"What are you going to do, Master?" the young man asked. William remained silent, sprawled across the couch.
Nicolas had woken up hours after passing out at the bar. Since then, William had explained the situation surrounding the butler's request, but that was about it. For the past three days, Nicolas had been stuck in a loop: asking the same question and receiving only silence in return. He had hoped William would have figured something out by now—but it was clearly more complicated than he thought.
"...Master?"
William hadn't been himself since that night. Withdrawn and quiet, it was as if his presence had faded from the house entirely.
"This is obviously going nowhere," Nicolas muttered.
With a sigh, he walked to the kitchen, grabbed the tea William had left brewing on the stove, and poured it into two cups. He placed one next to the blacksmith, then stepped out to the front porch, settling into a rocking chair with his own cup in hand.
"I could get used to this," he said softly to himself.
Despite everything, the past few days had been peaceful—more peaceful than anything he was used to. Better than sleeping in alleyways or begging vendors for scraps.
"I'm clean, I'm fed... and for once, I feel good."
He glanced back inside, eyes settling on his resting mentor. What weighed on him so heavily? Nicolas had so many questions, and William remained an enigma—a mystery book he had barely opened.
"He's like one of those dusty tomes at the back of a library…" His thoughts were cut short. "Hm? What's that?"
At the edge of his vision, something caught his eye. He leaned forward. "No way... is that a lute?"
A grin spread across his face as he finished his tea. He carefully retrieved the instrument, fingers brushing over the strings. "It's been a while... but let's see."
With a deep breath, he began to play.
"Oh where, oh where is the great Gellal?The merciless hero of the rising sun.One day, with Dwyrin sheathed on his hip,He disappeared when in need.Where could he have gone?Where's the hero of Heratia?—"
"—Where did you learn that song?"
"Gah!"
Nicolas nearly dropped the lute. "Geez, Master! Don't sneak up like that."
"Forget that. Just answer the question."
Nicolas gave a crooked smile. "Seriously, if I knew that would get you out of bed, I'd have played it sooner."
William's expression remained stern. "Answer the question."
The apprentice blinked, surprised by the intensity. He cleared his throat. "A friend taught me. He's a bard."
"A friend, huh?" William narrowed his eyes. "Do you know the whole song?"
Nicolas shook his head. "Nah. It's been ages. I don't remember all of it... Do you know it, Master?"
William looked away. "No. Me neither. Never mind. It's not important."
With that, he sank back onto the couch.
"I, uh..." Nicolas searched for something else to say, but came up empty. "Call me if you need anything."
He gently placed the lute aside, noticing the empty tea cup next to William.
"Hm? At least you're enjoying the tea. Let me get you more. I could go for a second round too—I've grown a liking to it."
As Nicolas moved back into the kitchen, William watched him in silence. He felt a pang of guilt.
—He's been doing everything around here...
While William had been brooding, the apprentice had cleaned the house from top to bottom. For the first time, William could actually see the couch cushions—and had been lounging on them ever since.
—I haven't taught him anything yet.
Since taking Nicolas in, they hadn't trained once. The night he agreed was the same night they'd left the bar. The next day, the butler arrived with his request. And since then? William had wasted the time brooding, drinking tea, and doing nothing.
—Maybe getting to work will snap me out of this.
With a sudden burst of resolve, William stood up. Nicolas looked at him over his cup of tea, one brow raised.
"That reminds me," William said, stretching. "Let's get started on your training."
"Alright!" Nicolas beamed, springing to his feet. "Actually—uh, can we finish our tea first?" he added, scratching his cheek sheepishly.
William glanced at the table—the teapot, the snacks, the warmth of the late morning light.
He hesitated. Be strict and start now... or sit down and enjoy another cup?
"...Alright," he said at last.
The tea won.
—What the hell am I doing with my life?
***
William held a steel pipe in one hand and stuffed a rag into one of its ends."Then you do this…" he said, demonstrating the process for Nicolas. "It stops the heat and gases from escaping through it."
He turned the pipe over and began heating the opposite end until it glowed a dull, reddish color. Nicolas stood beside him, watching attentively—if a little annoyed.
"I get it, Master, but... why are you teaching me how to make a bell?"
"Stop calling me 'Master.'" William didn't look up. "I want to teach you everything—from the basics to advanced work."
Nicolas crossed his arms. "Didn't I show you I could forge a dagger yesterday? I feel like you're underestimating my talent."
"It's not about talent. One thing I noticed is that you don't take the time needed to create something of real quality. Flaring the bell is easy enough. Tapering the top end, though? That takes patience. And you need to learn that."
Nicolas's jaw dropped. "I did put my heart into that dagger! It's the best thing I've ever made. What do you mean it wasn't real quality?"
"Then you've got a lot to learn." William's tone was calm but firm. "Blacksmithing isn't just about hitting metal. It's about patience—and dedication to your craft."
Nicolas furrowed his brow, unable to grasp the criticism. He had done his best. He always gave the right time to each step—or so he thought. What more could William want from him?
"My skills need a lot of work, huh…" he muttered.
William's words, as always, cut straight to his heart.
Even so, he didn't resent them. Deep down, he trusted William's intentions. He knew his master only wanted to help him improve—to become the best blacksmith he could be.
"Did you catch the steps for making the bell?" William asked.
"Of course! I'm not an idiot."
"Good. Then while you're at it, I've got some work of my own to take care of."
Nicolas's eyes lit up. "Wait—am I finally going to see you at work?"
"Stop calling me 'Master,'" William replied as he moved to another machine.
The boy hesitated, eyes lingering on William. "Does this mean... you're taking the offer?"
William paused. His eyes dropped to the floor. "No. It means I have bills to pay. There's a specific date coming that could be good for business. And to be honest... I still don't know."
Accepting Sebastian's offer would mean opening a door he had tried to keep shut for years. He didn't know why, but he feared that if he stepped through it, everything—his doubts, his guilt, his past—would come rushing back.
—Do I really want to go through that again?
William shook the thought from his head. If he let it fester, he'd sink back into that familiar pit. He refocused on his work—but just moments after he started:
"Uh…"
He looked up. "Hm? What is it?"
Nicolas scratched his head sheepishly. "I... forgot how to make the bell."
"What?!"
After another quick demonstration—and a scolding—William finally returned to his station.
—This feeling… It's been a while, hasn't it? Is it wrong to enjoy this?
He found himself smiling slightly. Whether it was blacksmithing or teaching, it brought a certain peace. The rhythmic clinking of metal, the focus it demanded... it made the noise in his head go quiet.
—Isn't it normal to forget your worries when you're doing what you love? Wait... do I love blacksmithing?
He paused, eyes drifting back to Nicolas, who was fumbling through the steps using his fingers to jog his memory.
—To think he said it was simple…
Nicolas reminded him of himself in the early days—frustrated, impatient, all energy and little technique. William had been weak back then too. His work was never perfect. But he remembered his father's words:
"Forget about strength—you'll gain that with time. Focus on precision. Put yourself into the product."
Nicolas looked up and nodded, finally grasping what William had meant earlier.
Then—the voices came.
"He's not ours, dear. Why do you care so much?""He may not be ours, but I still see him as mine. Son, you may not be pure—but you're still family.""Get rid of this bastard. He'll ruin our family name."
They echoed, one after another, gaining speed. Unrelenting.
"William... please die."
He froze. His hands trembled. The tools slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the floor. He stared at them, breath shallow, chest tight.
Nicolas turned, concerned. "Are you—?"
"I'm taking a break," William muttered, voice low and hollow.
Nicolas blinked. "O-okay... but are you all right—?"
But his master was already gone.