Elemental Mastery

Cole woke slightly later in the morning than normal, having taken the opportunity that a day with no work afforded to sleep in.

Looking out his window he watched as large groups of people walked down the street towards the center of town, grateful that the smith was in the other direction.

He got out of bed and knelt beside the chest at the foot of the bed, lifting the lid with a quiet creak. The familiar scent of old wood and worn cloth greeted him as he rummaged through its contents, pulling out a set of clean clothes and setting the dirty garments aside to wash later. As he dressed, he inspected each piece critically. The pants were badly frayed at the ankles, the fabric thinning to the point where threads dangled like loose ends of an unraveling tapestry. The tunic wasn’t much better—small holes dotted the fabric, too many to ignore, though he had managed to patch some of them. Sighing, the weight of inevitability settling on his shoulders. He’d need to buy another set of clothes soon, something he’d been putting off as long as possible. At least the boots were still in good repair, their sturdy leather holding up well against the daily wear and tear.

Dressed for the day, Cole moved to the small table near the window and grabbed the last of the hard cheese and smoked meat he’d been rationing for breakfast. The cheese, tough and nearly flavorless, took effort to chew, but it lasted a full week and was cheap—two qualities that made it a staple in his diet. The salted meat, though, offered a small consolation; its pleasant, spicy flavor was a rare treat. He’d learned long ago not to ask the vendor what was in the meat at the price it cost—some things were better left unknown.

As he stepped out into the morning light and began walking towards the smithy, Cole finished the last of his meagre meal, the day ahead looming with its usual demands. The reality of his frayed clothing and meager breakfast was just another reminder of the life he led, one where every coin had to stretch as far as it could, and luxuries were few and far between.

The familiar sound of Bo’s smithy reached him before even turning the corner onto the street. The rhythmic clanging of metal striking metal, like an out-of-tune gong, rang out steadily, a comforting noise that signaled work and purpose. Bo Ackerly’s smithy was a humble setup, consisting of a small shop front and a forge off to the side. While some smiths specialized in grand suits of armor or finely crafted swords, Bo’s focus was on the practical. Armor and swords were impressive, but they were expensive and not something the average person needed. Instead, his shop was filled with everyday essentials: pots and pans, cutlery, small knives, nails, and hinges—items that the common folk relied on.

That wasn’t to say he never made weapons. Bo’s skill was renowned, and his reputation for quality meant that nobles and wealthy merchants occasionally commissioned him for custom work. But the bread and butter of his trade were the everyday items, forged with the same care and precision as the most elaborate blade.

As Cole approached the smithy, waves of heat rolled out to meet him, the warmth wrapping around exposed skin like a heavy blanket. The intense heat was a constant companion to the forge, where metal was shaped and tempered into useful goods. Alex, Bo’s son and former apprentice, was at the forge, hammering away at a glowing piece of metal. Now a partner in the business, Alex had grown into a skilled smith in his own right, muscles rippling with each calculated strike.

Just as Cole reached the entrance, Alex looked up from his work, catching sight of him. He paused, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a faint streak of soot across his forehead. With a broad grin, he waved Cole over.

“Morning, Cole! What brings you by?” Alex called out, his voice carrying easily over the din of the forge.

Cole returned the smile, feeling some of the tension from earlier easing in the warmth of the familiar surroundings. “Just seeing if Bo has any work for me,” he replied

“Glad you did drop by,” Alex said, his grin widening as he set down his hammer. “Dad’s been looking for you. Says he has something important for you to do.”

Cole raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Bo was usually straightforward about the work he needed done, so the mention of something important had Cole’s attention. “Important, huh? Any idea what it is?”

Alex shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “Not a clue, but knowing Dad, it’s probably something that requires a bit of finesse or trust. He doesn’t throw around the word ‘important’ lightly.”

Cole nodded, a small thrill of anticipation stirring in his chest. Important tasks weren’t common, and they often came with the chance to prove himself further. It was a welcome distraction from the concerns the morning had brought.

“Alright, I’ll go see what he needs,” Cole said, a touch of eagerness creeping into his voice.

As Cole stepped inside the store, the transition from the forge’s heat to the cooler air was like stepping into another world. The mana devices Bo had installed hummed softly, circulating cool air around the open room. It was a small luxury, but one that made a big difference for customers browsing the shop.

The walls were lined with shelves and bins filled with the practical wares Bo crafted: pots and pans, sturdy cutlery, nails, hinges, and other everyday essentials. But as always, Cole’s eyes were inevitably drawn to the middle section on the left side of the shop, where a single sword hung in a place of honor. The hilt was starkly plain, almost austere in its simplicity, but the blade was another matter entirely. It was so dark it was almost black, the metal absorbing light rather than reflecting it. The blade’s surface was smooth and flawless, exuding an air of quiet menace. It was a bold statement, a reflection of Bo’s unique style and his desire to create something that stood apart from tradition while still showcasing his exceptional skill. The black blade had become something of a legend in the local community, a symbol of Bo’s mastery and his willingness to push the boundaries of what a smith could achieve.

Cole stood in the cool interior, his eyes traced the lines of the sword. It wasn’t just a weapon—it was a symbol of the heights a smith could reach with enough talent and perseverance.

The quiet contemplation was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps and the faint creak of the back door. Cole’s thoughts snapped back to the present as Bo Ackerley stepped into the room. At six foot five inches and 230 pounds of solid muscle, Bo’s sheer size made him an imposing figure. His presence filled the room, but those who knew him understood that beneath the formidable exterior was a kind and fair man, always ready to lend a hand where he could.

“There you are, thank Mana,” Bo said, his gravelly voice filled with relief.

Cole turned to face him, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good morning, Mr. Ackerley,” he greeted, feeling ease in the familiarity of greeting.

“Cole, glad you came by to help. I was worried you’d gone to the Age Day Festival,” Bo said, his deep voice tinged with concern.

“Nope, was hoping you had some work for me Mr. Ackerly,” Cole replied.

Bo’s expression softened, and he shook his head slightly. “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Bo?”

“At least once more, Mr. Ackerley,” Cole responded with a slight grin.

Bo muttered something under his breath that Cole could just make out as “How can you be polite and a smart-ass at the same time?”

With a small smile, Bo walked behind the counter and pulled out a long bundle wrapped in oilskin leather from underneath it. “Here, I need you to deliver this for me,” he said, holding out the bundle.

Cole reached out to take the package, his curiosity piqued. “A sword, huh? I didn’t realize you had taken on another commission.”

“Yup, just a sword fancier than it is practical,” Bo explained, his tone lowering as if to emphasize what he thought of the practice. “It’s for the Regent. His third son is testing today. He had the sword made to be able to gift him at his passing into adulthood. I need you to deliver it to him at the festival. Here are ten silvers for your time.”

“TEN SILVER!” Cole blurted out, a bit loud, causing some of the customers in the shop to jump.

“Shush,” Bo hissed, glancing around to make sure no one else had overheard. “Yes, ten silver. Come on, you can’t be thinking I’m cheating you.”

“No, it’s not that,” Cole said, still in disbelief. “Ten silver now means I only need one more week at the caves to have saved enough for my license and the cost of living for a year.”

Bo’s expression softened again, his voice gentle. “I’ve told you before, we’ll cover you for that year, no problem.”

“I know,” Cole replied, “but I like to take care of myself. ‘A man stands on his own two feet, so he can better help others to theirs,’ my dad always said. Still, I’ll be able to start next week if you’ll still have me as an apprentice.”

“Of course I’ll have you, Cole,” Bo said, his voice warm with reassurance. “Might not be blood, but we’re family. Now, hurry and get that sword to the Regent. He should be standing by the stage. You know what he looks like?”

“I do,” Cole replied, carefully placing the coins in his pouch and gripping the sword bundle tightly. With a wave to Bo, he left the shop, a mix of excitement and determination fueling his steps.

As Cole made his way to the center of the city, the reality of what lay ahead began to settle in. The weight of the leather-wrapped sword in his hands was a constant reminder of the task at hand, and he kept his pace steady, mindful of the precious cargo. But as he neared the building, a piercing scream echoed through the streets, freezing him in his tracks.

Cole pulled up short. He didn’t like the screams that the testing brought, and even when he did attend the festival he never went until the evening.

As he drew closer to the Union building, another unpleasant sensation hit him—the faint, acidic smell of urine lingering in the air. The stench clung to the area around the entrance, a testament to the fear and agony that was inflicted on those who underwent the test. Cole couldn’t blame those whose pain had driven them to lose control; the experience was harrowing enough to break even the strongest of wills. Still, he was surprised that the Elementalist hadn’t called water to wash the mess away, though perhaps the constant stream of test-takers made such efforts futile.

The square opened wide before him, but it was so tightly packed that it took considerable effort to make his way to the side of the stage. More than once, he stepped on someone's foot, or had his own stepped on, and he was certain at least one of the elbows jabbing into him hadn’t been an accident.

Surrounding the Regent were many of the city’s nobles. As a commoner, Cole didn’t interact much with the upper classes, but he had heard plenty of stories about their disregard for people like him. As he moved closer, he could feel the eyes of some of the nobles on him. Their expressions ranged from indifferent to mildly dismissive, and he quickly understood the unspoken message in their gazes. Standing in their midst, he could feel their casual disregard, a silent reminder of the gulf that existed between their worlds.

The stark contrast between his own appearance and theirs only deepened his discomfort. He had always known his clothes were shabby—frayed at the edges, with small holes that had grown more numerous over time—but here, among the finely dressed nobles, it felt glaringly obvious. His worn tunic and scuffed boots suddenly seemed even more inadequate, a visible marker of his lower status. The bundle in his hands, holding the Regent’s commissioned sword, was the only thing that gave him a sense of purpose amidst the sea of wealth and privilege.

Cole did his best to avoid eye contact as he made his way through the group, focusing instead on his task. He wasn’t here to mingle or impress; he had a job to do. But the weight of the nobles’ judgment lingered, gnawing at the edges of his confidence. It was one thing to hear about the divide between nobles and commoners—it was another to feel it so acutely, every sideways glance a reminder that he didn’t belong.

Cole made his way over to where the Regent was standing, carefully navigating through the crowd. Just as he was about to call for the Regent’s attention, a boy in blue robes suddenly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Despite being shorter than Cole—probably around five foot six inches—he managed to look down on him with a haughty sneer.

“And just where do you think you are going, peasant?” the boy spat, his tone dripping with disdain, as if the very sight of Cole was an offense to his senses.

Cole stared at the boy, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of the boy’s reaction. The noble, for what else could he be, had a lean build that spoke of a life free from hardship. His features were sharp and well-defined, with high cheekbones and a straight nose that gave him an unmistakably aristocratic air. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his skin was fair, almost pale, as if he had never spent a day laboring under the sun. Everything about the boy suggested privilege and entitlement, from the way he carried himself to the condescending tilt of his head.

“What are you, stupid as well?” the boy continued, his voice rising with irritation. “Answer me before I have you punished.”

The threat hung in the air, cold and unmistakable. Cole felt a surge of anger rise within him, but he quickly suppressed it, reminding himself of where he was and the task at hand. This was not the time or place to let pride get in the way. He had a job to do, and this arrogant noble was nothing more than an obstacle in his path.

As the boy opened his mouth to hurl another insult, no words came out. Instead, he stiffened as a large hand landed firmly on his shoulder. The boy’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly turned his head to see who had interrupted him.

“How many times must I tell you that is not how you talk to people?” a deep, authoritative voice said. The voice belonged to the Regent himself, the very man Cole had been searching for.

“Father, this commoner was trying to assault me,” the boy protested, his voice a mix of indignation and desperation.

The Regent’s expression remained stern, and he shook his head with a weary sigh, as though he had heard this excuse many times before. “Lying on top of it,” he said, his voice carrying a note of disappointment. “I saw everything. No one can just command respect, even nobility; you must show you are worthy of it.”

The Regent’s words carried the weight of experience and authority, and it was clear that this was a lesson he had tried to impart to his son on many occasions. The boy’s face flushed with embarrassment and anger, but he knew better than to argue further.

“You should be in line to be tested anyway,” the Regent continued, his tone firm but not unkind. “Go get in it.”

The boy cast one last angry look at Cole, his eyes burning with resentment, before he sullenly walked over to the end of the line and took his place, waiting for his turn to be tested.

The Regent watched his son walk away, a mixture of frustration and concern etched on his face. Then, turning his attention back to Cole, he addressed him directly. “Now then,” he began, his voice calm but with a note of authority that demanded respect, “if you have no business here, you really must move along.”

Cole swallowed, suddenly aware of the full weight of the situation. This was the Regent—a man of immense power and influence—and now that he was face to face with him, Cole felt a flicker of nerves. But he quickly regained his composure, remembering the task he had been given.

“I do have business here, sir,” Cole replied respectfully, holding out the leather-wrapped bundle. “I’m here to deliver a sword commissioned from Bo Ackerley’s smithy. It’s for your son.”

The Regent’s eyes softened slightly as he recognized the name, and he nodded. “Ah, yes, Bo Ackerley. A fine craftsman. Let me see it.”

Cole handed the bundle to him, and the Regent partially unwrapped the blade, revealing its craftsmanship for the first time. The sword was truly magnificent—all silver, finely decorated with filigree, and accented with blue jewels that caught the light. Cole couldn’t help but admire the beauty and precision of the work, feeling a swell of pride on behalf of Bo.

“You have done well,” the Regent said, his tone approving as he fished a silver coin out of a pouch and tossed it to Cole. “For your troubles.”

Cole instinctively caught the coin but at once moved to return it. “No, sir, I was paid by Mr. Ackerley and was just doing my job.” Though he desperately wanted to keep the coin—it would put him firmly at the mark he needed to save—he also wanted to represent Mr. Ackerley well and do the right thing by the Regent.

The Regent, however, held up his hand to stop him. “Then it’s not a tip for the delivery but compensation for my son’s actions. How about that?”

The man smiled at Cole, and it was a genuinely kind smile. For the first time, Cole felt a warmth from this noble that dispelled some of his earlier unease. It was reassuring to know that not all nobles were as dismissive or cruel as he had feared. He returned the Regent’s smile and nodded, accepting the coin with a sense of relief and gratitude.

Cole watched the Regent go, feeling a sense of accomplishment. His first real interaction with nobility had been tense, but it had ended on a good note.

Cole’s eyes went wide with realization. The Regent had mentioned that his son was about to be tested. A small, less noble part of him couldn’t help but relish the idea of seeing the rude noble boy in pain. Curiosity piqued, Cole decided to step outside and watch the testing.

When it was time for the Regent’s son to be tested, the Elementalist leaned down and said a few quiet words to him. The boy, who had earlier exuded arrogance, now showed a flicker of concern as he approached the crystal. With a deep breath, he placed his hands on either side of the glowing stone. The moment his palms made contact, the boy's screams erupted, sharp and piercing, echoing off the surrounding buildings. The sound was louder and more prolonged than anything Cole had heard during the other tests, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the boy was experiencing mana-burn, a fate that could destroy his mana channels entirely.

The boy’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his screams continuing unabated. The crowd around them fell into an uneasy silence, watching intently as the boy’s ordeal dragged on. Just when Cole began to think that something had gone horribly wrong, the screams ceased, and a faint glow began to pulse from the boy’s hands into the crystal. The crystal was glowing.

Cole swore under his breath. Life had a way of reminding him it wasn’t fair—that someone like that boy was blessed with magic while so many others were denied.

The nobles surged forward to congratulate the Regent, though not his son Cole noticed. As the crowd thickened; Cole found himself being pushed farther away from the center of attention. The last glimpse he caught was of the Regent’s son, now clutching his newly gifted sword, his once-arrogant demeanor replaced by a look of quiet shock.

The spectacle left Cole with a mix of emotions. Part of him felt a strange satisfaction at seeing the boy humbled, but another part couldn’t help but envy the power the boy would have.