Chapter 1: The Blacksmith's Son and The Rose City
Ishtar was in the shop with his father, just like always.
His father, Andor, was a blacksmith of modest means. He was a mountain of a man, his massive frame built by years of hammering steel. Dark brown eyes peered out from a face dominated by a thick mustache that covered nearly half of his features. His mother, on the other hand, was a gentle housewife who kept to herself.
Andor was well-known in the city. The swords he forged were of exceptional quality. However, as good as his blades were, his gunpowder weapons were equally terrible.
This was a constant source of friction between father and son. Ishtar would constantly nag him, arguing that swords were becoming obsolete and that they should focus on firearms.
But whenever he brought it up, Andor would simply wave him off. "You wouldn't understand," he would say, treating Ishtar like the apprentice he was.
"Clang... Clang..."
Andor hammered the hot iron before the low fire. He glanced at the cuckoo clock hanging on the stone wall to his right. It was around 7:00 PM; time to close up shop.
He grabbed a bucket of water and doused the fire with a loud hiss of steam. Removing his heavy apron, he hung it on the wooden rack in the corner, opened the door, and walked from the forge into the storefront.
The contrast between the two rooms was stark.
While the back room was made of old, worn stone walls and soot, the front of the shop was flashy. Here lay the masterpieces Andor had crafted and sold. They were displayed behind counters protected by unbreakable glass, illuminated by the soft glow of Mana Crystals.
These crystals were expensive luxuries; crafting just one required a mage to manually infuse it with mana. When a customer walked in, a plush red carpet greeted them, giving the place the air of a high-end jewelry store rather than a weapon shop.
But the moment Andor stepped in, the prestigious atmosphere was ruined.
There was Ishtar, slumped over the counter, fast asleep with a trail of drool escaping his mouth. He was leaning back in his chair, hand propped against the glass, completely out of it.
Andor frowned. He clenched his massive hand—calloused hard from years of forging—into a fist.
POW!
He rapped his knuckles sharply against the top of Ishtar's head.
"Gah!" Ishtar yelped, tumbling out of his chair and hitting the floor. He clutched his head, grimacing. "That hurt!"
Andor planted his hands on his hips, his face stern. "You stupid brat! You were sleeping with drool running down your chin. God forbid, what if a thief had walked in? How am I supposed to entrust this shop to you with that kind of foolishness?"
Ishtar rolled back and forth on the floor, groaning loudly. "Seriously, old man, that really hurt! Why did you do that? I just dozed off for a second."
Andor looked down at his son, thinking about how green he still was. He scoffed. "A brat like you still has to eat forty ovens' worth of bread before you can talk back to me."
Ishtar sat up, rubbing his head and glaring at his father.
Ishtar had a unique appearance. He possessed jet-black hair and obsidian-black eyes—a combination that was incredibly rare within the Empire.
"You'll see, Dad," Ishtar said, his brow furrowed in determination. "I'm going to be a better blacksmith than you ever were."
Andor laughed heartily at that. He reached down and ruffled his son's hair. "Alright, alright. It's closing time. Your mother is waiting for us. She made your favorite dish tonight."
Ishtar's eyes went wide. He adored his mother, Nera.
Every evening after work, they would stop by Nera's favorite bakery to buy her beloved rose-flavored bread. When they arrived home, Nera would always greet her husband and son at the door with a beautiful, warming smile.
After locking up the shop, Andor and Ishtar set off toward the bakery.
A full moon hung in the sky, illuminating the streets of Atlon. This was the Empire's port capital, often called the "City of Roses" because the streets perpetually smelled of them.
The city was ruled by the Rose Duchy, the third most powerful family in the realm, second only to the Royal Family itself. You could spot a member of the Rose family instantly; they were almost always born with striking red hair and grey eyes.
Rumors whispered through the streets that the Duke's daughter—the Princess of the House—was devastatingly beautiful, but afflicted by a terrible curse. Because of this, the Duke never let her leave the estate. Some said she occasionally escaped the palace, but no one knew for sure.
Ishtar, naturally, was curious. He often wondered if the rumors were true—was she really that beautiful? What kind of curse did she have?
"Dad," Ishtar asked as they walked, "do you think the rumors about the Princess are true?"
Andor glanced at his son. "I saw the Princess once, from a distance. She was in a convoy with the Duke, greeting the people. She is definitely as beautiful as they say. But as for the curse... I don't know much about that."
Andor's expression turned serious. "The Duke keeps his daughter's condition very secret. Only the palace servants know the truth. Listen, son, we are merchants. That kind of business doesn't concern us. We just sell our goods. Don't forget that."
Ishtar looked out toward the horizon of the sea, lost in thought.
Truth be told, he didn't want to be a blacksmith like his father. Since he was a child, fueled by the tales his mother read to him, he had dreamed of becoming a Wandering Knight—traveling to distant lands, seeing the world.
To do that, he would need to join the Wandering Knight's Guild. But he couldn't tell his father. Andor would never allow him to take on such a dangerous job; he wanted his son to inherit the forge.
I'll tell him when the time is right, Ishtar thought.
After a while, they arrived at their destination: Artun's Bakery.
It was one of the best bakeries in Atlon, run by a Beastkin named Artun. It was a small shop, but the bread was legendary. Artun ran it with his wife, a lovely woman who prepared the dough early in the morning while Artun manned the ovens.
Ding-ding!
The bell chimed as Ishtar pushed the door open.
Artun was standing by the counter. When he saw them, his cat-ears twitched with recognition. "Oh, Ishtar! Andor! Welcome."
"Smells amazing as always, Uncle. How are you?" Ishtar asked. His eyes drifted to Artun's tail, which was swishing back and forth excitedly. "You seem to be in high spirits. Good news?"
Artun's tail wagged faster. He rubbed his hands together, grinning. "Actually... your aunt is pregnant."
Ishtar and Andor's eyes widened.
"We definitely have to celebrate that!" Andor exclaimed.
Ishtar was genuinely happy. Artun had played with him when he was little, and now he was going to have a son of his own. "Where is Auntie?"
"She's at home," Artun said softly. "I'm trying not to tire her out. I might hire someone from the Worker's Guild to help out until the baby is born."
Andor immediately pulled a pen and paper from his jacket, scribbled down a name, and handed it to the Beastkin. "That's a sensible idea. I have a friend at the Worker's Guild. Use my name, and he'll take good care of you."
Artun bowed his head gratefully. "Thank you. The usual?"
Ishtar nodded. "Yes, the usual."
Artun wrapped up the rose-flavored bread, then added an extra loaf to the bag. "An extra one for my sister-in-law."
"Bye, Uncle!" Ishtar waved, and the father-son duo headed home.
The streets of Atlon were like the veins of a giant stone labyrinth spread across the hillside. Ishtar and his father passed under one of the city's characteristic stone archways—the abbaras—and reached their neighborhood.
Their home was a proud, two-story structure built from amber-colored stone. The thick walls of the ground floor kept the summer heat at bay, while the upper floor opened onto a wide terrace overlooking the sea.
The door was made of white sycamore wood, adorned with a round knocker engraved with the family crest: Three Swords.
Knock, knock, knock.
The door swung open instantly.
Standing there was a beautiful woman with blonde hair and emerald-green eyes. Her smile was radiant. It was the kind of smile that made Andor fall in love with her all over again, every single day. He sometimes wondered how an ordinary man like him had managed to marry a woman who looked like she had stepped out of a fairy tale.
"Welcome home," Nera said softly, bowing her head slightly.
"Good to be home, Mom," Ishtar said, handing her the bread.
Andor's face turned a shade of pink. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out one of the fragrant roses that only grew in Atlon. His hand trembled slightly as he held it out to her.
"T-this... This is for you."
Nera blushed, accepting the flower with a sweet smile. "Thank you."
Ishtar looked at his father with a sly grin. Seeing his son's expression, Andor felt both embarrassed and the sudden urge to bonk him on the head again.
Ishtar quickly slipped inside.
The house was filled with the refreshing scent of lemon. Today was special—Ishtar's 16th birthday. Nera had prepared his favorite meal and a lemon cake. Atlon wasn't just famous for roses; its giant lemons were a delicacy known for their unique sweet-and-sour flavor found nowhere else in the world.
After dinner, it was time for the cake.
Nera put on her oven mitts, pulled the warm lemon cake from the oven, and placed it on the counter to light the candles. Carrying it into the living room, she began to sing.
"Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you!"
Andor joined in as she entered. "Happy birthday, Ishtar!"
Ishtar turned around. Seeing the cake, a warm smile spread across his face, his heart beating fast with joy. He closed his eyes, made a silent wish—to become a strong man who can protect his family—and blew out the candles.
As they ate the cake, Andor reached into his pocket again. He pulled out a dagger and handed it to his son.
"Here. Your birthday present."
Ishtar's eyes widened. He unsheathed the dagger from its white scabbard with trembling hands. The hilt was white, adorned with a golden dragon pattern, and the blade itself was etched with a glowing magical rune.
"The rune is carved into the blade..." Ishtar murmured, amazed. "Did you get this from the Mage Tower? This must have been expensive."
Andor placed a hand on his son's shoulder and smiled. "It doesn't matter. It's my son's birthday, after all."
Nera, who was wearing an apron embroidered with the family's Three Swords crest, reached into her pocket. She pulled out a brooch bearing the same crest.
It was made of Adnut—a rare element believed to bring good luck. Legend had it that Emperor Ashtar the 7th had defeated the Demon God using a sword made of this very metal.
"Thank you, Mother," Ishtar said, pinning the brooch to the collar of his black shirt.
Nera beamed at him, offering her son that same beautiful, timeless smile.