Here’s a fun fact about any bronze age civilization; standardized education was nonexistent. Children relied entirely on their parents to learn and develop a craft, remaining a generally ignorant troglodyte for the entirety of their lives. Sure there were universities, but those were reserved for the privileged, everyone else had to be content with their generational scraps. It made me a little special, my knowledge from a past life bringing my education to a realm that even nobles likely didn’t attain. I did good on hiding it, strange knowledge was a great way to start a witch hunt, but fuck did my background make suffering dumbfucks a test to my sanity.

  Bronco puffed out his chest, purple toga draped over his features and a smug smirk adorned a full face as he literally tilted his head back so he’d be looking down on me. “Why, my eyes must deceive me!” he said. “Is that you Yir? How’ve you managed to surpass yourself in beauty since we last met? Has Estia decided to grant you a boon?”

  I glared at him as I placed down a blade of heated metal on the anvil. I hadn’t seen him in the past week since the caravan came, and was hoping it would stay that way. “You’re a cunt for implications as always, the fertility goddess, really?”

  “There is no god of beauty or overwhelming cuteness, so I have to assume the next best thing,” Bronco shrugged. “But how have you been, thief of my heart? You know not how heavy was the ache at the distance between us.”

  “I was better when I didn’t have to suffer your presence,” I grumbled and turned to raise my hammer, bringing it down on some iron. Bevelling was a careful process, you were essentially creating an edge in the metal to increase durability and sharpness…or something. I wasn’t very informed on how it worked, just that it did, my father preferring practicality over studious pursuits.

  A clang echoed in the smithy and I raised my hammer again, Bronco waited patiently in disgusting admiration as I finished a layer, putting the knife back in the furnace. Not for too long, but enough to make the metal malleable.

  “It’s always a wonder to watch you work,” Bronco said.

  “Creep.”

  “Is it strange for me to find the metallurgic craft as a rival to your beauty? If so then I am a strange boy and will flaunt that fact proudly. Better to be yourself than play pretend,” Bronco said.

  “You’re a merchant's son,” I rolled my eyes. “And a prospective merchant yourself, being fake is your whole job.”

  “Perhaps.” He shrugged.

  “No ‘perhaps’ about it,” I grumbled out as I pulled out the blade with my tongs and got back to bevelling. My ears had long accustomed to the sound of beating metal, courtesy of being exposed to it since I was a newborn. It was fucking weird at first with baby hearing, almost nauseating, but it settled once whatever growth was responsible for adjusting hearing kicked in.

  I turned the blade around and got to work on the other side, evening out the slant on either end to enhance the edge. Smithing involved a lot of patience, I had to do this over and over again multiple times to get something that’d cut and retain some durability. Bring metal to a grindstone without having it worked on properly and you’ll find it rather useless.

  I put the blade back in the furnace.

  “Why are you still here?” I said without turning to look at Bronco.

  “Well,” the boy said. “I was hoping you’d be willing to part with the blade once it was done forging? I am in desperate need of a new knife and that looks to be coming along beautifully, if you don’t mind of course.”

  I huffed. “You say ‘beautiful’ a lot. eight copper pennies.”

  “A silver.”

  “Don’t patronize me, boy.”

  “It’s simple appreciation,” Bronco smiled. “And silver’s nothing to someone of my position.”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Flaunting your wealth doesn’t make you attractive,” I said.

  Bronco shrugged and gave me a cheeky grin. “Perhaps not for you, worth a try at least.”

  I grunted and got back to work on the knife, chipping away at the edge until it was just right. I attached the guard and handle, then got to sharpening it over the grindstone. It was a soothing experience. Then I finished, and handed the boy his knife. He admired it, giving his compliments before heading off at my insistence, and then I was left alone in the smithy.

  “Not a horrible suitor,” Asna said from behind me. “He’s honest in his love for you at the very least.”

  “Even I could tell that,” I grumbled.

  Asna walked to her side and I looked up into the woman's eyes, they were a vibrant ruby, almost glowing in their intensity. She stared back and gave a faint smirk. “Purple, that’s the colour of mages.”

  I blinked in surprise. “What?”

  “Your eyes, they’re finally switching from their dull grey.” Asna smiled. “Perhaps it would be best to wait for you to awaken to mana before we discuss marriage? It shouldn’t take the centuries it normally does if you’ve been blessed with such a sign.”

  I blinked, oh shit.

  Asna’s eyes widened as she tilted her head in communication. “You’ve already awakened mana,” she said breathlessly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Great, not even a month in and my secret was fucked.

  Sometimes I hated having an elf for a mother, hiding shit from her was almost impossible. Which meant that lying now would be a foolish endeavour, I’d tried plenty of times and the woman could always tell. Half-truths though? I remembered when my mother asked why I was so sure that the world was going to End, back when I first divulged that information.

  At the time I’d said that I had…memories of what would happen, and that satisfied the woman. She didn’t believe my prophecy, but it got her to stop prodding, which was good enough for me.

  A little weird that she didn’t care to look any further actually, but I took the boon for what it was.

  “I don’t want to go to the universities,” I said, there was no point in hiding behind a small voice or false meekness, so I said it bluntly.

  My mother blinked owlishly, tilting her head this way then that. “What makes you think I would make you go?”

  “Because it’d be what’s best for me?” I hedged.

  “Please,” Asna snorted. “Your grandfather could teach you more than anything those paltry institutions can deliver. I just need to get him a letter. Speaking of, you’re going to have to start learning your letters.”

  “I…have a grandfather?” I said.

  “Silly question from a silly girl, of course you do!” Asna chuckled.

  “I meant…whatever. Why haven’t I met him?”

  Asna shrugged. “He doesn’t like to attach himself to people who haven’t survived their first century, he’s a hermit and recluse, but having awakened to mana should convince him to take you as an apprentice.”

  “Shouldn’t dad get a say in this?”

  Asna waved me off. “That oaf would agree with me, in all my life I’ve never felt the touch of mana. It’s an inevitability for elves but not one that comes quickly. Many have waited for centuries in order to communicate with the mystical.”

  “It isn't really communication,” I said.

  “I will defer to your expertise.” Asna’s eyes glittered. “Now come, we have plenty of preparations to make now that this wonderful development has occurred.”

  “Can we at least keep it a secret?” I said.

  “Not from your father, but the rest of the village doesn’t need to know. Have you started experimenting yet? We’ll need to build a schedule! And figure out how everything works, magic society is dreadfully secretive. Even I don’t know the first thing about the process! No matter, we’ll have years before that sloth of a man replies. Now, tell me everything.”

  So I did, once we’d gone back inside. My mother’s eyes glittered with excitement as I described my training process, there were a few questions I had to be careful answering. Like how I know what I was doing wasn’t spells. Or what I was doing at the time of my awakening. Telling Asna that I was in the forest was certainly a test in tongue lashing, but that didn’t last for long.

  “Hmm, I want you to try condensing the mana again,” Asna said after a while of pointless theory crafting. “Pain in the body isn’t necessarily the same as pain in the spirit, but don’t go too far.”

  “What if I damage something?” I said.

  “You won’t,” Asna shrugged, and I could feel the World project her confidence. “You’ll notice if anything is going wrong, just be observant. I doubt you could even break anything so easily.”

  “Alright,” I sighed.

  Asna nodded with a wide smile, teeth bright and sharp. “Alright indeed! We’ll have to reserve some time from smithing for training going forward.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I feel like it’d be better if I got used to using mana for something, like recovering from fatigue.”

  “Perhaps,” Asna stroked her chin and scrunched her brow before a light seemed to shine through her eyes in revelation. “I have the perfect idea.”