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It had to be perfect.
Not by his standards. That was a meaningless exercise. No, this was a gift intended for his friend.
His first friend.
His ONLY friend.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled his most recent creation from the fire to inspect it.
Another sword. Crafted from refined chondrite and folded 1000 times. The doman’s had called them katana, but for him it was only a tool. A vessel to enable him to reach his friend.
He studied the tool for a long moment in silence, looking for the slightest flaw or imperfection. No matter what he made, it needed to be perfect.
“No.” He decided after noticing an inconsequential blemish near the tang. Without a second thought, he cast the item toward the growing pile of other failed creations. “Another flawed gift.”
“What a pity. I truly thought you had it that time.” The only other person in the room commented. “Perhaps your next attempt will be the one.” He chuckled. “As they say, practice begets perfection.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.” The man said coldly, his icy gaze shifting from his failures to the robed man lounging in the corner. Even in the dim light, he could see the blood stains and the lingering frost clinging to the hem of his purple robes. He contemplated saying more but decided against it. He had wasted enough time and energy on this chaotic harlequin, and any more would risk leaving him unprepared for their coming reunion.
He took a sharp breath before shifting his focus back to the pile of schematics littering a nearby table. Hmm, what to make next? His heavy footsteps echoed in the throne room as he moved from his custom forge and toward a table covered with potential weapon designs he had yet to try.
“Here we go again…” The robed man sighed dramatically. “See, this is our problem. You’re a terrible communicator. And despite my best efforts to gift you the world, your hungry gaze always drifts back to ‘them.’” He said playfully. “But then again. This is nothing new for us.” He paused to add another overly dramatic sigh. “I knew going into this relationship that I would always be competing with them for your attention.”
“Jealousy is very unbecoming of you.”He commented as he carefully searched the pile for his next project.
“How brutish.”
“Have you considered finding something interesting to say?” The man said as he brushed a few rogue strands of his golden hair out of his face before returning to his work. He silently flipped past a few uninspired designs until he found his next appealing design. “Perhaps I should make another great sword.” He mused before his gaze shifted to another schematic. “Or perhaps a gunblade would be more appropriate.” He closed his eyes and visualized holding one again. It had been years since he last wielded one on the battlefield, but relearning the basic technique would be a trivial task. “Hmm, what if I fused the two options. That could make for a fiendish combination.”
“See! You’re already doing it again.” The robed man said playfully before vanishing. In the blink of an eye, he rematerialized on the opposite side of the table. He slammed his hands against the table. “Here I am trying to start a meaningful conversation with you, and already your mind shifts back to your ever-absent friend. Honestly, what do they have that I don’t?”
“Beyond talent?”
“Does your cruelty know no bounds?” The Ascian asked rhetorically as he feigned injury.
“When it comes to you, yes. But, to answer your question, my friend has proven time and time again that they are the only one who understands me.” His cold blue gaze shifted from the documents to meet the Ascian’s smug expression. “Fandaniel, is there a point to your visit?”
“Of course.” Fandaniel’s grin grew wider as he pulled back his hood, revealing his conventionally attractive face. “I would never dream of disturbing your great work unless I had relevant news.”
“Which is?” He paused, waiting for his foppish ally to continue.
“Must I spell it out for you? Fine.” He straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “I am pleased to report that your Warrior has returned!” The Ascian announced with a flourish.
“Have they now…” He mused. “I see they dispatched my great-grandfather faster than expected. And so ends the reign of the all-powerful Emet Selch.”
“And I have word they have even bested the tenacious Elidibus,” Fandaniel added. “But enough of that. My faithful pawns reported that the Warrior of Light was last sighted hiking across the Dravanian Hinterlands. Probably traveling toward that dreadful hag who lives in the cave. Oh, what was her name…”
“Does it matter?” He asked.
“Well, no. Not really.”
“If that is the extent of your report, I expect you to leave me in peace.” His gaze returned to the table covered in weapon schematics.
“Zenos,” Fandaniel said with an exasperated sigh. “For what it's worth, I do understand your desire to forge the perfect gift for your heart's desire, but now that they have returned to the Source, need I remind you our time is growing thin. You may need to settle on something and accept it. Flaws and all.”
“Impossible,” Zenos answered bluntly. “My gift needs to be perfect.” He discarded another set of weapon schematics to the floor and began thumbing through the next set. “For me to present them anything else would be insulting.”
“Fine, be that way. But don’t blame me if I manage to best them with one of my ploys.”
“How bold of you to say.”
“Why?”
“Because my friend will overcome any and all trials you present them.”
“Careful. Your words are getting dangerously close to hurting my feelings.”
“And here I thought you Ascians were beyond such primative things as feelings.”
“I will have you know that not all of us.” Fandaniel paused. “You know, it's dawned on me that out of the several dozen weapons you have crafted, you have yet to consider crafting a ring?”
Zenos paused his search to give the Ascian a curious look. “And why a ring?”
“Simple, a ring is a circle, and circles have no end. Think of it as a symbol of your endless desire for them. Also,” His mouth curled into a whimsical smile. “As the bards sing, ‘if you love something you should put a ring on it’.
Zenos sighed and turned back to his work. “I should have expected that.”
“But given your dogmatic obsession with them, perhaps a collar would be more appropriate?” Fandaniel clapped his hands in excitement. “Yes, what better trinket to ensnare the beast you so fervently pursue. Personally, I think both of you would look fetching in a set of matching leather collars.”
Zenos didn’t respond.
The Ascian had already stolen enough of his time, and any more would risk leaving him with little time before the Warrior of Light found their way to him. He continued searching through the remaining designs he had yet to try. There has to be something here that would spark interest.
His gaze landed on a stack of yellowing documents marked with an unusual seal buried at the bottom of the pile. Hmm, now what is this? He gingerly picked it up and began flipping through it. A scythe? Hmm, I’ve heard stories about the Garlean Reaper Corp. I could have sworn my father had outlawed them shortly after his rise to power. He continued reading. This shows promise. A unique combination of power and finesse.
“Yes, this could work…” He mused; his mouth twisted into a lopsided smile. “I doubt my friend has ever done battle against someone wielding one of these.”
“Oh! I know that look.” Fandaniel teased. “You’ve done it, haven’t you. You’ve finally found the right gift that will make your heart sing!”
“Perhaps.” Zenos turned and began picking through his remaining materials. “Only time will tell if this is going to be the one.”
“Then present me a list of what materials you need, and I shall dispatch my thralls to collect it. After all,” Fandaniel gave Zenos an extravagant bow. “Your wish is my command.”
“I see you can be useful.”
“When the need calls for it.”
Zenos sighed and trudged toward his throne. “Then be quick about it.”
“Ah, is it nap time already?”
He nodded.
“Then I shall leave you to dream.”
With one final bow, Fandaniel vanished from sight.
Soon. Zenos closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I hope you can be patient a while longer. He tried to picture his friend’s face, but all his mind could conjure was endless fire and rampant destruction. For I expect our reunion will shake the heavens and make even the Gods tremble.