Capítulo 3: Chapter Two: A Faithful Day
The night had been a fleeting whisper, a mere breath of respite that Kael clung to with aching reluctance. Dawn crept into the cellar, a delicate interplay of light and shadow dancing upon the cold stone floor. The street-level windows yielded to the relentless sun, casting a pale glow that banished the remnants of dreams Kael had barely begun to weave.
With a groan, he stirred, the tendrils of sleep clinging to him like cobwebs. The bustling city had already begun its symphony, the hum of life resonating through the streets. Kael's senses sharpened as he realized how late he was—he could almost hear the forge's flames licking at the air above him, impatient and relentless.
Springing from his makeshift bed, Kael moved with practiced urgency, his muscles protesting the sudden movement after a night spent on the hard floor. He threw on his soot-stained apron, barely sparing a moment to run his fingers through his unruly hair before ascending the stairs to the forge.
As he emerged, his eyes met the unmistakable gaze of his master, a stern sentinel presiding over the inferno within. Faelon's gaze was a weighty presence, unspoken words hanging between them like suspended sparks. Kael's heart raced as he met that gaze, an unspoken acknowledgment of his tardiness.
The unyielding flames within the forge seemed to mock him, the roaring fire a testament to the relentless passage of time. Kael's voice found its way to his lips, an apology that hung in the air. "Master, I—"
Faelon's voice was a rasp, cutting through Kael's stammering words. "No need to explain, boy. Your actions already speak volumes."
Kael lowered his gaze, his face reddening under the weight of his master's gaze. But instead of the expected torrent of reprimands, Faelon's voice shifted, softened somehow. "A good night's rest is needed, Kael. Don't let it happen again."
Surprise flickered across Kael's features, his words dying on his lips as he met Faelon's gaze anew. How did his master know? Did he have sources within the tavern, whispers that trailed Kael's nightly escapes? He could only nod, gratitude warring with unease.
Returning to his duties, Kael moved with a renewed fervor, his body finding its rhythm amidst the familiar clatter and clang. As the fire's heat kissed his skin, he replayed his master's words in his mind. Faelon's acceptance was unexpected, yet Kael couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than met the eye.
Master Faelon's hammer struck with methodical precision, a rhythm that spoke of a lifetime of dedication. Yet, between the rhythm of the hammer's strikes and the roar of the flames, a deeper, quieter rhythm pulsed—a rhythm that whispered of secrets yet untold.
Kael's mind wandered to the gods Faelon mention on occasions, the gods that seemed to occupy a realm beyond the boundaries of the Silver Dominion's teachings. His people worshiped the Silver Prince exclusively, a faith carved into the very fabric of their lives. But Faelon's words held an enigma—a hint of a faith not bound by the dogma of the Dominion.
He dared not probe further, not while his master's eyes watched his every move. And so, as the sun ascended its throne in the sky, Kael channeled his thoughts into the forge's flames, his questions melding with the heat as he stoked the fires of his daily routine.
The morning hours passed, a blur of heat and noise, until eventually, the masterful rhythm yielded to the ebb of exhaustion. The forge's flames dimmed, the heated iron now mere shadows of their molten glory. Kael's sweat-soaked form emerged from the forge, his chest heaving as he wiped his brow with a soot-streaked forearm.
Faelon's gaze was upon him once more, but this time it held a different cast—a measure of approval beneath the grizzled exterior. "You've made amends, boy."
Kael nodded, his gratitude unspoken but felt nonetheless. The early hours of the day had been harsh, yet the sting of his master's initial disappointment was soothed by the unspoken understanding that now lay between them.
As the sun reached its zenith, the forge's flames cast longer shadows, their reach stretching towards the periphery of Kael's awareness. It was a dance of fire and heat, a rhythm he had grown attuned to through years of labor. But even the most steadfast flames granted reprieve, and when Master Faelon beckoned Kael to step away from the forge, the promise of a brief respite was a gift he embraced with gratitude.
Two stools appeared outside the forge's entrance, catching the cooling breeze that whispered secrets of faraway lands. Kael settled onto one of them, the air a welcome embrace after the unrelenting heat. The sunlight, filtered through the city's haze, painted dappled patterns upon the cobbled ground.
Kael's gaze wandered, observing the ebb and flow of life in the streets. His thoughts meandered like a stream, and in that tranquil moment, the question he had held found its voice. A question about the very nature of faith—about the gods that Faelon alluded to.
With a deep breath, Kael turned his gaze to his master, his voice carrying the weight of curiosity. "Master Faelon, I've heard you speak of gods before, but never of the Silver Prince."
Faelon regarded Kael with a measure of curiosity, a flicker of surprise in his weathered eyes. Silence hung between them, as if the air itself was stilling to listen to the forthcoming words. Finally, the master blacksmith nodded, as if granting permission for the unasked question to be asked.
"Well, lad," Faelon began, his voice carrying a contemplative undertone, "there's more to the world and its gods than what the Dominion Church would have you believe."
Kael's brows furrowed, his eyes a mixture of confusion and intrigue. The Dominion's teachings were interwoven with the worship of the Silver Prince—a faith that left no room for alternatives. "More than the Silver Prince?" he echoed, his voice betraying both surprise and skepticism.
Faelon's gaze held a distant quality as he leaned back against his stool. "Aye, lad. My faith comes from a place far west, a land known as the Nagan Empire. There, they believe in what they call the Five."
"The Five?" Kael's voice held a note of bewilderment. His understanding of faith was tethered to the singular devotion to the Silver Prince—how could there be room for five gods?
"Aye, lad. The Five. They're gods who hold dominion over the five seasons of a yearly circle. Each season demands different things of us, expects different aspects of our lives. It's a belief rooted in the cyclical nature of existence," Faelon explained, his words carrying the weight of a belief that had shaped his life.
Kael's mind spun, trying to grasp the concept of multiple gods with distinct dominions. His upbringing had been steeped in the songs, tales and teachings of the Silver Prince, the divine ruler of the Silver Dominion. But the fire of curiosity burned within him, craving knowledge beyond the boundaries of his own experience.
"Why don't you speak of this openly, Master?" Kael's words were cautious, tinged with the awareness that such beliefs could be dangerous, especially within a land dominated by the Dominion's doctrine.
Faelon's gaze held a mixture of solemnity and caution. "The Dominion Church wields great power, Kael. To openly profess beliefs beyond their doctrine can draw suspicion, and suspicion can lead to consequences we might wish to avoid."
Kael nodded slowly, his thoughts still untangling the concept of gods who held sway over seasons and aspects of life. His thirst for knowledge wrestled with the reality of a world where faith was a complex tapestry.
A gentle pat on his shoulder snapped him from his contemplation, and Kael looked up to meet Faelon's gaze once more. "Enough of that, lad. Break's over, and there's work to be done."
With those words, Kael's reverie was shattered, replaced by the demands of the forge and the familiar rhythm of the anvil's song. But as he returned to his tasks, a seed had been planted—a seed of curiosity that whispered of gods beyond the Silver Prince.
And so, as the hours rolled on and the forge's fires flared and dimmed, Kael's mind danced with thoughts of gods that held dominion over seasons, of a world beyond the boundaries of the Dominion's doctrine. The truth he had glimpsed lingered like the fading sparks of the forge, smoldering beneath the surface, waiting for a chance to blaze forth once more.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder