A man fades away, but not before ensuring his legacy is passed on. A boy becomes a man, and starts to awaken to his destiny. A monster lurks among men, and thus becomes more than what he is. A young woman comes to terms with her future, then works to protect the future of others. And all of this comes about from the edge of a blade, as a hero is not born, but rather made.View More
I would have preferred it if I was kept awake by my upcoming semifinal match in the combat arnis tournament. That way, I would’ve had a valid enough excuse if I started the fight like a battery-operated rabbit flailing around, as if I didn’t know what I was doing. It wasn’t the butterflies in my stomach that was keeping me awake – rather, I was drawn back to snapshots in my childhood, days when Grandfather was still hale and hearty, teaching my younger self lessons that I didn’t understand then. I’d liked to have spared some time to think about how the clarion call of nostalgia was keeping my eyes from closing, but the mention of a name was enough to satisfy the inquisitive part of me. Yeah, it’s Moira’s fault. I know, I’m being childish, but that comes with being sixteen years, three hundred and sixty-four days, twenty hours and thirty minutes old, give me a break. I can afford to be childish in moments like these, when it really does
Chapter 4: Perception 4.1 *** “Oi, what’s with you not having an appetite? I thought you said you were looking forward to Lacey’s experimental sisig-salad combo?” Jaric asked me, while I was looking at nowhere in particular, remnants of the pressure of those piercing eyes still lingering in me. “Right,” I replied listlessly, before taking a bite of the salad. Typical Lacey’s fare; no wonder, this is our town’s best-kept secret. Three generations of kitchen wizardry, with adequate support, turned the fortunes of a down-on-his-luck fish ball vendor and his family. My mind returned to those eyes, and the way they seemed to see right through my soul. It was uncanny. “Earth to Max,” Jaric said again. “Don’t tell me, you found someone in the audience?” “She had pretty eyes…” I replied off-handedly, and my thoughts got abruptly rattled when Jaric let out a whoop. “About time, Max!” Jaric hollered. “I thought yo
The Ironsmith's Mandate***Chapter 3***“Flavio was cut out of a different cloth than us ordinary folk. He was, and I do not use this phrase lightly, a living legend, during his seven decades of life in this world.” – Mayor of San Luis Vicente, during his eulogy for Flavio San Vicente***“Even if the inter-school is going on, I still have to keep you guys working at academics, somehow,” our math teacher said with a smile as Jaric and I walk into the classroom. “By the looks of things, you two took care of business.”“That’s right, sir.”“You should’ve seen it. Max was kung fu fighting, his moves were fast as lightning!” Jaric said, and the classroom chuckled at the accuracy of his imitation of that singer. “Did we miss anything, sir?”“Nothing much, just going over what we
The Ironsmith's Mandate *** Chapter 2 *** “Flavio San Vicente is the heart and soul of this town.” - unnamed San Luis Vicente resident *** As I open the door to the restaurant and walk in, I catch a glimpse of the large old man commanding the Southern Cross combat sports team, leading them towards the conference room, where our lunch was reserved. Once I rejoin the group, we are all making our way towards our seats, and I move on autopilot as I think about our coach. Coach Greg Ocampo is what you’d call a gentle giant: Jaric once told me that growing old enough to look like that and have all of the stories to tell meant that it was a life well-lived. They didn’t look alike, but the way they carried themselves – oh, and the stories. Our practices up to the tournament only consisted of Coach Greg having us spar, and dissecting the entirety of the
The Ironsmith’s Mandate***Chapter 1***“Honor, courage and fortitude all dwell on the edge of your blade.” – quote commonly attributed to Flavio “Maestro” San Vicente***Measured and familiar steps propel my legs as I cross the threshold into the institution where I have been pursuing my studies for the last… oh, three years, or so.I pass by students wearing identical white collared shirts and blouses, dark blue pants and skirts, the uniform mandated by this school for their senior high school program.Somehow, everything takes place with the dull tenor of routine; even if I can say I’m doing well here, all of this seems so bland: the colors of the world are duller and greyer, voices are indecipherable, the scents of knockoff perfume and baby cologne ignored by my nostrils as their smells have graced them far
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