It took over two years for something interesting to happen. And it was not the sword he had been working on.
While he had been fixing the sword every day for the past two years, life had gone on as usual. The merchants came and went, striking new deals with Mark for his goods.
Some caravans were more interested in what he could offer than others. They all found it interesting that they could trade the useless colored stones for favors and goods from the blacksmith.
Some came to find out his goods were of a quality they could not source outside the mountain, at least for mortal weapons. But most were not all that interested, unable to see the bigger picture.
Dinner at the butcher's house had become quite a normal occurrence. Cecil seemed to like having dinner with his daughter's suitor, and Lauren was excited to see their relationship develop over the years.
Anabel still clung to Mark, watching him at the forge and helping where she could. Mark had grown accustomed to her presence and appreciated the company.
They had still not made much progress in their romantic feelings, and in how they expressed their feeling toward each other. Though they still tend to hold hands as they walk through the village.
Mark had also grown further, to a full 198cm. His physical stature had also evolved, taking up the width of most doorways at this point as well. The beast meat still seemed to affect him in that regard, paired with hunting the beasts regularly when he went out to fetch ore for his work.
The center of Mark's world had become the sword, though. An obsession that he could not shake. He spent every evening striking the sword with his hammer, shifting the metal density as he felt was right.
He still had not tried the fifth step on it again, though he could tell it was approaching that time once more.
Mark looked out of his window, away from the freshly cracked and warped sword on his black iron anvil. The snow had begun to fall on this part of the mountain, signifying his 18th birthday.
With a sigh, he turned to Anabel.
She had become his silent strength; her eyes spoke more than words could, lending him the strength he needed to continuously try and fail to stabilize the sword.
As his head began to hang, she was there to pick him up. Her arms wrapped around one of his. All she could manage with how large he had grown. But she looked up into his eyes, keeping them from looking at the ground.
He appreciated it. He appreciated her. And the flutter in his heart gave him the drive he needed to continue, to have hope in his instincts. To keep pushing his craft until he solved the problem with his cherished weapon.
He wanted to express these feelings, but did not know how. So he embraced her in a hug of affection. It spoke more than the words he knew. And she hugged him back. It was progress, though less than either of them wanted.
"Happy birthday, Mark. I was hoping for a birthday miracle, but I suppose this will have to do."
She nearly whispered it in his ear, causing him to shudder a bit. And nearly causing his legs to go out. But he managed to stay standing, without crushing her.
"Thanks, Anabel. I really mean it. It has been great having you here every day."
And she hugged him harder, pulling their bodies closer together. They remained that way for a little while, but separated before it became awkward.
"I suppose we should head to Uncle Grom's house. Dinner should be ready soon."
Mark nodded and began cleaning up the forge. Anabel helped, and they were soon on their way to the butcher's house.
Dinner went as it always had, great food for everyone and amazing monster meat for Mark. Afterwards, Mark headed home alone. It was improper for a young woman to be alone with a young man after dark, after all.
But Mark had been going to the forge after dinner lately, working the blade alone. It was a calling, almost like the blade was reaching out to him somehow. It was just a feeling he had, part of his blacksmithing instinct. But it was urgent lately.
'Maybe the extra growths, or the Warg attacks are getting to me, but I feel like I need to do this. . .'
For some reason, the mountain had been much more active over the last two years. The growths had been more frequent, but the Wargs had also been attacking the gates randomly. Regardless of the growth periods.
It had not been all too bad, since disaster often brings innovation. Mark had found a way to further stabilize the homes in the village after they began to collapse during the more frequent growths.
He had noticed that his house was just fine at the periphery of the village, where the cliff shook much more violently than the rest of the village, and it never had any problems. Neither did his forge. And the thing they had in common, which the village houses lacked, was the refined iron struts.
All he had to do was mass-produce them and help the villagers install them on the load-bearing parts of the walls. Which blacksmith had actually figured that out? It was lost to time. But this effort on his part had further earned him the respect of the village.
As he hammered away at the forge, he heard some footsteps approach his smithy, but he ignored them. It was unusual for someone to approach his forge when the sun had just set, but they would have to wait until he was done with his sword if they needed something.
Cecil, though, knew he could just talk to Mark. Even if the young man seemed like he wasn't listening. He knew this after having dinner with him nearly every night the past couple of years. That, and his daughter talked about him all the time.
"Mark, the rumors going around town are getting out of hand. At this point, my daughter's reputation will be sullied permanently, and she will be unable to get married."
The hammer still struck the sword, uncaring for the words of the baker, letting out a crisp ping with each strike.
"She is already 20 years old this year, almost too old to be considered of marrying age by our village standards. I know she has been waiting for you, but I also know you are dense in these matters."
Another crisp ding, as the blacksmith's eyes remained glued to the sword on his anvil.
"I know your old man was quite withdrawn after your mother passed, but did he ever teach you about the birds and the bees, Mark?"
An off-tone sound as the hammer struck the sword signified the end of the reforging attempt, and Mark looked up at the baker for the first time. His face was twisted into a look of disgust, and he said only a few words to the man before looking back at his cooling sword.
"Don't be nasty, Cecil."
The baker threw his head back in loud laughter as he was taken by surprise by the young blacksmith.
"Bahahaha! So you do know what I am talking about?"
Mark was visibly aggravated at this point. He left his blade, which was still cooling, and stepped closer to the baker at the entrance of the smithy so both men could face each other.
"I am too busy out here at the forge to give in to such carnal desires. Do you really think I would be doing that with your daughter out here, Cecil?"
Cecil calmed down and straightened his smile, returning to a serious look.
"No, Mark. If it were anyone else, I might have some concerns. We raised Anabel right, and we trust her, but we were also young once, and we know how it is. But with you, we don't even have to ask. . . we knew your father as kids and we can say without a doubt that you are just like him."
Cecil rubbed his chin a bit, thinking back to the good old days.
"Hell, your mother had to drag him by the collar just to date him! I know you only think of the forge; everyone knows that. And I know from talking to my girl that you likely don't know the first thing about what courtship even is or how to pursue it. The village doesn't care about any of that, though."
Mark was visibly confused.
"What's the village have to do with anything?"
Cecil shook his head as he let out a deep, stressful sigh.
"Gah! You wouldn't understand because you don't care, but the villagers love gossip. They couldn't care less if it is true or not, they just want to talk. And the two of you have been the center of gossip for the past two years. They see you two at every event looking like two lovebirds, yet you are both supposed to be single. The gossip has started getting out of hand to the point that several people have asked me if it is true that Anabel is pregnant!"
The last part of his rant had become a bit heated, with more passion than he intended. It was clear that the man was at his wits end.
Mark nodded as he thought over what Cecil was trying to tell him, aware of the fact that the man was looking for something from Mark.
"You think I should tell Anabel to stay away then?"
Mark had come to this conclusion logically, due to his own perspective that he was just holding Anabel back from being happy. To Mark, the forge took up too much of his time, and while he liked having Anabel around, he had thought that she might have been wasting her time helping him.
"Gods above! NO MARK! That is not what I want at all. What the hell? Where did that even come from? That is not what I am getting to at all, Gah! This is just like James all over again!"
Cecil started to literally pull out his own hair at that point due to his frustration. After taking a few deep breaths and pacing around the smithy, he returned to Mark.
"Look, son, I will just say this plainly. Ok?"
Mark nodded for the Baker to continue without saying anything further, afraid of causing the man any health problems.