The sun rose lazily over the Iron Capital, its crimson light spilling through the clouds like fire over steel. The faint hum of the forges echoed through the streets, rhythmic, alive, and endless.
Nazeku stood at the edge of the training field, fists bruised, eyes calm. The tree before him was scarred and dented from countless blows.
He exhaled slowly.
"Four days… and I can finally call this progress."
Behind him, the sound of heavy boots approached.
"Progress, sure," Varric's rough voice called out, "but your body looks like it's been through the grinder."
Nazeku turned, a faint grin curling at his lips.
"That's how you know it's working."
Varric crossed his arms, unimpressed.
"No, that's how you know you're one punch away from passing out. You've been pushing nonstop for nearly a week. Even the king's soliders need rest."
Nazeku straightened, brushing dust off his clothes.
"Resting is for the weak."
"Then call me weak," Varric said, tossing a small leather pouch at him. Nazeku caught it midair with ease. It jingled faintly, coins.
"What's this?"
"Your reward," Varric said simply. "You'll be heading to the Iron Academy in a few weeks. You'll need proper equipment. Get yourself something decent — your gauntlet's scrap metal now."
Nazeku glanced at his battered right gauntlet, the metal warped and cracked.
"Fair point."
Varric turned to leave but paused halfway.
"And Nazeku…"
Nazeku looked up.
"Take a walk through the City. Breathe. Training isn't just about fists and aura — sometimes, it's about remembering what you're fighting for."
For a moment, Nazeku said nothing. He simply nodded.
"Yeah… I'll keep that in mind."
The Iron City merchant district was vast, the clang of hammers never ceased, the air thick with the scent of molten metal and coal. Steam vents hissed from the forges, and merchants shouted from every corner.
Nazeku walked quietly through the bustling streets, his cloak fluttering lightly behind him. To any onlooker, he seemed like a calm, ordinary youth, walking around the city to enjoy it's captivating views, like a tourist.
But inside… the silence was loud.
His gaze drifted toward a narrow alleyway, broken stones, scorched walls. He stopped.
He remembered an horrifying moment in his previous life, when he had crawled through that same alley, bleeding and alone, after a mission gone wrong. His comrades had abandoned him to save themselves. He'd survived… barely.
His fingers clenched unconsciously. The faint hum of aura pulsed through his veins.
Weakness.
The word hissed through his mind like venom.
He took a deep breath, forcing the emotion down.
Not this time.
He turned and kept walking.
The equipment shop was small, tucked between a weapon stall and a forge. Inside, the heat was heavy, the air filled with the smell of burning coal and hot iron.
An old blacksmith with arms like stone looked up from his anvil.
"Haven't seen you before, boy. You here for blades?"
Nazeku shook his head.
"No. I'm looking for gauntlets. Something sturdy, light but durable."
The blacksmith raised a brow.
"Most kids your age go for swords. You sure about that?"
Nazeku smiled faintly.
"A man's greatest weapon is his body. The gauntlet will just help me hit harder."
The old man laughed, a rough, booming sound.
"Ha! He laughed, ok I know the type you're for . Wait here."
He disappeared into the back, returning with two sets of gauntlets.
One was standard iron, reliable, heavy, and well-forged.
The other was darker, a reinforced steel frame with etched runic lines faintly glowing blue.
"First one's basic," the blacksmith said, "but the second's something special, it's a grade 3 bronze rank gauntlet. Made with a thin layer of beast-core alloy. It'll respond to aura better — though it'll cost you most of that pouch."
Nazeku stared at the second pair, his reflection faintly visible in the black steel.
"I'll take it."
"Thought so."
He placed the coins on the counter. As the blacksmith packed the gauntlets, Nazeku flexed his hand, feeling the phantom weight of battle.
"The academy, huh…" he murmured. "Let's see if I'm ready this time."
As he left the forge, the evening sun was sinking behind the city's rooftops. The world glowed red and gold — the same color as blood and fire.
He paused by a bridge overlooking the river. The city's reflection shimmered on the water's surface.
Few months ago, I was weak.
Few months ago, I was nothing.
He tightened his grip on the new gauntlets.
"Not anymore."
The faintest rumble echoed in his mind, the dragon's voice, deep and distant.
Then prove it.
Nazeku's lips curved into a small, calm smile.
"I will."
He turned toward the horizon, where the faint silhouette of the Iron Academy towered beyond the mountains, distant yet inevitable.