Chapter 10

Nyx

Chapter 10

            “You filthy Faunus scum!” Nyx froze dead in her tracks, beads of sweat forming on her neck and her heart rate skyrocketing. Who said that? Where they talking to her? Her wings twitched, urging her to take to the skies before the crowd turned violent against her. Images of humans tearing her limb from limb filtered through her mind, and she began to panic. Hyperventilating, she looked for a way out of the marketplace, when a thought struck her. No one had attacked her yet. She cast her gaze among the crowd, forcing her breathing to slow down.

            No one seemed to pay the panicking girl any heed. Instead, their attention was focused on a man sprinting through the crowds. An angry trader, a baker by the look of him, was chasing the supposed culprit while throwing angry curses. Nyx stood rooted in the spot as he continued to run from his pursuer. He had raven colored black hair, and wore faded blue jeans and a ragged black shirt. In his hand was the reason the baker was chasing him. A fresh loaf of bread was clutched in his fingers and still steaming in the cold morning air.  

            The crowd parted around her to give him room to pass, but Nyx stood rooted in spot, unable to tear her eyes away from the runner. This was the Faunus that the baker had screamed about. As he approached her at a breakneck speed, she noticed the black cat ears poking out of his hair and the tail streaking behind him.

            Time seemed to slow as he sprinted past her. He looked her in the eyes, a grin plastered on his face, and winked, before disappearing around the corner. A deep blush settled on her face as she watched him go. The baker was hot on his heels and ran past her moments later. Without fully realizing what she was doing, Nyx stuck her foot out and tripped the baker. He stumbled and landed hard on his face. The crowd’s attention snapped to her, and she realized what had just occurred.

            The baker climbed to his feet, noticing the thief was long gone, and stomped over to her. “You insolent little child! Do you understand what you just did?”

            The appropriate response was to look down meekly and quietly apologize, but Nyx had had trouble keeping up her disguise as of late. Her mouth opened, words spilling out before she could hold her tongue. “It was just a piece of bread you old fool.” Her eyes widened in surprise and the baker’s face turned a deep shade of purple.

            “You- You- HOW DARE YOU!” He stepped right up to her, leaning down and snarling in her face. “I could have you flogged that! You aided that Faunus trash in thievery!”

            Nyx’s blood began to boil. “Who are you to call him trash? What makes you any better than him?!?!”

            “He is a degenerate just like the rest of his kind, nothing but thieves and beggars!”

            Nyx clenched her fists together, unable to keep the rage from seeping into her voice. “WHAT DO YOU EXPECT! YOU REFUSE TO TRADE WITH THEM, SO THEY HAVE TO RESORT TO STEALING!!!”

            The baker took a step back, startled at the small girl’s ferocious response, although he quickly recovered, even angrier than before. “I DON’T TRADE WITH FREAKS!!!”  

            That was the final straw. Nyx’s wings flexed under her jacket, ready to rip through and slice the baker to ribbons with her feather blades. A hand on her shoulder brought all thoughts of retribution to a stumbling halt. The smith stood behind her, towering over the rest of the crowd. Once again he was without a shirt, and his dark wings exposed for the entire world to see. He pulled Nyx behind him, giving her a look that said “You’re in BIG trouble.” He turned his attention back to the baker and flipped a single gold coin to the floor in front of him.

            “That should cover the price of the bread.” The smith turned his back on the furious baker and began to guide Nyx back to his tent.

            “You expect me to pick this off the floor?” The baker looked insulted.

            The smith didn’t bother looking at him. “I have come to expect nothing from you except discrimination and second rate pastries.” The baker looked as if he had been slapped, but the smith guided Nyx away before she could hear his no doubt enraged response.

            A few minutes later, Nyx was seated on a bench in the tent while the smith paced in front of her, lecturing her ears off.

            “What were you thinking? Can you not go twenty four hours without getting into another fight? It’s a miracle you have survived this long!” He paused to look at her. “Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”

            “Yes but he-”

            “NO BUTS! You promised to stop fighting, and here I find you about to attack him! WITH YOUR WING BLADES! If you ever want to be accepted by the humans, you cannot expose your secret by attacking another human! You will be lynched for sure. Don’t argue with me, I have seen it happen before.” He sat down across from her, taking a deep breath and his angry eyes softening a little. “I understand that you wanted to help that Faunus, but his actions are his to bear. He stole. That is not right, even if you are a Faunus.”

            “But there are no shops in this city that will trade with Faunus!” She replied.

            “That’s not true, there is alwa-” He began to respond, but she didn’t give him the chance to finish.

            “No! You don’t understand. You are new here; you don’t know how bad it is. I grew up on the streets!” Her anger began to rise as she remembered what it was like. “I SLEPT IN A BOX TWO BLOCKS AWAY!” The smith sat there, waiting for her to continue. “There is no one who will trade with us. I tried everywhere! I had to steal every day. EVERY DAY! Just to keep enough food in my stomach to stay alive. You can’t just come here, lecturing on right and wrong. You don’t understand! You grew up in a tribe. You were around others of your kind.”

            Tears filled Nyx’s vision, the dream of her father returning. “I had nothing, no one to turn to, and nothing to call my own.” Her volume significantly decreased. “My home was an alleyway, not a light filled forest. I didn’t have dogs barking and children playing. I didn’t have strangers greeting each other like family… I- I-” She couldn’t go one. The dream replayed in her mind over and over again. It was so real, yet so distant. Some far off memory that felt more like a fantasy. The smell of fresh pine had felt so real in her dreams, but when she awoke, nothing remained but the smell of dead leaves.

            The smith brought the crying girl into his arms, soundlessly holding her as she wept the troubles of her past away. They sat like that for a while, until her sobs wracking her body diminished into a quiet whimper. The smith stilled her shaking shoulders and turned her to face him.

            “You are correct. It is not my place to lecture of my misguided life views… I still don’t enjoy the thought of our kind justifying theft… but I understand that sometimes food in your stomach is better than a clear conscious.” He stood up, pulling Nyx to her feet in the process. “It is no use trying to trade today. Too many saw you walk away with me, and I doubt you would be able to sell much today.”

            The smith walked outside to his forge, and Nyx followed, wiping the tears from her eyes. The smith produced two lengths of metal, and handed her a hammer. She took it and looked at him confused, not knowing what to do.

            “You still have not replaced those daggers of yours. Today I thought I would teach you to forge some of your own.”

            In all honesty, Nyx didn’t feel like doing anything of that sort. All she wanted to do was curl into a ball in her bed and forget this day ever happened.

            “You have heard of weapons imbued with fire?” This took her by surprise. The memory of her roommate trying to find a way to augment it into her weapon surfaced.

            “Yeah, people call it phoenix fire, since it never goes out.” She responded.

            “That is correct. It is forged into the actual blade of the weapon. When the creator is crafting the weapon, they are able to cast their emotions into the weapon. The type of emotion gives it form. This was discovered seventy years ago by the faunus, though now the secret to its forging is well known among the weapon crafters, human and faunus alike.” The smith placed the twin lengths of metal into the burning coals of the furnace.

            While the smith watched the heating metal, Nyx took a moment to inspect the hammer she held in her hands. Intricate designs were crafted into the surface of the metal, seeming to glow and shift beneath the midday sun, the scent of scorched earth rising from the hammer.

            The smith came around and wrapped his hand around hers, pulling the glowing length of metal from the furnace. “I will guide your hand, but it is you that must create the blade. Close your eyes.” She did as told, he began to guide her hand, striking the hammer against the metal. “You already know the blade this will become, the metal just needs encouragement.” The hammer slammed down again, the vibrations ringing up Nyx’s arm. “You must put a piece of yourself into the blade.” Another strike sounded out. “Give it your dreams, give it your nightmares. Feed to the metal your happiness and sorrow, your memories and aspirations.”  The ringing continued to sound, the heat of the metal causing her face to flush. “You must place a piece of your soul within its metal weave. This is not just a weapon; it is an extension of you.”

            Nyx opened her eyes, but did not see the metal in front of her. What she saw was the death of her family. The cruel torture at the hands of the humans. The burning of her childhood home. A tear streaked down her cheek and splattered against the red hot metal. Memories flooded her mind, buried hurt and pain resurfacing. The loneliness of the forest, the cruelty of the streets. The stress of her secret. The fear of losing her friends. The hatred she had received and gave in return. In the sea of despair a spark shone. The dream of her father, the light filled forest and scent of fresh pine. She laughed amidst the tears, warmth flooding her. The memory of dogs barking and strangers hugging and children playing. She gave it her all, laying the foundation with the strife that had plagued her life, and pouring her hopes and dreams into the core of the creation. She gave it everything until she felt nothing save one emotion; pride.

            Her vision cleared and before her were two identical blades, the purest white in color and tinged with blue on the edge of the blade. When they had begun to work on the second blade, she didn’t know. All she could remember was the memories and emotions, taking each one and pounding it into the steel. The smith had been right, the twin blades had taken on the form of long slender daggers that shined brightly in the sun.

            The smith was wiping off his hands, looking contentedly at the blades. “You did good. How do you feel, are you okay?”

            She couldn’t draw her eyes away from the daggers in front of her, but somehow managed to find her tongue. “I- I think so… that was… hard.”

            “Confronting your memories never is. Pick them up and tell me what you think.” She hesitantly picked one up, afraid that touching it would bring back the rush of memories. She traced a finger along the edge and shivered. The metal was colder than ice and wickedly sharp, but the hilt was something completely different. The handle was warm and comfortable, the memory of home surfacing in her mind.

            “Your blade is imbued with everfrost, and not a small amount of it. Just as phoenix fire is born from rage, everfrost is born from sorrow. The hilt is good though. I am glad you took my advice. Too many beginners give it all their unwanted memories and emotions, and are unable to even hold the weapon as a result. It is the good memories and emotions that help us deal with the bad ones.” He handed her the other weapon. “They are fine daggers, you should be proud. It is getting late and you have class tomorrow. Go home and sleep. Tomorrow you have weapons to sell… And no more fighting!”

            Nyx waved him goodbye and began her long trek home. The daggers still clutched protectively in her arms. As she walked back her eyes traced the designs wrought into the steel, a sense of happiness flowing through her. In her arms were the physical representation of all her sorrow and all her happiness, combined into a beautifully crafted blade. She smiled and continued on her way, her eyes tracing the star constellations decorating the night sky.