Witnessing Misu’s admittedly terrifying teeth-bearing snarl, the once big and tough slave owner began to whimper, tears sprouting from his crimson eyes. If Capitan Alvarez was some sweet viejito, Alvalar would’ve taken pity on him and called Misu off. But he wasn’t. According to the stories papi used to tell, this man was far from being anything remotely similar to kind, and as such no such sympathetic feelings arose from within Alvalar.

As he watched the man crawl desperately out from under Misu, Alvalar felt a sense of satisfaction – a sense of power – rise from deep within. Revenge truly was sweet. As the feeling lingered, he felt the steam that arose from his hand dissipate, as he was no longer angered.

Forgetting his cane, Capitan Alvarez nearly raced to the shack’s door before remembering his oh so precious cane, but Alvalar didn’t forget. He wouldn’t dare.

The metalsmith apprentice picked up the cane from the grass floor with his dominant left hand, and instead of returning the walking-stick, he pointed it at the slave-master as though it was sword. “Seems as though you forgot MY caliber,” Alvalar announced loudly. “Misu, escort this come miedra out of Esperanza. Show him what happens when a slave master visits a palenque.”

The fear further bore into Capitan Alvarez’s copper face and he didn’t dare wait any longer by the shack’s open door. He ran out, huffing and puffing. Misu shortly gave chase. She always did enjoy giving rodents ahead start.

As he watched and heard the man’s cries fade away, the feeling of satisfaction continued and eventually engulfed Alvalar’s entire body. It was as though he was on a cloud, and a giant smile painted itself on his fat tawny face. Lowering the cane in his hand, he turned to look back at his father. Instead of seeming amused or pride in how far he’s come from being that enslaved little boy, Smoke let out a sigh, raising his shoulders but they seemed drifted back down so tiredly. His gold eyes lowered as though he was lost in deep thought.

“¿Papi, tú ta bien?” Alvalar asked softly with a concern look on his face.

Smoke didn’t respond immediately. He just took another deep breath. Then, with the accompaniment of trembling lips, he began to shed tears. As his face became more and more contorted with rivers of tears racing down his face, Alvalar felt his heart ache and begin to rip in two as he watched his father crumble. It must be utterly traumatic to see the man that once enslaved and abused you mentally, physically and sexually. Murmurs of sniffling filled the makeshift shack as Smoke wiped his tears away with the back of his hand but they just kept falling. “Si, Hijo,” Smoke answered, his voice raspy and shaky. He let out another deep breath before looking over at his son, his eyes pink from tears and his face a slightly redder tinge. “Gracias, but don’t worry about me. Don’t let me be all crying-and-whatnot ruin your eighteenth birthday, okay?”

As long as his father was okay, Alvalar wasn’t going to pry into the man’s feelings any further or draw the topic out. If he wanted the topic to be over, then it was good as over. “Okay,” he said with a nod.

“Bien,” the Master Metalsmith replied with a slight nod. He let out another heavy breath and gave a few pats on his son’s upper arm and retrieved Estrella from out of the wooden table. When he sheathed her back in his thigh holster, he sat back in his seat with much care and wiped away the tears one more time before coughing to try to get his emotions under control. “S-so, did you, um, bring your designs for the customer’s order? You didn’t forget ‘em right?”

“Not if I want to be p-put on boring old fire-keeping d-duty,” Alvalar chuckled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded-up designs.

“Or being yelled at for being late,” Smoke added with gentle yet somber smile. “Don’t think I forgot, Al.” With an outreached hand, he took the paper and opened it. “Alright, let’s see what we have here,” he mumbled, his eyes darting around the page. “Order number, check… Client’s name – Maite’s Bakery, check… A sizable amount of spoon designs for her to choose from, check… the correct percentages of differing metals to create said designs… And another good round of designs. I would improve on the handle a little. It looks like a too skinny near the base that it looks like it can snap off like a tooth-pick, but if Misu gave them her seal of approval, they must be good… Good enough to inherit the store.” Smoke looked into his son’s eyes knowingly.

Not this again. Alvalar rolled his eyes. “¡Papi, ya! I told you I’m not ready yet.”

“¡Ah, no empieces con eso mieda, Álvalar! This is your thirtieth client,” The Master Metalsmith smacked his lips angrily, his hands moving every which way. “You’ve even designed and forged all that cutlery for my wedding last summer, or did you forget how you came with Karollus to drop them off unexpectedly in the morning? Or how people at the wedding liked them so much that we decided to stock the cutlery section of the store with your spoons, and forks, and knifes? Tariq paid, like, 500 Gold-speckled Calibers to buy the whole next batch to take back to Tilith with him! Face it, Alvalar, you don’t need me anymore. You can do everything by yourself now. You’re ready. Trust me.”

How could Alvalar forget? He and Karollus were planning that two moons in advance as gifts, and all those nights he and Karollus should’ve been asleep but was instead in the store after hours, melting and hammering and sharpening down those raw silver ingots into form and hiding them away until the special day arrived. It was hard work and there were plenty arguments, but it was so worth it end. Witnessing Smoke in that long golden Tilithian robe with many layers of jewel-adorned fabric underneath, holding Tariq’s hands with tears in his eyes, Alvalar’s mind kept on wondering on how his future wedding with Karollus would look. Thinking about it now stung, but… But no matter how much praise his father gave, Alvalar wasn’t ready.

“Not yet, papi,” the metalsmith apprentice answered. “There was this beautiful woman who I bumped into on the way looking for your stall today. She had a sword strapped to her side, but I couldn’t make out where it was from based on the design. It had none of the four Navasarian styles engraved on it. How can I take over the business if I can’t even tell where that blade is from? What if a customer comes in and wants his blade to be made in that style? I can’t do it – I only know the four styles of Navasarian blade-smithing. And if he still doesn’t want it in any of our styles, we’ll lose money!” Alvalar loudly stomped his feet in deviance, but then soon found himself taking a deep breath to cool down. He didn’t want it to turn into a fight. “I mean, you did so much for me and my mom. You helped her when she was out on the streets while being pregnant with me and brought her here to Esperanza and helped through the interview process at the town gate. You made her a house with your own two hands, even though you aren’t my biological father and you’ve got a daughter of your own. You even took me on as your apprentice when I was twelve and got me Misu a year later from Karollus’s dad after our first major assignment together.” He could feel his face get hot as a lump in his throat began to form. His eyes begin to sprout with tears and his lips began to tremble. “I-I-I love you too much to potentially put your business in d-d-danger, papi.”

Smoke sighed and rubbed his temples together. With the upper part of his face covered by his hand, his lips moved, speaking, “I love you too, Alvalar, but you’ve got to have more confident in your abilities, and in yourself in general. It’ll be an important quality in the future. Besides, what if you don’t know another country’s style of making things like swords and the like? You aren’t expected to. You don’t live in whatever country that sword is made in. And if that person still doesn’t want your stuff, fuck them and their money. They can take it somewhere else.”

Knowing he couldn’t retort back, Alvalar held his tongue. From the lack of confidence to not being responsible for not knowing another country’s blade-smithing technique if a potential customer asked for it – everything that his father said was completely true. Everyone said it. Alvalar couldn’t deny it, but gaining confidence is easier said than done.