The forge always smelled of iron and smoke.
By the end of the day, it clung to my clothes, seeped into my hair, and lodged itself beneath my nails no matter how much I scrubbed.
Father used to joke that I was more iron than flesh, though he said it with that tired grin of his, the kind that made the wrinkles around his eyes deepen.
"Hayato," he called over the clanging of the hammer. "You're holding the tongs too tight. The steel will slip if you choke it like that."
"Yes, Father." My arms ached, but I loosened my grip, trying to mimic his steady rhythm.
My hammer fell awkwardly, sparks spitting in every direction. He stopped mid-swing to watch me.
"Again," he said simply.
Mother's voice drifted in from the doorway. "Don't work him to the bone, dear. He's still just a boy."
I almost laughed at that.
Sixteen didn't feel like a boy, especially with calluses already roughening my hands, but Mother insisted.
She always saw the child in me, no matter how many hours I spent beside Father at the forge.
Father chuckled under his breath. "A boy who'll be stronger than me one day." He tousled my hair, leaving a streak of soot across my forehead.
That night, after dinner, we sat around the hearth.
Mother hummed as she mended clothes, Father whittled a piece of wood into a half-formed figurine, and I stared into the fire.
The embers pulsed like beating hearts, glowing bright, then fading.
"Hayato," Father said suddenly, "what do you see for yourself?"
I blinked. "See?"
"In the future. Do you want to keep the forge? Or something else?"
Mother frowned. "He doesn't need to think about that yet."
But Father's gaze stayed on me. I thought carefully, searching for an answer that felt true."I suppose… I'll stay here. Keep making swords. It's what I know."
He smiled. "A simple, honest life. There's nothing wrong with that."
I thought that would be my life, fire, steel, and quiet nights with family.
I was wrong.
The scream tore through the village like glass shattering.
My head jerked up, and for a moment, I thought it was just some drunk villager staggering home too late.
But then came the crash of wood splintering, followed by a silence too heavy to be natural.
Father set down his knife. "Stay here."
Mother's sewing needle clattered to the floor. "Wait!"
I stood. "What was that?"
The smell reached me before the sight: something foul, like rotting meat left in the sun. My stomach twisted.
Then, through the doorway, I saw it. A shape, hunched and pale, with claws that gleamed sharper than any blade I'd ever forged.
Its eyes glowed in the firelight, wide and hungry.
"A demon…" Father's voice was barely a whisper.
The demon's eyes glowed in the dark, two lanterns fixed on me.
I couldn't breathe. My knees trembled so hard I thought they'd give out.
"Run, Hayato!" my mother screamed, shoving me backward.
But my legs wouldn't move.
My father charged instead, brandishing the unfinished blade he'd been carving only hours ago.
His arms swung with all the strength of a blacksmith who'd hammered steel for twenty years.
It didn't matter.
The demon batted him aside like he was a rag doll.
Father crashed into the wall, wood splintering around him, and didn't get back up.
"Father!" I cried, my throat raw.
The demon turned to me, its grin wide and jagged. "Pathetic. Weak. But I'll enjoy your fear."
I stumbled back, my hand groping blindly for anything, anything at all.
My fingers found the long tongs lying beside the forge.
The ends glowed faintly, still hot from the coals.
The instant I gripped them, agony shot up my arm, the metal seared my palm, blistering my skin.
I screamed, but I didn't let go.
The demon lunged. Instinct took over. I thrust the red-hot iron forward, jamming it into its arm. The smell was immediate, sickening, burning flesh and smoke.
The creature shrieked, recoiling. Its claws scraped across the floorboards instead of my chest.
"You dare!?" it snarled, eyes narrowing.
I swung again, clumsy and desperate, sparks spitting as the glowing metal scraped its shoulder.
My arms shook violently. Every blow felt like it would be my last.
The demon stepped back, hissing. Its skin bubbled and sizzled where the iron touched, regeneration slower than before.
But it wasn't afraid. Not really. I saw it in its grin, this was amusement.
"You think fire can save you, boy?" Its voice dripped with malice. "Humans break. Burn. Die."
I panted, vision blurring with tears and sweat. My hands were raw, skin peeling, but I tightened my grip anyway.
It laughed, low and cruel. "Bold. I'll savor you last."
The demon slashed again, this time deliberately grazing me instead of killing me.
My shoulder split open, blood soaking my sleeve. I staggered back, almost dropping the tongs.
It was playing with me. Like a cat with a mouse.
I thought of Father's smile. Mother's voice. Their bodies on the floor, still and broken. My chest tightened until I thought it would split apart.
I swung again, screaming, shoving the glowing iron into its face. The demon jerked back, covering its eye with a clawed hand.
And that's when I saw it, faint, pale light bleeding through the cracks of the window. Dawn.
The demon froze, gaze flicking to the horizon. Its grin faltered.
"Another time," it hissed, retreating into the shadows. "Live in fear, boy. I'll come for you again."
My legs gave way as it vanished into the night.
The tongs slipped from my hands, clattering against the floor. The smell of scorched flesh and blood lingered, choking me.
I crawled toward my parents, my body trembling, burns stinging, shoulder bleeding. My hands shook as I touched them, but their skin was already cold.
My vision blurred, tears burning hot against my cheeks.
Why am I alive?
I pressed my blistered palms into the dirt floor, forcing myself upright, and whispered hoarsely
"What just... happened?"