AT DAWN, NERO de Silva carried his backpack and went out his tent. The young man, of sixteen years of age, had completed all the requirements for becoming a healer. He was to return to Breeston City to secure a Healer’s Signet from his master, and after that he planned to travel and become a travelling healer—a lifelong wish of his.

But he stopped on his feet and looked down at his own dark moccasins. Will he succeed? Will this path be fruitful as he thought it would be? He remembered—like how an intruder suddenly appears—his master’s remark once: “Life regresses to neutrality—bad things never last, neither good things.” He never really liked his master's nihilism.

A dog appeared from his periphery, and as their eyes met the black canine proceeded to stick its snout between Nero’s knees, wiggling its tail and its whole body. He let it pass through, as he patted its back and rump.

He shook off the doubtful thought.

“Good morning, Rius,” he greeted his dog. It passed between his legs completely and went around and playfully bit his arm. When it finished its morning greeting, it lay down, yawned, and looked at him sleepily. He patted its head.

Then he went to his uncle’s tent, where sounds of him hammering a metal could be heard. Nero drew the tent’s flap aside, and in the well-lit, humid, and spacious workstation he saw his stout uncle hammering an already-flattened sheet of metal, wearing his greasy shirt and dark goggles and worn-out gloves. Just what is he making again?

“Amé!” he called the old inventor. “I’m about to go.”

Amé stopped what he’s doing, then glanced at him. “Oh. Hey, kid,” he greeted before slightly hammering the metal again. Then said, “Can you buy me a kilo of aether sand?”

“Hmm, I’m about return to Breeston, so…”

The inventor looked then at his nephew again, then paused. “Breeston? Why?”

“To get my signet, uncle.”

“Ah. Is it today? You’ll get it today?”

“Yes.”

His uncle nodded. “'Grats, kid. Then you can go buy me some when you return. How long will you be gone?”

The young healer frowned. “We’ve talked about this last night, Amé. During dinner. Remember?” He approached the table as he fixed his spectacles. “I’ll travel after I get the ring. I won’t be returning home for a while—maybe not even anymore. What’s that?”

“This?” Amé picked up the metal sheet. “A new armor. A part of its house, I mean.” He put the metal sheet down, then looked at him through his goggles. “Have you really told me last night? That you’ll finally fend for yourself?”

“Your head must be filled with this new invention of yours.”

Amé shrugged his shoulders. “Must be.”

“Well, I can buy you aether sand down the market first, if you really want. Though, honestly, it’ll be inconvenient and tiresome.”

His uncle nodded slightly, might be sensing his urgency. Still, the inventor asked him to fetch the much-needed material. “My hands are tied here…you know this, Nero. This invention, like every invention that passed through my hands, is like a woman who needs a constant—”

“Sure, sure,” he said, accepting that he couldn’t just say no to any of his uncle’s request.

When he asked for a pouch of money to buy the aether sand, Amé reasoned that he might try to run away with the money if he gave it to him, so he would pay him once he returned.

“Three years that I was gone…so you lose your trust to me like that?” Nero shook his head and clicked his tongue.

His uncle laughed. “Go. I shan’t make my ‘woman’ wait.”

He sighed as he went out the workshop. He’ll forget his debt, for sure.

Nero then beckoned his dog: “Rius, come.” The black canine stood up and walked with him, and they went down the market as he mumbled how unfair Amé was.