The heat inside Ren's family smithy was like stepping into summer itself, hot and heavy, pressing against Shinji's skin the moment he entered. Ren stood near the bellows, pumping slowly and steadily. Each squeeze sent bright sparks swirling up into the smoky air, tiny glowing stars that quickly faded into darkness.
Ren's father, Goro, stood nearby, hammer raised high. The metal beneath his hammer glowed red-orange, bending slowly under the blows. Goro was a big man, strong and silent, sweat dripping from his forehead as he shaped the hot iron into something useful.
"Close the door," Ren called, spotting Shinji standing frozen near the entrance. "The heat will run out."
Shinji quickly pulled the heavy wooden door shut behind him, leaving only a thin crack of daylight slipping in from outside. He stepped closer, eyes wide, watching the glowing metal carefully. He loved the smithy, the bright glow of the fire, the hiss of hot iron plunged into water, even the gritty smell of charcoal dust. It made him feel alive, as though something inside him sparked with each clang of Goro's hammer.
"Here again, Shinji?" Goro asked, voice deep and rumbling. He didn't look up from his work, eyes fixed firmly on the metal before him.
"Yes, Uncle Goro," Shinji said politely. He wasn't really Goro's nephew, but in the village everyone older became family by name. "Mother said Ren needed help carrying charcoal today."
Goro chuckled softly, eyes briefly meeting Shinji's. "Good. Ren can always use a hand. His arms still too weak for real smithing."
Ren's cheeks flushed red. "They're strong enough!" he protested, squeezing the bellows harder as if to prove his point. The sparks flew higher, crackling softly like tiny firecrackers.
"Save strength for work, not pride," Goro said calmly, still hammering.
Ren sighed, letting the bellows slow again. He glanced at Shinji, grinning. "Come on, help me get more charcoal."
Shinji followed Ren to the back of the smithy, where sacks of charcoal stood stacked like dark mountains. The black powder coated their hands immediately as they began lifting sacks, dust settling into their clothes, their hair, even their mouths when they breathed too deeply.
"I hate charcoal," Ren muttered, coughing slightly. "It tastes like burnt rocks."
Shinji laughed softly. "Maybe because it is burnt rocks."
Ren elbowed him lightly, grinning despite himself. They carried sacks back and forth, muscles aching quickly from the heavy loads. But Shinji liked this simple, repetitive work. It let his mind drift and think clearly.
As he bent down to pick up another sack, he noticed something small and metallic half-buried beneath charcoal dust. Curious, he brushed the black powder aside, revealing a small, bent iron nail. He lifted it, turning it slowly between his fingers.
"Ren, what's this?" he asked, holding up the nail.
Ren glanced at it, shrugging. "Scrap iron. Bent nails are useless. We melt them down again."
Shinji stared at the nail thoughtfully, feeling its weight in his palm. For some reason, he didn't want to let it go. It seemed small and worthless, yet oddly special. Carefully, he slipped it into his pocket.
Ren watched him with raised eyebrows. "Why keep that junk?"
Shinji shook his head slightly. "Not sure. Just feels important somehow."
Ren snorted softly. "You're strange, Shinji."
"Maybe," Shinji said quietly, smiling. "But strange isn't always bad."
They returned to work in silence, hauling sacks until the charcoal pile was replenished near Goro's forge. By then, both boys were sweaty, their arms heavy and tired. Goro nodded approval, eyes briefly resting on the fresh charcoal.
"Good work," he rumbled gently. "Now rest. Arms tired means tomorrow they grow stronger."
Ren sighed dramatically, sinking down onto a small bench near the forge. Shinji sat beside him, wiping sweat from his forehead with his dusty sleeve.
"You ever wonder what it's like outside the village?" Ren asked suddenly, staring at the glowing embers in the forge. "Big towns, cities, places we've never seen?"
Shinji's heart skipped a beat. A brief flash of tall buildings and bright lights flickered through his mind, but he quickly pushed the memory away. "Sometimes," he admitted softly.
"People say ninjas are real out there," Ren continued, voice low with excitement. "They climb walls like spiders, breathe fire, fight wars all the time. Real magic stuff."
Shinji stared at the forge flames, warmth flickering again in his chest, gently this time, softer than before. "Do you think chakra is real?" he asked carefully.
Ren shrugged, eyes still on the fire. "Probably. Merchants say ninjas use it. Father says merchants lie to sell candles and lucky charms. But it sounds exciting. Imagine breathing fire, or running faster than horses."
Shinji remained quiet, gently touching his pocket, feeling the outline of the bent nail. "Yeah, exciting," he murmured. The strange warmth still lingered, quiet but steady. He wondered if chakra felt something like this, warm and alive, flickering deep inside.
"Shinji, Ren, enough rest," Goro's voice broke their thoughts. "Work not done yet. Fetch water, both of you."
The boys stood, dusting their clothes and stepping out into bright sunlight. Cool fresh air washed over them, clearing away heat and sweat. They walked silently toward the well, carrying wooden buckets, footsteps crunching gently on the gravel path.
Halfway there, Ren glanced at Shinji thoughtfully. "You really believe in that stuff, chakra and magic?"
Shinji hesitated, unsure how to answer. He didn't want to lie, but he wasn't certain either. Finally, he nodded slowly. "I think…maybe it's not magic. Maybe it's just something we don't understand yet."
Ren considered this carefully, nodding slightly. "Maybe. Or maybe it's all just lies."
Shinji smiled faintly, holding tight to the bent nail in his pocket. "I guess we'll never know until we find out ourselves."
Ren laughed lightly, nodding agreement. "Then let's find out together someday."
"Deal," Shinji agreed, smiling back at his friend.
As they reached the well and lowered their buckets, Shinji felt lighter, somehow more hopeful. The strange warmth in his chest had faded again, leaving only a gentle, reassuring calm behind. The bent nail felt warm in his pocket, a quiet promise that answers might not be as far away as they seemed.