Morning broke over Whistlehollow in a blaze of gold.
Sunlight spilled across the crooked rooftops, casting long, glowing rays between chimneys and power lines. The early fog had lifted, replaced by a blue sky brushed with pale clouds. From the height of their small apartment above the smithy, the city looked like it was stirring from a long slumber—reluctant but relentless.
The streets below pulsed with activity.
Traders shouted from behind their carts. Children weaved through alleyways, laughing and yelling. Traffic crawled through the central thoroughfare, carts and early morning delivery vans creating mild hold-ups at the intersections. Whistlehollow was not a city that eased into the day—it charged into it, alive and unfiltered.
And in the middle of it all, a shaft of light cut through the dusty curtains of a second-floor window and landed squarely on the face of a sleeping boy.
Shakes groaned as the sunlight pierced his eyelids, warm and insistent. He turned over and blinked up at the wooden ceiling above him. A faint breeze ruffled the thin curtain beside his bed.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes.
"…What am I doing here?" he muttered.
The bed was firm and unfamiliar. The room was small—bare walls, a chipped wardrobe in the corner, a simple mat and a water jug near the door. He stood and stepped over to the window. Below, Whistlehollow buzzed with life, far more vivid than the shadowy arrival of the night before.
"This isn't the restaurant," he murmured, blinking at the morning light.
The apartment was quiet.
"Old man?" he called out. "Gramps?"
No answer.
Just in time to hear footsteps echoing up the wooden stairs. He opened the door just as the old man appeared on the landing, a large paper sack of food tucked under one arm and a bundle of wrapped herbs in the other.
"Well, good morning, son," the old man said with a grin. "Hope you slept well."
Shakes moved to help him with the bags. "I guess. But... how did I get here?" he asked as they stepped into the room together. "Last thing I remember, I was at the restaurant—next thing I know, I'm waking up in this apartment."
He narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me you carri—"
"Yes, I carried you here," the old man interrupted, placing the bag of food on the low table with a chuckle.
Shakes groaned, a blush rising faintly to his cheeks. "Please don't do that again," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
The old man just laughed. "You were out cold. What was I supposed to do—leave you there snoring into the soup?"
"This is for you," the old man said, handing him a steaming bowl of ramen.
Shakes barely managed a "thanks" before digging in. The warmth of the broth and the salt of the noodles breathed life into his limbs. As he ate, the old man sat across from him, sipping his tea.
"Your training starts today," he said, watching the boy over the rim of his cup.
Shakes paused mid-bite, then nodded. "Mm-hmm."
"I mean it," the old man continued. "You need to give it your all."
"Mmph," Shakes mumbled through a mouthful, swallowing before adding, "Yup. I will."
After the meal, Shakes bathed quickly and prepared for the day. He pulled out a fresh coat from his pack—a sleek, deep-gray garment with reinforced lining—and slipped it on. Then, standing before the cracked mirror near the window, he ran a brush through his thick, wavy hair until it sat just right. He tightened his boots with care, fingers nimble and practiced.
At last, he turned to Severflame.
The blade lay on the bed, still wrapped in its black cloth, humming faintly—as though it recognized that its time had come again. Shakes lifted it slowly and held it up, studying it in the morning light.
"We're doing this together," he said quietly, slinging the blade across his back.
And with that, he left the room.
The streets welcomed them with noise and color. Together, Shakes and the old man moved through the early chaos of Whistlehollow. The scent of fried rice and sweet dumplings wafted through the air from nearby stalls. Pigeons scattered as they passed, fluttering up to sit on wires stretched between buildings like musical notes in the sky.
They walked in steady silence until they reached the station.
The train stood waiting, its smooth metal sides gleaming under the morning sun. Painted in faded reds and black, it hissed and clanked as it loaded passengers. Steam rose from the sides as the engine warmed, and the crowd swelled around the platform like a tide.
As they stepped aboard, Shakes turned his eyes to the sun above, stretching his fingers toward it as if trying to capture the light.
"So… what's today's training?" he asked, voice calm but curious.
The old man glanced over at him, eyes thoughtful. "Sensory."
Shakes raised an eyebrow but said nothing. As they found seats near the back of the train, he leaned against the window and let the motion of departure hum beneath his feet.
Outside, Whistlehollow slowly peeled away, buildings shrinking behind them as the train picked up speed. Trees returned, dotting the landscape between towns. Far ahead, the horizon shimmered under the growing heat of the sun.
"Sensory training, huh?" Shakes said, more to himself than anyone. He looked at his open hand and flexed his fingers. "Alright. I'll give it my best."
The old man said nothing, only smiled.
As the train surged forward, so too did the next chapter of Shakes' journey. The path ahead was uncertain, the lessons unknown. But with Severflame on his back and a quiet fire kindling in his chest, he was ready.
Ready to feel the world—not just see it.
To be continued....