian's heart, a need for vengeance making him growl, only to stop when Small One gave a fretful toss. The horned head shook the thoughts away, he didn't have time to be dithering about in this weather, especially with a sick child in tow. The fever burning under the green scales was worryingly high, to the point the youngling was already hallucinating, and unaware of his surroundings. He needed to be taken somewhere warm and dry, and then nursed carefully back to health.
The problem of transporting the child to the forge was solved with little fuss. Small One certainly lived up to his nickname when compared to the tall, willowy rural villagers, however, compared to Rawgrim he was tiny. The nexian easily held the child in his arms, green head resting on a hairy shoulder, the way one holds an infant. He took a few steps away from the bivouac but paused before quickly stooping down to fetch the teapot, seemingly Small One's sole material possession. He wasn't sure when he'd be coming back, and it was best to just get anything the youngling might need as he recovered back at the forge. Making his way back to the trail, Rawgrim was relieved to find his pack loaded with wood, and quickly shrugged it on, before turning back towards home, this time with a houseguest.
…..
The past few days had been a blur of activity.
After returning to the village, Rawgrim had called for his neighbor to fetch a doctor, which they quickly complied. Thankfully, the village was small, so the local physician arrived while the nexian was still getting Small One settled into the guest room, "Let me see," Nolan murmured, drawing close to caress the fevered brow, "poor child, he's got an extremely high fever."
Rawgrim nodded, "I don't believe he's aware of his surroundings, he was calling for his father when I found him."
Nolan paused, meeting the nexian's gaze with grief stricken green orbs, "Well," he said, pulling in a steadying breath, "we'll just have to do our best in his father's absence."
They'd removed the dark clothes that the youngling wore, as they were sodden and freezing cold, and to say they were shocked when they found the plethora of scars dotting Small One' body would be a vast understatement. The blacksmith felt a frown mar his features as he gently traced the jagged edge of the child's shell. What horrors had the youngling seen and survived to be in this state? The doctor also seemed shaken at the discovery, as the tall nexian gave a heavy swallow and pausing to once again provide soothing strokes to the unconscious face. Small One leaned into the touch, giving a sleepy mumble, a shiver rocking the green frame. Neither spoke as they redressed the child into something warm and dry, both pointedly ignoring the sheer amount of injuries someone so young had endured.
The doctor stayed through the rest of the evening and late into the night, Small One's temperature causing a worried frown on both the adult's brow. The child tossed and turned on the bed, breathless whimpers wheezing between choked coughs. Rawgrim stayed close, using a cloth and bowl of cool water to sponge away the heat arcing off the over warm scales. Nolan was also near at hand, carefully monitoring the youngling as the hours passed. There was a point during their vigil that the feverish sapphire eyes opened, only to blink in confusion. The shivering form's gaze bounced between the nexian and the physician, unfocused and fearful. Green hands clutched the blanket, the child already looking so fragile on the overly large bed, and a whimper whispered from the shivering lips.
"Where?" Small One croaked, glassy eyes slowly looking around the room, "Wh're are my br'thers?"
Nolan and Rawgrim had exchanged a slight look of panic, unsure of how to answer the youngling in a way that wouldn't cause further distress, "They're," the doctor answered slowly, "not here. They're away."
"Oh," that answer didn't really seem to satisfy Small One, though, as he quickly followed up with "Wher'm I?"
Rawgrim took pity on the physician, leaning in so the child could see him properly, "You're in my home," his baritone rumbled, "I found you in the forest, and you're very sick. I'm taking care of you."
The nexian wasn't sure what it was that he had said that upset the youngling, but the blue eyes welled with tears, "I wanna go h'me," he wept, a hand scrubbing at his face, "I….I need my br'thers,"
In a rush of movement, Rawgrim surprised himself when he moved over to the bed, perching on the edge so to draw Small One up on his lap. The nexian didn't know if the youngling was still really a child, he could be well past the age of adulthood in his culture, however, his size compared to the nexian was similar to that of a very small child in Rawgrim's tribe. Thus, the blacksmith found his heart was made of putty when Small One began to cry, "It's alright, Small One," Rawgrim murmured, rocking the tiny form in his arms, "you're alright."
The outburst, brief though it was, had only drained the child of what little strength he still retained. Another shiver rocked the muscular shoulders, and the youngling turned into Rawgrim's arms, seeking out the warmth the nexian exuded. After that, he didn't wake for over a day and a half as the fever took hold in a frightful way. Nolan and Rawgrim traded out shifts, taking turns resting, as they watched over the trembling child caught in an endless nightmare of burning aches and pains. Poultices, salves, countless old wife's tales of remedies, all were being used to little avail. The fever raged through the child, making him whine and whimper in agony as he tossed and turned on the large bed.
Occasionally he would call out for someone, though the names would vary. Sometimes Small One cried for his father, begging forgiveness and apologizing over and over. Then he'd run through a list of three names, each foreign to the nexian, and take turns apologizing to them, too. Although, one of the names did seem familiar, as if he had heard it once before, maybe during the Battle Nexus tournament? Rawgrim shook his head, that was unlikely. He couldn't imagine anyone as little as Small One actually surviving the Battle Nexus. It was hard enough to imagine that the humble child who worked so diligently in service to his community, only asking for food in return, had anything to apologize for. It made an uncomfortable pit settle in the blacksmith's stomach, causing him to worry that the youngling really had been abandoned. And yet, Rawgrim found himself hesitating when settling on that as a possible reason that Small One was alone in the world. There was something about the way the child called out the names in his feverish sleep. The youngling said each name with such love and devotion, it was hard to imagine that his family wouldn't feel the same. So, what happened?
Rawgrim didn't have time to contemplate this, as that next night the fever reached its peak.
Instead of apologies, and calling out for his loved ones, Small One screamed in fear, begging that he not be touched, or hurt. It broke the doctor and blacksmith's hearts, watching the child melt into a quivering ball, sobbing for his father, pleading that the pain stop. If Rawgrim thought he wasn't protective before, he most certainly was now. The sight of the youngling in such distress made every protective instinct inside Rawgrim scream for the blacksmith to comfort the child. Strangely enough, the furry paws of the nexian seemed to soothe the youngling, helping him calm when Rawgrim would caress the fevered brow in soft strokes. Small One would lean into the touch, bleary gaze unfocused and glassy, even as he spoke in a foreign language that Rawgrim had never heard before. Always wearing that look of repentance and regret. For hours the blacksmith sat by the child's bedside, soothing and comforting him, even though he was certain none of his words made it through the fever's agonizing haze.
Then on the third day, miraculously, the fever broke.
Small One woke briefly, confused and still not entirely coherent, but accepted water and a measure of soup to be fed to him, all before passing out again. Despite being bone weary beyond comprehension, Rawgrim still couldn't find it in himself to regret bringing the youngling home. In fact, the blacksmith often shuddered at the thought of their village's sweet child alone in the forest, fighting with a fever of that magnitude. Now, with the sickness finally receding, allowing Small One the first night of real sleep since he'd arrived, the blacksmith found it harder than ever to even consider letting him go back to his campsite in the forest. Apparently, the good doctor agreed.
"Rawgrim," Nolan ventured from where he slumped in an armchair, his kind voice heavy with the exhaustion of keeping the youngling alive, "he cannot go back to the forest, his immune system is already severely compromised just from the toll the sickness took on his body, if he leaves this house, it's a death sentence."
"Indeed," the nexian rumbled, lips pursing thoughtfully as he lit a small pipe, "I think I may have the solution to making him stay, though."
"Oh?" The doctor perked up, large green eyes widening in interest, "You've already been considering this, then?"
The nexian gave a slow nod. Yes, he'd been considering it, and was determined to succeed where others had failed. If he'd learned anything about the child in their brief time together, it was that Small One hated to impose and despised making problems for others. This was apparent in his profuse apologies during his delirious rambling, as well as how hard the child took any small mistake made while working in the village. While his idea may seem devious, and more than a little cruel, Rawgrim wasn't so righteous as to not use this against Small One if it meant protecting him from his worst enemy, himself. So, with the sun shining brightly through the windowpane, the blacksmith gave a satisfied smile when he noticed Small One finally waking up, this time his eyes clear.
The youngling frowned, looking around himself curiously, glancing down at the thick blanket covering him. Small One rubbed the soft fabric between his fingers, before straining his head backwards to see the beams of sunlight arcing through the glass, illuminating the room. His confusion was downright endearing. However, that confusion quickly turned to panic when he eventually laid eyes on his host, immediately freezing in place on the bed. Rawgrim could imagine what the child was thinking, well aware of his nine foot tall frame, muscle bound body covered in jet black fur, large curving horns and massive hooves for feet. Rawgrim knew he cut quite the intimidating figure. So, when the child's sapphire eyes widened to the size of dish plates, it took everything the blacksmith could do not to burst into gales of laughter.
Silence stretched for several seconds, until Rawgrim broke the ice, "Do you remember who I am?"
Small One gave a tentative nod, "The blacksmith," he replied in his usual meek tone.
"Do you know how you came to be here?"
This time the youngling shook his head, blue eyes bouncing between Rawgrim and the open bedroom door. No doubt measuring the distance and calculating if he could escape before the blacksmith grabbed him. The nexian smirked, "I found you in the woods," he said, baritone rumbling like the roll of thunder, "you had an extremely high fever, and were already delirious and hallucinating. I've been taking care of you."
The panic and fear melted away, only to replaced by guilt and self loathing. The once wary shoulders drooped, and the youngling cast his gaze down to the floor, "I'm sorry," he quavered, voice still so quiet, "I didn't mean to impose."
Impose? Rawgrim snorted in amusement. If anyone imposed, it was him. Small One was perfectly content dying in his little grass hut, of that the blacksmith was sure. The nexian, however, was the one who forcibly pulled him out of it and brought the child home. The imposition lay solely on the blacksmith's shoulders. Not that he could say that. For his plan to work, to protect Small One from catching another deadly illness, he had to allow the youngling to believe that he was the one who trespassed on Rawgrim. He hated having to use such a dirty tactic, but the village had long learned in the past month of the child living amongst them that he refused any form of charity and was fiercely independent. So, dirty tactics it was.
"Well, you did," Rawgrim said with a theatrical sigh, "and now I'm almost a week behind on work."
Small One winced, green hands gripping the blanket, "I can pay you back," he ventured, "I can work around the shop for free, help you get back on track?"
The blacksmith gave a slow blink, straining to maintain the cold apathetic attitude he needed for the conversation. It didn't help that the youngling was adorable, and incredibly easy to become attached to. With his quiet nature, sweet disposition, and utter willingness to help, he'd become the village darling and probably wasn't even aware of the fact. The whole village wished they could dote on him, but Small One held everyone at arm's length, not letting a single person get close enough to even learn his name. So, now it was up to Rawgrim to care for the child in the only way Small One would allow.
"That sounds acceptable," the blacksmith murmured, "however, my days begin early and go late. You can't help out and expect to continue to live in the forest. You'll be wasting my valuable time just waiting for you to hike through the forest to the forge. You'll have to stay here in the apprentice quarters."
Small One chewed his bottom lip, but eventually nodded with a resigned slump, "Yes, sir," he said, eyes still downcast.
"Good," Rawgrim nodded, "now, I'm going to go get to work, you rest, and I'll check on you later."
The sapphire eyes jolted from the floor to meet the blacksmith's, "I can start now," he stated, fear of being a nuisance infecting the worried gaze, "I don't need to rest."
"Oh?" The nexian couldn't hold back the chuckle this time, "Then, why don't you prove it by getting out of that bed?"
Hope for the child sprung in Rawgrim's heart as he watched sheer, obstinate stubbornness gleam in the blue eyes, and the child was pulling the blankets back. Small One tried, he really did. He pulled himself off the mattress, and braced a green hand on the wall as he stood on wobbling legs for a scant few seconds. The sight of the child building up the courage to attempt taking a step, watching as he quietly calculated in his head how to do so without falling over, made the blacksmith bite back a grin. However, it was all to be in vain, as the youngling took his carefully calculated step, only to crumble to the floor in a trembling heap. Rawgrim shook his head, then proceeded to place Small One back under the covers, tucking him in tenderly.
"Looks to me like your body still needs some time to recover," the blacksmith huffed in a small laugh, "so, as I said, I'll get back to work, and you get some rest."
Small One didn't meet his gaze, just merely lay on his side, clutching the blanket in one fist, features a grim mask of self hatred, "Yes, sir," he muttered miserably.
….
The child was surprisingly adept in the forge, Rawgrim was pleased to report. After a few more days of recovery, Small One was eager to get to work and 'pay off his debt'. It was here that the blacksmith discovered that the youngling had experience in forging metal and even in the crafting of weapons. Though entirely self taught, he wasn't without promise, and Rawgrim offered the job of apprentice to the child after he watched Small One craft a dagger for himself using spare metal he'd found in the chuck bin. While not quality metal, the youngling made it shine like fine steel, and then sharpened it to a keen edge. To say the blacksmith was impressed was a vast understatement, and after presenting his idea to the youngling, Small One happily (or as happily as his quiet nature allowed) accepted the offer. It was a win-win situation, the child had room and board plus food, and Rawgrim had a full-time live-in apprentice to help him around the shop.
Small One also seemed eager to learn, which made the arrangement that much more beneficial. Though still quiet and refusing Rawgrim any access beyond basic boss and employee relationship, the way the sapphire eyes sparkled when watching the blacksmith pull a white hot blade out of the furnace always made the nexian smile.
"Wait, why are you doing that?" Small One asked, watching as Rawgrim pulled a long sword from the furnace and immediately dunked it into a vat of oil.
"It's called quenching," The blacksmith answered, raising his voice over the hiss and bubble of the hot metal cooling in the viscous liquid, "once you've finished crafting your sword, you reheat it and then transfer your blade from the flame to oil as quickly as possible. This strengthens the metal, making it more durable and less likely to shatter."
Blue eyes brightened in what Rawgrim had dubbed Small One's 'Ah-ha!' moments. "So, that's why mine always broke," he murmured, obviously not intending his boss to hear.
Rawgrim pretended he hadn't, instead continuing his lesson, "Now that it's room temperature, we return it back to the flame, but at a lower heat. This will reduce the stress or brittleness caused by the quenching, further strengthening the metal."
The child nodded, eyes sparkling making the blacksmith chuckle, "I'm guessing you'd like to give it a try?"
The youngling nodded vigorously, then paused as he blushed, before remarking in his trademark meek tone, "Yes, please,"
Another thing that the blacksmith learned about his young charge was that while Small One was strong, and relatively fearless when it came to the furnace, he did have his moments where his mysterious past would come back to bite him. Such as, the youngling had a general dislike of straight-backed chairs with wooden arms. Small One never explained why, but he'd sooner sit on the floor than in such a chair. Not only that, but it seemed the child was petrified of the cellar in the backyard. The cellar itself wasn't much to look at, but the metal doors, combined with the dark and dank space with the dirt floor sent Small One into a severe hyperventilation spell, his whole body trembling like it did when he had the fever. Once again, the youngling refused to explain, but then also refused to talk for the rest of the day. While not physically, the child had metaphorically gone into his shell, spending the next several hours completing his daily tasks with a haunted, shattered gaze. That night was also full of nightmares that Rawgrim pretended not to hear. Despite the child physically reaching out for comfort while delirious with fever, now that he was coherent, he'd proven to be entirely self reliant and dreaded showing weakness of any kind to outsiders.
Any attempts made by the blacksmith to address said nightmares, or odd episodes of irrational panic had been soundly rebuffed. Especially the night when Rawgrim asked about Small One's family, which went over like a lead balloon.
"Where is your father, and brothers?"
Small One froze, a mouthful of dinner in his cheek, and the youngling hunched over his plate, "How do you know about them?" He mumbled through his food.
"You kept asking for your father when you had that fever," Rawgrim explained, "and you were practically inconsolable every time you asked for your brothers."
A few careful, slow chews. Then after swallowing his mouthful down, he took a steadying breath, "They're," the child's breath hitched, even as he winced in pain, "I'm not….um," the hand holding his fork began to shake, and Small One's breaths became quick and shallow, "I can't," he gasped, "I can't talk about it."
"Did they hurt you?"
Stunned sapphire eyes whirled up to meet his, disgust and anger twisting the somber mouth, "What?! NO!" He spat, "They'd never…! They couldn't…!" Small One shook his head fiercely, before yelling, "They weren't the problem!"
Rawgrim cocked his head in confusion, "The problem?" He asked, tone incredulous, "What do you mean by the problem?"
The youngling reared back as if he'd been slapped, his breath growing more erratic, before he lunged to his feet, "May I be excused?" He gasped, trembling arms gathering around himself in a self soothing hug, "Please?"
The blacksmith was heartbroken, wishing dearly to help what was most assuredly a suffering child, but he'd learned with this particular youngling that pressing did more harm than good. Small One was feeling panicked and needed time alone, so, the nexian nodded his assent and the teen was quick to clear his side of the table. Washing the dishes, and hurriedly putting the extras from dinner away into the ice box, Small One pelted up the stairs, and then closed the door of his room. Due to his long ears, the nexian's sensitive hearing could pick up the faint sounds of sobbing, making the blacksmith grimace. Whatever had happened, had hurt the child deeply. Rawgrim only wished he knew what it was, or at least how to reach past the stormy cloud of ice and steel that the youngling kept around him at all times. The rest of that night was spent in quiet contemplation in front of the fireplace while smoking his pipe.
….
The next several weeks passed with Rawgrim continuing to train Small One, always pleasantly surprised at how quickly the child learned.
The prior experience certainly helped matters, as the only thing left to teach was technique and tricks of the trade, but in almost no time at all, Small One was crafting blades of the quality that even the blacksmith envied. Although, such feelings were quickly drowned out by the almost paternal pride that the nexian held for his apprentice. Their relationship was starting to smooth out, with Small One asking more personal questions of his employer instead of holding him strictly at arm's length. In fact, many things had begun to improve, the child's outlook being the main one. Small One was still quiet, and reserved, but he was starting to loosen up, enough that Rawgrim felt comfortable in giving the child some much needed life lessons. Particularly when it came to his near constant apologizing.
"Sorry," Small One murmured, guilt pulling a frown on his features.
"Why are you apologizing?" The blacksmith asked, brown eyes wide in confusion, "I merely remarked that the floor needed to be swept, why should you apologize for that?"
"Because that's my job," the child mumbled, walking to the closet to grab the broom, "I failed at keeping up with my duties."
Rawgrim blinked, then blinked again, before bursting into bellowing laughter, "Young one," he chuckled, "how is sweeping the floor such a massive failure?
"We've both been incredibly busy this week," the blacksmith continued, gesturing to the forge, "with the Battle Nexus coming up, we've been up to our ears in weapon orders, and neither of us have been going to bed before midnight. So when, pray tell, have you had a chance to sweep?"
The young apprentice merely gave a miserable shrug, hurriedly sweeping the floor in desperate strokes, prompting Rawgrim to approach the child, "Small One, you don't have to sweep,"
The child merely swept faster, with harder more determined strokes, and the blacksmith sighed, "In fact, I insistyou not sweep."
The youngling continued to ignore him, and Rawgrim quirked an eyebrow before gently removing the broom from his apprentice's grip, "Small One," the nexian said, voice taking on an authoritative tone he'd heard fathers in the village use, "you haven't slept more than five hours the past two nights, you're exhausted, and the floor will still be here in the morning. So, we're going to call it an early night and go to bed."
Small One wouldn't look at him, but instead tried to reach for the broom again, only for the blacksmith to hold it out of his reach, "We have a long day tomorrow since the Battle Nexus is just a few days away," Rawgrim stated, using logic to sway the stubborn teen, "and the floor being dirty will not be a failure on your part when you've been working so hard helping me in the forge."
"But…" the small frame shrunk, even though the stubbornness did not leave the sapphire gaze, "it's my job," he insisted, albeit quietly.
"Helping in the forge is also your job," Rawgrim agreed, "but last I checked, you are not a supernatural being capable of being in multiple places at once. Prioritizing duties is not a sign of weakness, nor is it failing. If you had been in the house ensuring that there was not a speck of dust on the floor, I'd probably be upset, because I'd be drowning in weapons orders. However, your prioritizing the forge over the floor is what made it possible for us to call it an early night and get some real rest.
"Young one," the nexian continued, placing a placating hand on the child's shoulder, "it is not your responsibility to provide perfection. You can only do so much, and despite what you may believe, you are still very much a child. It isn't healthy for you to behave as if you are the only one holding the weight of the world on your shoulders. It also isn't shameful to let adults help you, and to not have everything under control. You have my permission, hang it all, you have everyone's permission to make mistakes! Don't hold yourself accountable for supposed failures that, truly, are failures in your eyes alone, no one else's."
"But," the youngling hunched self consciously, valiantly holding back the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, "what if they are failures? What if I fail so bad at my job that…. I don't deserve to come back?"
Rawgrim gave a short bark of laughter, "The only way you'd achieve that is by burning the forge down, and even then, I'd expect you to stick around to clean up the mess!
"But you want to know what's great about those kinds of mistakes?" The blacksmith continued, drawing on deep wisdom he'd inherited from his own father, "is that even if you did burn the forge down, I'd have the opportunity to build it again, and this time I'd build it bigger and better than ever, without the leaky roof and clogged pipes. I'd build it the way I wanted it to be. That's what's great about failure and mistakes, they give you that same opportunity to build something magnificent on top of the ashes of the old."
A strange vulnerability filtered through the glassy blue eyes, and the stubbornness melted away, leaving an unsure child straining for answers, "But what if I already left?" He whispered, "How do I go back? What if everyone already rebuilt everything without you, and they realize they never needed you in the first place?"
The nexian paused, having already realized that this conversation ceased to be about sweeping a long time ago, "I don't believe that would be the case, I believe that anyone would be ecstatic to have you back in their life," Rawgrim said, shaking his head, "but if it is, my Small One, then you'll always have a place here at the forge."
A sniffle, then a quick swipe at his eyes to erase the tears he dearly wanted to hold at bay, were the first time the blacksmith had seen any true kind of emotion from the child outside of his meek compliance or the way he would hide in traumatized silence. The youngling held his emotions in check so thoroughly that Rawgrim often worried he'd lost the ability to laugh or cry, but here, here was the evidence that such expressions of emotions were still within his reach. He just needed to heal to get there, "Now," the nexian grinned, giving a sassy wink as he placed the broom high up where he thought the child couldn't reach, "how about we do as I said, and call it a night, hm?"
Small One shuffled where he stood, eyes cast back down to the floor before giving a resigned nod, "Fine,"
The next morning dawned bright, and Rawgrim was shocked to see that he'd overslept past dawn. A terrible thing indeed when, as he'd said the night before, the Battle Nexus was just around the corner.
Leaping from his bed, the nexian allowed himself a brief, but hot, shower to prepare for a long day in front of the furnace. Hurriedly shrugging on his favorite work clothes, Rawgrim clopped down the stairs, only to give an amused snort. The floor was impeccably clean, with nary a dust bunny to be seen. How Small One got the broom down from where he'd placed it was a mystery, but so was much of the child's history, "Maybe he's a runaway from the circus," the nexian chuckled.
Striding out into the forge, Rawgrim watched his apprentice work with a gleam of pride. The child was used to the forge by now, his movements practiced and confident as he mended a sword, hammering the hot metal back into shape. The blacksmith had zero worries about the quality of the sword that would be handed over to its owner, as Rawgrim fully trusted his apprentice's skills, and on days like today he enjoyed sitting back and watching the youngling work. Small One had the heart and passion of an artist, using his free time to craft weapons of all types. However, he seemed focused on perfecting three different weapons, two of which Rawgrim had never seen before. Small One had called them sai and nunchaku, stating that he wanted to use his new skills to see if he could improve the basic design. While it started out as a fun experiment, the blacksmith noticed that as the child worked, he became melancholy and after a while gave up on the project. Why that would be, he wasn't sure, but Rawgrim had a decent hunch that it was assuredly connected somehow to the child's past.
"I need to go get more wood from the back," Small One's voice broke through the blacksmith's thoughts, bringing him back to the present, "the furnace is running low on fuel."
Rawgrim gave a nod, "Why not load up as high as you can? I have a feeling we're going to need it today."
The child nodded, then left the forge to fetch the wood for the furnace, and Rawgrim stretched his arms towards the sky until his back gave a satisfying pop. Large hands grabbed the leather apron he wore while working, tying it on himself before clopping over to the heap of weapons left for him to attend to.
"There you are!"
The blacksmith jolted, the familiar voice sending a burst of happy surprise through his heart as Rawgrim caught sight of a familiar pair of rabbit ears, "Well, if it isn't my favorite customer!"
"Favorite customer, indeed," the warrior replied dryly, a saucy grin on his face and teasing lilt to the gentle voice, "if you favor me so highly, then why leave the city so close to the Battle Nexus without informing me of your whereabouts? You know there is none I trust with my katana more than you, but you sneak away without telling a soul where you've gone? For shame, my friend!"
Rawgrim burst in to boisterous laughter, "I apologize," he guffawed, "it is most certainly a terrible trespass to have not told you that I was moving to the country."
"Well, after an eternity of searching, I've found you," the customer chuckled, "and here are my blades to which I entrust to your skill. I'm sure you'll show them the utmost care?"
"Of course!" The blacksmith grinned, "I'll put them as my top priority since I know you'll be competing in the Battle Nexus."
Turning towards the back, Rawgrim placed a hand around his mouth so to increase the volume of his shout, "Small One, get out here!"
"Yes, sir!"
Within moments, the child was back in the forge, wiping his hands on his own apron as he prepared to follow whatever commands his master might have, "What do you need me to do?"
"This is my most prized customer, treat him with respect and his blades with reverence," the blacksmith said.
Small One looked around Rawgrim only to freeze, his face paling and hands starting to shake. The blacksmith paused, turning to see that his customer looked equally shocked, the furry white features hung between joy, surprise and grief. Reaching one paw out, the warrior gasped, "Leonardo-San, you're alive? You're here?!"
Small One trembled, even as his shoulders hunched self-consciously in that way that told Rawgrim he desperately wanted to run away, "Hey, Usagi-San,"
Yes, this one will also be multi-chapter. I'm debating how far I'll get on the next one, but…. I have a plan!
I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter, I know Leo is out of character, but I figure with everything he's gone through, he doesn't really know who he is at the moment.
Please review!