The Incomplete Ethereal Blacksmith

Autumn winds blew gently, rustling the orange leaves along the cobblestone streets of the small town of Eldenridge. The evening sun hung low on the horizon, bathing the simple buildings in golden light. Children ran across the town square, laughing joyfully, while merchants laid out their wares. To many, this was just another ordinary day—a peaceful evening marking the end of hard work in the fields and the blacksmith forges.

Eight-year-old Lucien Ashthorn stood on a table, his palm open, facing upward. His left hand supported his right as a faint blue energy began to manifest.

"Just a little more..." he murmured.

What he was trying to do was condense mana to create a Sigil Hammer.

To the people of the empire, the Sigil Hammer was a symbol of honor. Successfully forging its shape was the first step for every young aspirant—a moment that determined their fate.

Around the table, a small group had gathered, watching Lucien with anticipation and curiosity.

They were all members of the Ashthorn family, a lower noble household in Eldenridge.

Leaning against the wall stood a young man, just under twenty years old, his lips curved in a faint smile. His red eyes, slightly dim, carried warmth and encouragement—Raiden Ashthorn, Lucien's older brother.

Seated across from Lucien, her hands resting on the table, was a fifteen-year-old girl with bright eyes and an eager expression—Eilen Ashthorn, Lucien's older sister.

Beside Eilen was a gentle-looking woman, her posture wise yet kind. Her attire was simpler than the others, but her smile was full of meaning, her gaze radiating pure affection—Serene Ashthorn, Lucien's mother.

Standing beside Lucien, hands resting on his waist, was a calm and watchful figure. His features bore a resemblance to Raiden, but his demeanor was more mature—Aether Ashthorn, Lucien's father.

They all watched this crucial moment, expecting something great.

The Ashthorn family was not particularly well-known, but they carried pride as nobles. From generation to generation, their lineage had inherited a Sigil Hammer of the Elemental type.

Lucien, still focused on channeling mana, slowly opened his eyes. The blue energy swirled above his palm, mesmerizing him. To him, sigils were wondrous things.

His dark red eyes widened.

"Just a little more!" Eilen called out, cheering him on.

Lucien smiled. He had been nervous at first, but with his family's support, everything felt lighter. At least, that was how he felt at the moment.

Time passed, yet the swirling blue energy failed to take shape.

Aether remained silent, observing closely.

Lucien glanced at him, as if seeking an answer.

But Aether only sighed.

"You can stop now," he said.

Aether was always a calm and composed man, making it difficult to read his thoughts.

Sensing the awkward silence, Raiden spoke up, "Hah, don't worry, kid. It took me a whole week to condense my Sigil Hammer." His tone was teasing, but his words eased Lucien's anxiety, if only a little.

Eilen scoffed. "You liar. You formed it on your first try."

Raiden's lips twitched.

Serene chuckled softly. "It's alright, Cien. There's always tomorrow. Failing on the first attempt isn't always a bad thing. Even your father..." She cast a mischievous glance at Aether.

Aether returned her gaze and said, "I caused a commotion when I first attempted mana condensation… and just like you, I failed on my first try."

Stepping forward, he extended his hand and lifted Lucien down from the table, ruffling his hair gently.

Noticing Lucien's disappointment, Aether patted his head, bringing him back to reality.

"Failure is not the end," he said.

Lucien nodded.

"Yeah. I'll try again tomorrow." His smile returned.

—

"Failure is not the end."

Those words echoed in Lucien's mind.

Everything he once considered a mere beginning now felt shoved backward—further than ever before.

Lucien lay sprawled in a shallow pool of water, half-submerged. The peaceful night had vanished.

His clothes were tattered, a cut marked his cheek—all of it in just one night.

"GWAAAAUUURRR!!"

A monstrous howl rang out, reverberating through the city.

With the last of his strength, Lucien pushed himself up, struggling to stand.

His weary red eyes scanned the surroundings.

It was destruction.

A horrifying sight.

Fire devoured the once-proud stone houses of Eldenridge, its flames dancing in the puddles that had mixed with blood. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, and among the ruins, faint screams mingled with the howling that echoed above.

Lucien bit his lip, trying to suppress the tremors in his body. His vision remained blurred, but he knew—his world had just changed forever.

A massive four-legged creature leapt from rooftop to rooftop, its eyes glowing like torches in the darkness. This was no ordinary beast. Red sigil markings pulsed across its body, moving like boiling blood.

It was not just a wild monster—it was the result of a Bestial Sigil that had spiraled out of control.

And then, in the midst of the devastation, Lucien saw something that froze his blood.

At the edge of the town square stood a half-destroyed house—the Ashthorn forge.

His breath hitched. He tried to move, but his legs refused to obey.

There was something he needed to do. Someone he needed to find.

"Mother… Father… Raiden… Eilen…" he whispered, barely audible amidst the crackling flames.

As he forced himself forward, the ground trembled. From the rubble, a figure emerged—a tall man, his clothes torn, his body covered in wounds.

In his hand, a greatsword ablaze with crimson fire.

Aether Ashthorn.

"—Father!" Lucien called out, but his voice caught in his throat as he saw his father's expression.

Aether stood firm, his breathing labored, but his gaze unwavering. He scanned the battlefield before finally locking eyes with Lucien.

There was something in his eyes—not just pain, but a decision made.

"Lucien," he spoke, his voice low—nearly swallowed by the sounds of ruin.

Before Lucien could take another step forward, a massive shadow lunged behind his father.

The monster's red eyes burned with primal fury.

"FATHER!!"

A thunderous impact shook the ground.

Aether's Hell Sword struck the beast's head, unleashing an explosion of force.

The creature roared in agony, thrown back, but it was not dead—merely pushed away, now glaring at Aether with pure, unbridled hatred.

Aether turned slightly, glancing at Lucien one last time.

This time, his voice was firm.

"Run."

Lucien froze.

"Father, I—"

"RUN, LUCIEN!!"

The roar of his father's voice struck deeper than the destruction around him.

And then—without looking back, tears streaming down his face—Lucien ran.

Leaving his home. Leaving his family. Leaving everything behind.

Lucien's steps were unsteady, fear creeping into his body, draining him of strength. His entire body ached, but the pain in his heart was far worse.

The images of his siblings, his parents, and the people he knew refused to leave his mind. Yet, he did not turn back, allowing his small, frail body—overcome with fear—to keep running.

"Why is this happening?"

Tears streamed down his face, blending with the sudden downpour.

Exhausted, he stumbled, crashing onto the side of the road—right in front of a large, nearly-collapsed building. A single trigger could bring it down.

The rain grew heavier. He remained motionless, lying on the ground. His fists clenched.

He had managed to get far enough from the monsters wreaking havoc in the city. But not far enough to be safe.

In the midst of his despair, footsteps echoed.

Then, a growl.

Then, the stench of blood.

With what little strength he had left, Lucien forced himself to turn around. His vision was blurry—whether from exhaustion, rain, or tears, he wasn't sure. But he could see the creature approaching.

It resembled a bear, but it was much larger. Its four limbs were unnaturally thin. Its eyes glowed crimson, and its entire body was covered in red sigil patterns, shifting like boiling blood.

"Ah—" Lucien let out a breath, not quite a scream, but a whisper.

His palm opened. A faint blue energy began swirling.

His mana was nearly depleted. His trembling hands struggled to condense it.

The creature drew closer.

In Lucien's palm, strands of blue energy clung together, intertwining. The dim glow they emitted was just enough to illuminate his pale face.

Then, a hammer began to form—born from the fusion of energy.

But it wasn't solid. It looked almost like an illusion—something that wasn't supposed to happen when condensing mana. A proper Sigil Hammer would always take a physical form, a tool meant for forging Core Spirits into mystical artifacts—be it weapons or techniques.

Yet, the hammer he created was fragmented, as if shattered and barely held together by an unseen force. It glowed like a mirage.

"It… appeared…"

But there was no sense of satisfaction.

He had dreamed of this moment—the day he would manifest his Sigil Hammer.

But now, it no longer mattered.

His father's words echoed in his mind.

"Failure is not the end."

"No. Father was wrong..." Lucien muttered, supporting himself as he leaned against the crumbling building.

"Failure is the end."

"While you all fought, I had to run."

"This is my failure. And this is my end."

He grasped the handle of his Sigil Hammer—its pale blue glow shimmering like broken fragments bound together. An illusion made tangible.

He held it with both hands.

Taking a stance—as if he had a chance to win.

His dim red eyes locked onto the creature closing in.

And just as he accepted his fate—

A sudden gust of wind shifted the rain's direction.

Whooossh!!

A golden bolt of lightning streaked through the sky—striking the rampaging beast in an instant.

—