"Reno, let me see the book she gave you." Glyffe asked doubtfully. He seemed unconvinced - or rather, cautious.
"Here, take it." I handed the coupled-book straight to Glyffe. I doubted he'd recognise it. He took it and flipped through it.
"It's empty?"
"Yes she said to write in it later about anything. Maybe something like a diary."
"Sure enough. I'll hold onto it for now Reno just in case - and then give it back once I've looked over it deeper at home. Do you want to keep it?"
"Yeah - I like the design. And a diary is a good idea I think."
Glyffe nodded but clearly he thought something was amiss. I did want to tell them the whole truth but I didn't want to worry them unnecessarily.
"Right, lets try to get back on track. From here the central area is just about a 2 minute walk. I've already planned which shops we'll visit. First we'll go to Stox's Blacksmith. Then we'll visit Clevio's Bookstore and finally Bridges Clothing store. Luckily they're quite close together to so we can visit them all one after the other quite easily." Silvia said changing the subject tacitly.
"Oh Glyffe needs a new sword I didn't realise. Now that I think about it his current one is quite worn out. How long have you been using that sword Glyffe?" I asked curiously.
"Good question. I think for about five years now. Come to think of it - I think that sword might even be older than you Reno, hahaha." Glyffe laughed amused.
"It is definitely older than Reno. You got it when we moved to Butter region - when I was pregnant."
"Oh yeah, I remember now. So I guess that sword is six years old then."
"Look we're here." Silvia pointed to a sign above an archway a few meters away. The sign read 'Welcome To The Central Area' In lovely cursive writing. I was getting excited just thinking about what could be in the Central Area.
If even the outer area was full of unique innovations and designs, I wondered just what the central area hid.
As soon as I stepped into the central area I noticed an eye-catching structure. You couldn't miss it. An extremely large, beautiful fountain. The water flowed down it fluidly and the pearly white architecture gleamed in the sun.
Surrounding the fountain was a varied array of shops.
Blacksmiths , alchemists, convenience stores, clothing stores, food stalls, restaurants, library, textile shops, bookstores. All of these spread around the fountain creating a visual treat for anybody interested in shopping and commercial areas.
So this was the central area. It was definitely much smaller than the outer area with no houses and random buildings. This area was strictly commercial. For businesses only. There were no stalls and impromptu markets and street performers like there was in the outer area. It seemed like a permit of sort and a building was needed to sell here.
The area was still extremely busy but it was clear the target audience for this area was more towards middle to upper class citizens of Butter Town.
"It's beautiful." I paused and just admired the scenery before me. The fountain was particularly captivating.
"Right, let's get going - you'll have more time to see the fountain up close later. Stox's blacksmith store is just here on the left." Silvia pointed to the first store on our left.
The storefront was fairly refined but looked a tad shabby compared to the extremely clean and carefully designed shops around it. The big sign at the top read "Stox's Blacksmith".
We moved closer, through the stone walkway, and the Melodia grass beneath the entrance to the store sung gently. Glyffe went up to open the door but he paused slightly. His expression of shock quickly shifted to realisation with a knowing chuckle.
The handle was scorched.
Not slightly warm—scorched. As if someone had grabbed it with a flaming hand not too long ago. The wood around it was darkened, the faintest curl of smoke was drifting upwards from the handle's edge.
I looked at Silvia, who raised an eyebrow. "Stox always was a little...experimental."
Before I could reply, a muffled crash sounded from inside, followed by a large clang of metals.
Silvia didn't move. She just smiled faintly, as if this was perfectly normal.
Glyffe creaked the door open, our merry family stepping into the Blacksmith's store. What greeted me on the other side was a different world...
A world of swords.
Longswords, claymores, and katanas lined the right. Daggers, scimitars, and rapiers to the left. Edge to edge, perfectly aligned, each blade whispered the tale of a thousand battles.
Between the twin walls of steel ran a single aisle of glass cases. Inside them rested the blacksmith's finest creations. Some swords glowed faintly. Others, violently. A few appeared plain, while others seemed like relics barely resisting the weight of centuries. But one thing was clear: every single one was extraordinary.
To the left stood what looked like a workshop, filled with tools and half-finished blades. To the right, the iron counter marked the end of the aisle.
Behind it stood a man built like a siege weapon.
The giant.
"Welcome to Stox's Blacksmith shop." A deep resonant voice boomed from in front of us. The ground trembled beneath us and something in my chest did too.
Humans can have voices that deep? I shuddered at the thought.
He stood approximately eight feet tall, a towering figure straight out of human legend. His skin bore a deep, sunbaked hue. Not one of natural heritage, but from decades of persistent exposure to naked flames. Soot clung to the folds of his heavy leather apron, which bore the blackened marks of fire and iron.
Beneath the apron, he wore a thick, short-sleeved tunic, its fabric singed at the edges. His broad arms stretched the tunic taut. Burn marks trailed down from his arms. Those were his battle scars.
A thick belt wrapped around his waist, weighed down by tongs, a hammer, and a few steel tools I couldn't even name. Streaks of charcoal crossed his cheeks leaving only his gleaming bald head untouched by burns.
This wasn't just any ordinary blacksmith.
This was a man who had given not just his time, but his body also, to the forge.
"How's it going, old man? Been a while, hasn't it!" Glyffe grinned wide as he called out to Stox, his tone relaxed and familiar. From the way he spoke, it was obvious they had a history.
Stox bent down, looming over him like a collapsing mountain. He cleared his throat as he looked Glyffe up and down. He was squinting, as if trying to piece together a distant memory.
"Don't tell me you've gone senile already, old man," Glyffe teased.
Stox's eyes lit up briefly, recognition sparking before the light faded again.
What was that just now?
"Oh. It's just you." His voice was gravelly. "You've grown, troublemaker... you look a lot more—" He paused. His eyes flicked past Glyffe to where Silvia and I stood. "—content."
Troublemaker?
I glanced up at Silvia. She was smiling, clearly amused. Like she'd expected this sort of reaction. I looked up at Glyffe, hoping for an explanation. He just scratched his head sheepishly.
"C'mon, Stox, don't go embarrassing me in front of my kid," Glyffe said. "Right, I almost forgot. I got married and had a kid. This is my wife, Silvia. Silvia Frostworth."
He introduced her with a small bow, a quiet gesture of respect. I remembered reading somewhere that bowing like that was a custom from the Far East. In Dwarven Territory.
Stox examined Silvia. "So you're the one who married this troublema—" He caught himself. "—this kid of mine. Thanks for sticking with him. I know how much of a pain he can be."
His voice cracked just a little. Just enough. A flicker of warmth surfaced in his eyes but it was gone as quickly as it came. He nodded, a stiff but meaningful bow.
Kid of mine...? Wait. Was he talking about Glyffe? Does that mean... he's my grandfather? What!?
"Thank you, Uncle," Silvia said with a graceful bow, deeper than Stox's. "It was I who was lucky to meet your son."
Uncle?
Then is he really...
"Ah. AHAHAHAHA!" Stox burst out laughing, loud as an avalanche. "Did you hear that, Glyffe? She said she was the lucky one! AHAHAHAHA!"
He clapped a massive hand on Glyffe's back. The wooden floor under him cracked but, Glyffe didn't flinch. It was like he'd been hit by a mountain and thought nothing of it. Just a slight eyebrow twitch in annoyance was all.
Silvia just smiled. She didn't seem surprised. Glyffe must've warned her about Stox's… love language.
"Ahem. Moving on," Glyffe said quickly. He turned to me and rested a hand on my shoulder, guiding me forward. He carried a slight sense of apprehension, one I hadn't seen before in Glyffe.
"This is my son," he said. "His name is Reno. Reno Frostworth."
Even I was getting nervous, I couldn't imagine what Glyffe was feeling.
Stox's expression shifted. From surprise to hesitation and then to something unreadable. He let out a long, quiet sigh.
"You waited this long to introduce your son to me?" Stox's voice rumbled like distant thunder. His expression twisted. Not in rage, but disappointment. "Years without a visit, and now you show up with a wife and a child? Have you no shame, boy?" "a wife and child"
The words were harsh, but I felt no venom in them. Just the weight of time, and a father's relief disguised as anger. Like he had to say it, as part of some ritual. A scolding handed down not out of bitterness, but out of habit. Out of love.
"I'm sorry," Glyffe said, lowering his head. "A lot happened and—
"A lot happened!?" Stox snapped, his voice rising into a roar. "Who taught you to come up with excuses like this?"
Glyffe froze. Just for a second, he looked younger. Like all those years melted away, and he was a boy again, being scolded over a scorched sword or skipped chore.
"You're right," he said, his voice quieter now. "I've got no excuse. Forgive me, Stox."
Stox grunted. "As long as you know." A long beat of silence followed, thick and awkward. The air felt heavier somehow, like even it didn't want to speak.
I stepped forward, trying to cut through the tension. "Excuse me… sir Stox. Are you my grandfather?"
His eyes widened, just slightly, and for the first time, he really looked at me. There was no heat in his gaze now. Only something older. Softer. Like he was staring through me, at someone from a long time ago.
"You know, Glyffe," Stox said as he peeled off his gloves and stepped forward. His forge-warmed hands, reached out and ruffled my hair just like Glyffe had done before we set out. It was a simple gesture, but it touched me.
"He looks just like you did."
Glyffe smiled, and just like that, the tension in the room melted. I had asked Stox the question, but it was Glyffe who answered.
"Yes, Reno," he began, "he's—
"Not your grandfather," Stox interrupted. Glyffe blinked, clearly caught off guard. "What?"
Huh?
Stox didn't raise his voice. If anything, it dropped an octave. Calm, sure, final.
"Let's not confuse the boy. You know I'm not his grandfather by blood."
Ahh. So that was it.
He turned back to me, and this time his expression was clear: respectful, even proud.
"Reno, right? You seem like a sharp one. Mature."
"Thank you, sir," I said, bowing slightly.
The gesture made him pause, like he wasn't expecting it. Then he gave a small, satisfied smile.
"Alright then. Let me tell you a little story, Reno."
Glyffe's expression tightened the moment Stox said that. "Wait, Stox. I was going to tell him... when he was older. I don't think he's ready yet."
"Come on," Stox snorted. "The boy can read a room better than you ever could. This isn't just for him anyway - it's for your wife too."
Glyffe leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. Stox crossed his arms, a tinge of fire returning to his tone.
"And besides… how could you tell them the full story… when you only know half of it?"
Glyffe's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean I only know half—
"If you shut up and listen, you might find out," Stox said flatly. That was the nail in the coffin.
Silvia covered her mouth, eyes wide. I must've been wearing the same expression.
Glyffe opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it. He gave a reluctant nod.
"Good." Stox's smile was the closest I'd seen to warm all day. "You've grown. Back then, you'd have argued till your lungs gave out. Maybe all those years at the academy and wherever else finally knocked some sense into you."
Glyffe let out a dry chuckle.
"Listen." Stox's voice dropped an octave, solid and unwavering. "Reno, your father—your husband, Silvia—Glyffe Proxia, was an orphan. 'Proxia' isn't a family name. It's the name of the Far East orphanage he was raised in."
My thoughts stalled.
…What?