Two weeks before the announcement.

  The quiet and peaceful town of Aiver, located in the eastern body of Louisine. Despite all the massive changes all over the land, this paradise remained the same.

  This town had never been well known for anything in general. Just another dot on the map. If there was anything special about this town, it would be how nothing has ever happened here. Outlaws had never wandered here, due to geological deadlocks and routes, they would be easily captured or surrounded. No organization of authority paid an eye, as this town has always been self-sustaining, and posed no threat nor prize.

  To conclude, it was a completely ordinary town, nameless to everything.

  Despite the overwhelming movement of the entire States, this town remained unchanged. There are only farmers, gardeners, anglers, maybe a bartender,

  and oddly enough,

  a Gunsmith.

  --

  Whispers of the town,

  "What is she even doing anymore?"

  "This town really doesn't need a gunsmith."

  "She's over sixty now. Why is she still clinging to such?"

  Those were the words she heard on a weekly basis, just because they didn't have more time to complain about it daily. And she would admit that they were right. Clinging to her dead father's wish instead of moving on, she was basically lifeless, or at least that was what was on her mind lately.

  She lived a far distance away from Aiver, the shop was old and crooked. The name on the hanging sign wasn't even visible anymore, instead it was just nonsense scribbles, a mockery to her identity. She sat behind the counter like a machine, staring blankly at nothing, the newspaper in her left hand, and a twirl of gray hair in her other hand. All of the important tools were still packed neatly in the box, hidden inside a secured cabinet. Her vest and jacket were old, no less than herself.

  "States in chaos! The wicked land expanded?!"

  She muttered the title on the piece of paper she was holding. The world outside had been under motion, had been running far far away. For each word she whispered, she felt like herself had been more distant from everything as ever.

  "Action demanded from the Central... Why would they even care? I'm still living normally here..."

  The detachment feeling hit her again, and again. That boring day had repeated itself for twelve years now. No marriage, no family, not even a friend, except for...

  "Hey, mind if I come in?"

  The town's Sheriff. He was the only customer of this hellish place. He would regularly pay a visit and ask her to maintain his revolver. The brown jacket, the white jeans and the white stylish hair didn't help him to not look like an arrogant playboy, but he paid no mind. He had been around for only 3 years, taking over his older brother's position, but he quickly won over the town's trust with his charisma and manner.

  "Heya. Can you do me the regular, old mama?"

  To her, he was like an annoying friend. She never complained about his mentality, because ironically, he was her only source of income. Without him, the shop would have been taken down long ago. Besides, he had stopped the townsfolks from attacking her job several times then. Annoying, yes, but that annoyance was the only moving thing in her motionless life.

  She remembered, before then, this guy had once climbed a cliff just to save a cat for a small child. And another time, he had improvised an entire play for children last Christmas without anyone asking. That was him, the beloved Sheriff. Everyone knew him since

  "Give me the gun."

  "Sure, here ya go."

  She grabbed the gun and inspected it. Despite the lack of demand, her skills and insights as a Gunsmith never regressed.

  There she saw it, a small dent on the handle.

  "Couldn't he make it more obvious?"

  This doofus had been here for at least years now, and he never changed. Always making excuses just to visit her, giving her money in the guise of work. She couldn't help but smile at his gesture. A clumsy lie. She would never acknowledge it.

  "So, how has it been out there?"

  "Hmm... Well, it was delightful, at least. But well, I'm not sure how long it will last."

  "The west thingy?"

  "Well... yes. But that doesn't matter here, right? We are like, what, in the other corner of the world?"

  Those fifteen minutes were nothing but conversation between the two of them. That moment might seemingly be mistaken as nothing special, but to her, it felt like she had taken a small step forward. But that thought was dismissed quickly. She knew that, as fun and enjoyable this conversation was, she had been just distracting herself from something within her.

  Her hand slightly trembled. It might be that her age was slowly catching up without anyone noticing.

  --

  Thirty minutes after the young Sheriff's departure. The old woman was back to her old grumpy self again. Staring blankly at nothing. The slight fun in her day came and left so quickly. Soon, she felt the wanting for tomorrow to come quicker, like a child on Christmas day.

  Irony.

  Then, even god couldn't have expected, the door swung open again with a creak.

  Not even bothered to look, she immediately dismissed the newcomer with a wave.

  "This isn't the bar. I think you went into the wrong place."

  "Isn't this where we get guns fixed?"

  Her eyes shot up at the minor mention of "guns".

  "Guns".

  Though it was just a fleeting word that flew naturally, it was her trigger alarm.

  And in front of her, the group of three stood at the door, looking around with curiosity. Her brain started gearing up and running in a straight line. Could this be her chance, after so many torturous years, her chance to shine to appear?

  But, her self-awareness reminded her again of how this worked. Even if it was luck, she shouldn't have exaggerated it like that. She reminded herself yet again, that this was just luck that might have occurred to everyone else like a tiny change in life. Like getting a coupon at a bar, or picking up a coin on the road. It came, and it would leave.

  A short-lived miracle.

  The group of three, consisted of a young cheerful man, a fox-eye grinning man and lastly, the oldest of the group, a man with scars running across his face, with a jagged beard and a massive build.

  The young man, seemingly no more than twenty, carrying a big backpack behind him, smiled widely back at the Gunsmith. The Gunsmith looked at him up and down. Baggy pants, high boots, dusty goggles. A typical youngling who had just embarked on an adventure away from home.

  The fox-eye man, more mature and elegant. The sleek vests and leather shoes spoke everything about his wealthy background. He didn't look at the Gunsmith, but around the place with a silent judgement nod. His smile gave nothing but arrogance, or confidence. The

  The last man, who certainly was over fifty based on the look alone, seemed to be the most dangerous one. He scanned the whole room at a glance, then quickly turned around to secure their only way in and out. She could clearly see the two revolvers on his waist, and a hidden shotgun on his back.

  "What is it with this combination... huh."

  She muttered in her mind, knowing that those words if spoken would just cause unwarranted trouble.

  The young man was the first to speak up.

  "Hello, er, ma'am! Can you please take a look at our equipment real quick? We're on our way to-"

  "Hold on. I think you can let me handle the talking, shall we?"

  The fox-eye man steps in front of the young boy, still smirking as ever. Yet, the last man still stood firmly behind them, one step away from the entrance.

  "Well, you see, we're heading towards the abandoned cave, or as people said, the abandoned mine in this area."

  "You mean... that place?"

  --

  An abandoned mine, or a cave. It had been left there for at least fifteen years now. The previous and only owner, was an affluent family who once owned many industries, factories and even some mysterious ties.

  The father was a friendly man, who knew how to keep distance from the public. The wife, though, was silent yet sincere, especially to children. The town knew nothing more than that, because the family had only visited there once a month or two. No one knew where they lived, nor where they came from.

  Unfortunately, the family went missing right after a tragic incident fifteen years ago, when the entire mining operation collapsed.

  Not a soul knew the cause. At least a hundred people had died there. It was a hard time for the town as well, as many families lost a part of their home, and it took months for them to recover from such damage. After that, everything went completely silent, and the collapsed mine was forgotten, buried away in the mountain range.

  Not even a conversation, nor a word was spoken about it anymore. The Sheriff had insisted that nobody should come near the mine for any purpose.

  --

  She couldn't completely comprehend the motive behind their trip. The abandoned mine. Even if there had been some sort of rumors of long lost treasure hidden there, it would be completely foolish to arrive here, out of all places, just to confirm such words.

  She reminded herself, this place was Aiver after all. A complete ordinary place.

  "Why, then?"

  "Well... the details are confidential. I'm afraid I cannot tell you such. But, we still need entry into a dangerous place. We need to be well prepared, at least, our equipment."

  "What can be worth so much?"

  "Well, let's say, a treasure hunt."

  Such a strange composition. Something about the trio gave her a feeling that something was wrong. Maybe they were just a group of adventurers, or treasure hunters, or something else, better or worse. It was draining, for someone like her to suddenly work up her brain so much. Why now? Why not rely on someone knowledgeable in town?

  But her attention was quickly drawn to the gun in the fox-eye man's holster.

  "Is that... Lighting?"

  --

  Lightning. One of the two infamous revolvers that were stolen from the Central Government 8 years ago. Then, they were passed from one to another, like a gold bar wandering in a sea of pirates.

  The revolver duo were well known for one exact special attribution, which was speed, and speed alone.

  A common revolver operates very straightforwardly and sophisticatedly. The bullet is loaded into the chamber, the cylinder is rotated by cocking the hammer, and the rest is to simply pull the trigger, and the cylinder spins again, for the next bullet.

  However, these masterpieces negated all of the delay while enhancing the effectiveness.

  Custom cylinder that promised perfect synchronized fire-to-rotation, firing rate rivaling that of a machine gun, perfect balance and grip with the complex addition of triangular rotating barrel weight, capability to adapt to any conditions and environment with their light and enduring material. The unique duo, Lightning and Thunder.

  Countless praise had been whispered about the guns, but nothing had ever been revealed about the maker of these legendary items.

  And one of them was right before her eyes.

  Her father had used to talk about them with awe and admiration. To her, it had been the feeling of being spoon fed bland corn each morning.

  Of course, these guns were very picky of who could handle them.

  Normally, a picky gun would be considered useless. If there was no user, it would never be used. Furthermore, poor handling or lack of experience could easily blow the user's hand off like dust. Such was how wrong the revolvers were. A boiling volcano packed into a small box that could go off any moment.

  Yet, they still existed. With all the flaws and risks, the promising power was amazing enough to gamble. Like a tool of god no ordinary human could reach.

  Many had argued these were only made for show, or as a display of power. But her father had denied such a claim, thus, she too believed in the potential of these weapons.

  --

  "Oh, this? Yes, it is Lightning. You have good eyes."

  "How did you get it?"

  "It was luck, merely. Very good luck. How did you know about this?"

  "You really shouldn't underestimate a gunsmith like me, no matter where I came from."

  "Then I'm blessed again. Take a good look at our stuff, please. We won't ask for a change. Extra pay, even.”

  A diversion from the question. It wasn't unpredictable, really, the Gunsmith thought. Such a gun in such a hand, obviously, this man wouldn't reveal anything.

  “You entrust me with that?”

  “You’re the only gunsmith around. Where can you even go?”

  "Fair. Give me the guns. And you, the big man?"

  The attention was then transferred to the cautious man, still standing on the other side of the room.

  "Oh."

  "You sure pack a lot under there. Don't you want to join?"

  "I... okay."

  It was a long pause, until he forced himself to nod. His voice was raspy and deep, the caution remained firmly.

  "Be quick, okay?"

  Then, just like that, her second conversation of the day quickly came to an end. The three men left for the town, having handed over their arsenal.

  The experience was fresh, for such a large package of firearms to be in her care. As a professional Gunsmith, it was her duty to maintain her efficiency. A gun's doctor.

  --

  Two days had passed since that conversation.

  That group had left for the mine yesterday, and they haven't returned yet.

  She had talked to the Sheriff about the group of men, yet, she hadn't heard a word since.

  The scenery outside was dark. The only light was from the town far away, the starry sky above, and from her doorframe and window.

  "Chilly, tonight..."

  She stood just in front of the entrance, looking far out into the vast land before her eyes. On the right was the lights of the town, on the left resided the abandoned mine. She couldn't help but be worried about her new and only customers. A cozy scarf and a pair of gloves covered her skin, the gifts from the sheriff last Christmas.

  "Christmas is going to come soon..."

  She didn't know why she even had expectations for such a day. Her mind kept reminding her of loneliness. Looking at the sky, even the stars above had friends, families and an enchanting glow that drew people to them.

  Guns were everything she could talk about. Such an "unwomanly" trait. So many regrets lingered in her life, yet none she refused to remember.

  It was a trait she received from her father, a man who couldn't stop talking about firearms and gunpowder. Even as her mother had left him, he still never gave up, believing that one day he could be the one to give life to something beyond extraordinary. A gun that people would gawk over, like...

  ...a star.

  She never blamed him despite all of the issues she went through, maybe a few times when she had nothing else to do. What could she even do when the old man had died?

  She kicked a small pebble near her feet.

  Looking at where she kicked it to, she smiled for a bit.

  "Maybe I'll just die like that."

  Such grim words, yet she showed no expression. She stood still for ten minutes whole, looking at ‘herself’ on the ground.

  Finally, she turned back inside, closing the door with a face of many emotions. Eventually, she laughed it off bitterly.

  "Better sleep well before I kick the bucket-"

  Arrived at her home, a new presence.

  Knock knock.

  A light knock on the door behind her. She turned around, and grabbed the gun right under the nearby desk. This late at night, and a guest, was an unlikely blend.

  "Who's there!?"

  She shouted loudly. At that point, it was the first time she really hoped the sheriff's voice would ring from the other side. If it weren't for the sudden appearance of the three men before, she would gladly open the door without a gun. This place was Aiver, after all.

  Then, slowly, her hand reached the doorknob, and yanked the door open.

  "Stand back! Or I-"

  Nothing.

  In front of her eyes, the only thing she saw was the empty field of barren land. A part of her sighed in relief. Her heart slowed down like she had just run for a mile, which was even impressive for her age.

  Until her eyes glanced down.

  A boy, in a ragged cloak, standing right there in front of her. He seemed to be no more of fifteen, yet his eyes were blank, staring directly at her without muttering a word.

  A white streak on his black hair with golden yellow eyes. As certain as she was, this kid was not from Aiver. She had known and memorized every kid in Aiver, for their jokes and hurtful words before. She, though, paid no mind to those. The kids and the adults, to her, there was no difference. However, this kid was not anywhere in her theatre of shameful flashbacks.

  "A... kid?"

  And in his hands, held the broken Lightning.

  There, continued the story of a stepping stone.

  --

  "Who are you, kid?"

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "I don't know."

  "Where did you come from?"

  "Cave"

  Ten minutes had passed.

  The Gunsmith, sitting on the chair facing the kid on the edge of bed, who then was covered with layers of warm and fuzzy clothes. Her questions came directly with a concerning glare, though she tried to be as friendly as she could. She had completely forgotten about getting to bed, now her first priority was to get things straight with this wild baby animal.

  His face, hands and legs were black dirty, as if he had just crawled out of some holes in the ground. He looked at her, not a hint of fear or joy towards her interrogating questions. Soulless wouldn't be a stretch to name his current state.

  "Cave? You mean the abandoned mine?"

  "I don't know. Maybe."

  "How old are you?"

  "I don't know."

  "Your parents?"

  "I don't know."

  "Do you know what you are? You speak quite fluently."

  "A boy."

  After each exchange, her frustration only added up more and more, sitting right beside the whirlwind of confusion in her mind.

  "What in the world is going on?"

  The very sentence was being replayed in her mind a million times now. She had no idea who this boy was in front of her, nor why he was here in the first place.

  She had checked for any injuries or scratches on him, but outside of the stains, his body was untouched. There was nothing on him that she could use to identify the kid.

  But, the fact this boy had the Lighting on him, meant that he must have come from the abandoned mine. After putting the gun away, that was the most logical conclusion she could come up with. However, such deduction was full of flaws.

  How did this kid live there? If he's from another place and had just stumbled upon the mine at the right time, then where? Could he be a victim of a mass kidnapping, but who and how?

  "Do you remember anything at all?"

  "I don't know. The only thing I remember was..."

  "What?"

  "Words."

  "Words?"

  She leaned closer, hoping to learn a tiny bit of information. She was desperate for anything useful.

  "Rain is cold. Gun is shoot. The light is warm."

  "What?"

  "Those were the words that I heard, while everything was dark. The door is open and close. Eyes, are see and close. Heart, is for beating. A smile... is happiness."

  "Huh... a teacher? Or your… you know, parents?”

  "Teacher, is a job. Teaching is to share knowledge."

  "I know, I know. Just…-”

  “I don't know why. But the voice… It was warm. I really want to hear it again.”

  “I… stay quiet for a bit."

  Even more questions manifested. Had she gone insane? She didn't even mind doubting the kid instead of herself.

  Someone had taught him before, without ever knowing. Perhaps, this kid had been sent by whatever gods or devils out there.

  "I can't do this alone."

  "Is there anything wrong? Umm..."

  "Oh, uh...

  ... just call me Miss Gunsmith."

  --

  The next morning.

  The Sheriff was sitting in his office, enjoying the early coffee. The morning was a delightful one. The street was quiet and peaceful, the usual chatters of the townfolks, and the blissful melody of the wind. That was until the old Gunsmith charged into his room, dragging him away forcibly.

  "So... this?"

  Both of them, gathered at her home, were looking at the kid like he was a strange creature. The Gunsmith had spent an hour explaining everything to the sheriff, yet nothing could ever make sense. The Sheriff rubbed his temple before continuing.

  "A kid that appeared out of nowhere?"

  "That's right. Out of thin air!"

  "The mine... hmm..."

  "Yeah, is it possible that the mine-"

  "I can't say. But last night I already looked into the mine. The only entrance was sealed tight by rocks."

  "Really?"

  "I don't know about the three men. They could be dead. But if this kid was really from there, it would be a miracle for someone like him to survive for just one day. Other towns… maybe, but at least I should’ve recognized his face. What about the broken gun?"

  "I put it away already. I am not touching that thing."

  "Fair."

  The Sheriff crouched down to look at the boy face to face. A long gaze into his eyes he gace, yet the Sheriff could feel no hostility nor warmth from the boy. He asked with a cautious tone.

  "Who are you, really?"

  "I don't know."

  "Your eyes, and all. Seems like an adult, you're scaring me."

  "I do?"

  "Nah."

  The Sheriff stood up, running through his hair with an exasperated sigh. The Gunsmith nudged at his side and asked him, her voice low enough to not reach the Kid’s ears.

  "Can you take this kid into town?"

  The Sheriff, at first, considered that idea. A typical way of dealing with a stray child was to bring him into the town, although such might be the first time for Aiver. But another idea stopped him from answering. He looked at the two people in front of him with a deep thought. Then, a smile.

  "I declare that the kid's staying with you."

  "Huh?!? I beg your pardon?”

  The old Gunsmith's mouth widened as the Sheriff casually leaned his hand on her shoulder.

  "You heard me. Take good care of that kid, or I'll arrest you for child abuse."

  "You can't be serious? I've never raised or talked to a kid my whole life?”

  "I'm serious. Besides... he will be a good company, no? Your health has gone down tremendously. Keep the kid around until we find a good doctor."

  Ignoring her defiance, the Sheriff turned back and stepped out of the doorframe. The Gunsmith wanted to drag him right back, to plead for another alternative, yet she couldn’t. Right before his departure, he looked back with a satisfying grin.

  "I really appreciate that you went to me for help first, old missy. I won't be around for a while. See ya!"

  She couldn't help but smile back at his scheme. He still cared for her through many ways, though he never expressed it directly. For someone like him, he must have a lot under such a playful face, she thought. With no other choice than to welcome this strange gift into her home, forcing a smile, she waved back at him.

  "See you, brat."

  Just like that, the door closed on them.

  --

  She sat idly behind the counter. Her eyes glanced between the newspaper on her hand and the kid wandering around her shop attentively.

  The kid, on the other hand, inspected every cabinet he could with tentative excitement. Every door, every corner and every drawer. It was such a sight to the old woman, whose back couldn't even bend down a little.

  "Such an energetic kid, huh?"

  "Miss Gunsmith, what is this?"

  The kid pulled out a rather dusty old book from the corner of a cabinet. The layer of dirt was thick enough to flow a river across his fingers.

  "Oh, that... is a manual. I forgot it was there."

  "Manual?"

  "Yes. To guns."

  "Ohhh."

  The lady watched as the kid grabbed the book and ran beside her to read it. A tired smile appeared on her face before a question came to her mind. She asked, not expecting a decent answer.

  "Do you know about a group of three men, one with a big beard, one with fox- ehem, stick eyes and one really short?"

  "Three? I do."

  She gasped, and grabbed the kid's shoulder demanding for more answers.

  "What? When?!"

  "Yesterday. In a dark place. They killed each other."

  "Huh...?"

  A mix of fear, and anticipation showed on her face. Out of everything, the word ‘kill’ coming out of his lips wasn’t something she would imagine. The way he said it was so natural, even when an adult could hardly grasp the weight of the word. The kid then added.

  "The middle guy shot the short guy. The big guy grabbed the middle guy's gun and shot him. But the gun went boom, and pushed the big guy down the cliff."

  "The Lightn- I mean... the broken gun?"

  "Yes."

  Another sigh. She rubbed her head, and patted the kid's head as a gesture of comfort. There were still lingering doubts in her mind, but to remind a child of such was immoral.

  "It must be scary to you."

  "I don't know."

  "Don't know?"

  "It was the first thing I saw when I woke up.”

  She frowned deeply, rubbing the kid's hair a bit harder. His answers always came genuine with no malice behind them, yet they were grim and unsettling. Such things should never be said by such a small child. This kid was unique, if not exotic. She couldn't even believe in herself labelling a kid with those callings. If this kid were to be put in a group of peers, she was sure he would be the outcast. As if he wouldn't mind it.

  Then, her mind wandered to herself. Secluded. Incompatible. The outcast. She didn’t know why it crept into her head. The kid, and herself, were entirely different, yet…

  … At that moment, the world only consisted of them.

  "Are you interested in guns?"

  She spoke of those words without ever realizing. It was a moment of instinct. A spur of the moment.

  "I don't really know what they are, but I do."

  As he answered, she slowed herself down, asking cautiously as if she were afraid of a denial.

  "Really...?"

  "The voice taught me a lot about guns. Mostly about many technologies and technicalities and such. I like them."

  "You know lotta of words."

  "The voice told me... about something evil, I forgot, but...

  ..the voice taught me those. Guns. Guns are meant for killing, right?"

  As a Gunsmith, that one single question put doubts in her. Guns were the tools for killing, such was obvious. But to her, guns had slowly lost their meaning, yet, it was the only tangible thing left around her. What were guns to her?

  "Guns..."

  "Yes?"

  "It's something to keep people alive. With guns... we can fight, defend, and hunt. Not just senseless killing, but... living, and dreaming, I guess."

  She didn't lie, because for her, however as it was fading away, guns were her only anchor.

  To keep her life meaningful.

  "I want to learn more."

  "Yes?"

  "About guns."

  After the surprising approval, her genuine smile appeared for the first time. Teaching a kid about guns wasn’t something she should do, yet all of her cells, her entire existence guided her into that path of wrongness. She felt like she ought to cease this filth act at any moment, but such was what she truly desired.

  "Well, I will teach you!"

  "Mmm." He nodded.

  "Well, let's just use the broken Lightning first. Now I am so full of energy to see what's packing in it!"

  She dramatically took out the box, unlocking it while humming to herself. The kid followed her movement, mimicking her humming.

  Then she realized.

  "Huh? This mark is wrong."

  "What mark?"

  "The signature of the Central Government. Normally, they would mark every-"

  A long pause.

  "Miss Gunsmith?"

  "This is... fake."

  "Fake?"

  She slowly put the gun away into the box. It was the only way to hide her disappointment.

  "Let's... use a normal gun instead."

  --

  Time passed by quickly.

  The kid and the Gunsmith naturally got closer.

  She spent every moment beside him, teaching the boy everything in life. By the morning, she taught him how to cook and the basics of the States, including the sixteen counties and the world beyond.

  In the afternoon, she would guide him on how to properly maintain a gun, what to be cautious of and how to use a gun. She admitted, such wouldn't be a proper subject to a kid. But she convinced herself this one wasn't a normal kid from the get go.

  At nighttime, she would simply talk to him about her favorite food, book, gun model, and so on.

  To her, he was like a son, or a little brother, or just a kitty she picked up somewhere. Living with him was such a luxury for her to even consider in the first place.

  For the last twelve years, she finally found something strangely meaningful. Such presence in her home, she felt happy.

  By the nights, she would usually find the kid wandering out of the bed, sometimes sitting by the toolbox, and sometimes outside, practicing shooting with a toy gun.

  To her surprise, the kid's hands were quick and flexible. He could handle a real gun quite easily, according to her calculation. The kid had always been abnormal in every way, despite her lack of actual interaction with a typical child. He was very strong for such a skinny body, and she could feel his muscles and scary quick reflexes, especially when cooking eggs. Such a weird little monster. His height had gone up again.

  Had this been how her father felt raising her? She laughed silently again.

  She sat idly by the window, looking at the kid's effort and sweats for a long while, forgetting her own sleep. She made sure not to be noticed.

  She suppressed her cough, not to be heard.

  At long last, she felt like she might have achieved something. A miracle that stood in front of her by itself. However, she was afraid once again, she might only receive regrets.

  It came, and it would leave.

  --

  Once the kid was done, sneaking back inside, he was greeted by the Gunsmith sitting on his bed.

  "Must be hot outside huh?"

  "I..."

  For the first time, she saw his surprise expression.

  "Sorry. I shouldn't be outside this late."

  "It's okay. I admire your effort though. Come here."

  Both of them sit on the edge of the fluffy bed, the soft mattress that she had gone all the way out to buy for him. It was a refreshing image for the townspeople. The lady no one would ever imagine buying such unnecessary luxuries.

  "How were your days here? How is it?"

  "It was warm. And fun."

  "Fun, right?"

  "Yes."

  "Fun, indeed. It was... fun. So, tell me, what do you think of the world outside?"

  "World outside?"

  "It must be weird asking you this, right?"

  The Gunsmith chuckled to herself, trying to keep the conversation as cheerful as ever.

  "Someday, when you're out of here. Isn't there anything you would want to do?"

  "I do, I think."

  "You do?"

  "The voice told me a lot of things about the world. It was vague, but it told me to do something. I wanted to do that first."

  "Really? Why?"

  She couldn't help but show a hint of shock and disappointment on her face. It wasn't an answer she would expect.

  "At first, I was very confused. I didn't know what it was saying. But you taught me a lot of things. So I wanted to do it."

  "Maybe it was what the voice wanted, not yours?"

  His words confused, and pained her. A dream from someone else, shouldn't be considered one's dream. If he was to walk that path, wouldn't he be the same as her?

  She wanted him to stray from her footsteps. This life of hers was pathetic, sorrowful and regretful.

  "Don't become like me."

  Those words came out like a silent whisper. If she hadn't followed her father's path, she would certainly become a different person. She would have friends, family, companionships, and laughter in her life. The thing she most hated was to guide another person into the same hell she went through. In this peaceful land, a gunsmith like her was meaningless.

  “No.”

  "Why?"

  "Because it was what I wanted too."

  "Huh?"

  "I want to do it. I want to try it. If I were to pick another, I would regret it. I want to use this gun, to live. I don't know why you are against it, but…

  You are the first person I met. You taught me, guided me, and showed me the good and bad.

  Maybe I’m empty, and naive. That's why I want to do it. I will not deny who I am. I believe… only by accepting myself… I can move on.”

  Afterwards, came a long stretch of silence. With shaky voice and little strength she had left, she only muttered

  "I see."

  She then slowly stood up and made her way out of the cozy bedroom.

  "Good night, kid."

  --

  She had always known. Her own dream hadn't been about anything else. She admired her father. She admired his rough hands, polishing each and every detail of the steel surface. The feeling of the wooden smoothness on the grip. The satisfaction when the bullet hit the target mark.

  Everything had always been around the gun.

  As much as she wanted to deny it, she couldn't.

  That night, she didn't return to her room, instead, the counter she headed.

  She took out the box containing the broken fake Lightning.

  She had made up her mind. She would strip off all of the unnecessary. With trembling fingers, the first and last mission she placed on the withering life.

  Determination became the fuel to fight.

  The first, and perhaps, the last change she would ever meet.

  "Let's see what you have for me, huh? A fake, is still a good fake. Huh, I wonder where's the real one at.”

  Three days before the announcement.

  --

  For the next three days, the routine remained the same on the surface. She would stay awake during the nights trying to analyze Lightning and reconstruct it.

  She knew her time wasn't long, but never for a moment she thought about it. She wiped away her fear, her regrets, her past, her everything. She knew that if she only stopped for a moment, all would slip away.

  Sweats drenched on her head and collars, the pencil scribbling on the paper sheet boldly like a navigator. Even during daytime, she would get distracted thinking about numbers and shapes. For the first time in years, she brought out the dirty books to relearn what she needed.

  Alive, she felt. Heartedly.

  Till the day of the announcement.

  Only until noon, did the newspaper be delivered to her home.

  "The Mayor of Tuckerion spread words of the conquest of the Demon Lord!! Public speech at the Town of Regemea!"

  Upon receiving it, the Gunsmith couldn't be bothered less. The news outside was nothing to what she was going through, hence, she only put it on the table with her injured fingers.

  Out of curiosity, the kid grabbed the newspaper and read. Though he could only make out of a fair amount of words owing to the Gunsmith's teaching, he understood most of it.

  "Demon Lord... eighteen..."

  Something within him snapped, as if he had remembered something, or realized something. His eyes were widened only for a fraction of second before putting the piece of paper down, back to his silent self.

  "So this is it...?"

  Hooked by the piece, the boy couldn't see the dripping sweat and the fuzzy eyes of a frail woman.

  Not much time left. Tonight, might be the end, she figured.

  Her duty remained.

  --

  That night, the sky outside was a sea of thunder and rain. The blend of roaring rainfall and screaming wind echoed throughout the landscape. The walls were shaking, as if the gods could pick it up any moment.

  The only warm light was the oil lantern next to the Gunsmith, illustrating the room's interior.

  Click. Click. Click.

  The sound of metal. Before them, sat a wilting life, shaken.

  "So close..."

  She swiped off the nosebleed with her shaking fingers. Her vision was fuzzy and blurry. She rubbed her eyes again, and again, hoping it would give her more time. She coughed violently, bending her chest forward, clutching to her heart.

  The ear-piercing wail of the outside world only messed with her heart. For the last few hours, she worked under the mockery of the storm, enveloped by a looming death. To her limit, she had reached, yet unfulfilled her goal remained.

  Her mind couldn't keep herself up straight. She sat in her own pool of sweats and blood, wobbly and exhausted. Losing concentration, she murmured to herself.

  "Again...?" Another roll of bloodied paper rolled to the floor.

  She was afraid that she would regret it ever again. She was so close to something, so close to catching that shining star with her two hands. She leaned back at the chair, looking up at the ceiling with labored breath.

  Crying, she was.

  At herself, she cursed.

  "I hate you so much, myself... You're so pathetic, useless, slow and..."

  Her words were raw and genuine. Unlike her normal self, she was practically shouting at the girl in front of her.

  "Why didn't you do this sooner, huh? Why? Was it too peaceful for you? Too calm? Or, too, ugh, too silent? Being pampered too much turned you useless, huh? What an idiot. Yelling at yourself like this..."

  A choked sobbing. Lament, it was.

  Before she could continue, the door had creaked without her ever realizing.

  "Miss Gunsmith?"

  On the other side of the door, was the kid, whose expression unreadable by the darkness.

  "Ah... kiddo."

  She was tired. She couldn't muster the strength to put up a mask, or to hide away her pain. She looked at him, with emotions pouring out on her face. A smile despite her pain.

  A pathetic attempt, that was.

  The boy understood this very well. The woman in front of him was facing imminent death, yet, he did not say anything.

  It wasn't like that time when the three men died. Not even close.

  This time, something cut deep into the boy's heart, shredding away his will to act.

  The Gunsmith asked him.

  "Can you help me... fulfilling my selfish dream?"

  "Even if it costs your life?" Hesitantly, muttered the boy.

  With utmost confidence, she answered.

  "Yes."

  The boy hesitated for a few seconds, then finally, he stepped up. He guided her body and her hand back to the table. He held her hand and arm tight, as if they could fall off any moment.

  With the boy's support, the Gunsmith felt her strength again. She wasn't sure what expression the boy was wearing, but for her to look away from her work would be an insult to both of their efforts.

  It was a long few minutes. Silence stretched throughout the room, except for the sound of steel and drippling water.

  A painful reality, so long it lasted.

  And the moment it was finished, she smiled.

  The Lightning, or another version of it, lied in her hand.

  The culmination of her knowledge, talent and endeavor. Her whole life was for this one single revolver, yet she felt no sorrow or shame. She smiled brightly, as if she couldn't be anymore prideful in herself. She slowly placed the gun into the kid's hands, wrapping his fingers around it.

  "This is Lightning... it was supposed to be... at least... but... a fake... is still... a dream of mine. I'm truly grateful that you were here... you know... for the first time... and for the last time...

  ... I felt like my purpose had never been clearer...

  ... I was selfish... but I hope you would forgive me,

  ... take this as a sorry gift, okay? I don't know where you would go... what would you do... but at least... I know you would move forward.

  Fake or not... it will become real...

  Thank you, kiddo..."

  With her last breath, she patted his head.

  “If you wanna become like me… then run. Run as fast as you can. Don't hold back. Don't you ever stop. Be the fastest. Dance with lightning and thunder. Don't ever look back…

  Cuz I’m right behind you, okay?”

  Even in death, she smiled brightly, more than she had lived.

  Her life was for a purpose.

  Thus, marked the end of a Gunsmith. In her hands, was an early gift of Christmas, her last that was.

  --

  He remembered all of her teachings and guidance.

  He put out the lights, shut the windows tight, made the bed, put all of the tools back into the box, and finally, he stepped out of the entrance into the raging storm. He closed the door behind him carefully, and silently, as if he was afraid of waking somebody up.

  His first footstep was towards the town. Then second, then the third. With each footstep, he turned around and looked at the house. Until on the other side, he saw the Sheriff standing in his way, blocking him from the town. The Sheriff was wearing a cloak, with an unreadable face on him. His voice came clear and raw despite the storm.

  "Kiddo."

  The boy did not respond.

  "I was too late, huh?"

  The boy nodded to the grim expression of the man.

  "All the doctors went to the central to deal with the west... unbelievable."

  The Sheriff cursed himself, his hands clutching in anger and frustration.

  "How was she?"

  For the first time, the boy answered.

  "She was a wonderful person."

  "Indeed, huh..

  ... I never got the chance to properly repay her. She saved me ten years ago when I was still a rookie.

  What an idiot, that woman…”

  Faced with the Sheriff’s grief, the boy could only nod again.

  "So, what do you plan to do, kiddo?"

  "I…”

  A painful silence hung in the air. At that moment, the Kid understood. The time he needed to pick a path, to place his first step onto the board. However, in the ever changing world, he had already made up his mind.

  “I... will kill the Demon Lord."

  The Sheriff asked again with a rising tone, his eyes widened and frowned at the kid. He leaned forward, as if he had misheard the boy.

  "What did you say?"

  "I will kill the Demon Lord."

  The Sheriff's voice rose even higher, trying to control his temper.

  "Why?"

  "The voice... and... myself. I want to defeat the evil threatening everyone."

  – “My ■■■■■■. After you ■■■■ ■■, let's ■■■■ ■■■ ■■■.”

  "Are you throwing away her sacrifice for you, you-"

  Before the Sheriff could continue, he noticed the boy's face which was brightened by the lightning above.

  The rain couldn't hide the drippling tears on the boy's face.

  The storm of emotion.

  The Sheriff flinched at that image. It wasn't just him who was crying inside. Along with the tears were the eyes of a determined man, a force of nature that cut through all doubts.

  "Losing someone is painful. I don't want it. If the Demon Lord is making everyone sad, then I'll kill it."

  "Kiddo… you don’t know what you’re saying."

  Silence followed. Both of them spoke of nothing, until the Sheriff continued with a sigh.

  "Do you think this town is truly safe?"

  "Huh?"

  "Contrary to the rumors, bandits and outlaws would frequently come here. Countless times. There's absolutely no way a paradise of no blood exists. Irony it is...

  ...It was I who got rid of all of them. I disposed of most of their bodies in the abandoned mine, and spread a rumor to prevent people from coming there. Though... I couldn't stop the trio before. They came here with a permit from someone within the Central Government...

  ...As, the only guardian of this town. I cannot let you go."

  “So the bodies I saw when I exited…”

  “If that was the case, then yes.”

  The Sheriff's hand slowly positioned above the holster. The boy didn't react to that, instead, he stood more firm to his ground.

  “So you’re…”

  “Yes. Do you object? Is this too aggressive?”

  “I don't mind. I understand why.”

  "I can’t just convince you the normal way. I knew since the moment our eyes met. You are something entirely different...

  Growing up so fast, and that expression on your face…

  I checked the mine. A normal kid climbing out of a four-story wreckage is impossible. A normal kid that is..."

  The Sheriff let out a deep breath, clearing away the doubt in his mind.

  "...Consider me your first and last obstacle."

  The rain keeps falling like a curtain to a movie. The lights above the clouds and the faraway blaze of the town illuminated the scene.

  The Sheriff's intention was to only knock the boy's gun out. Under the facade of a playful young man, the sheriff was nothing like the man he had shown himself before. One single movement from the boy, even an itch of muscle... would trigger the hand of a well-seasoned combatant. He had killed a tremendous amount of outlaws before. This feeling before a gun muzzle was no strange thing to him.

  But this boy, strangely, was entirely different from the kind of thieves.

  Something inhuman that the man couldn't place a finger on.

  Out of the world he had been living in.

  A painfully long moment of silence between the two men. Nothing but the wild tempest around them. None of them moved a muscle, nor were moved by the power of land.

  There was nothingness...

  ...until a lightning strike tore apart the stage.

  Clang.

  The Sheriff's eyes were widened in shock.

  "How...?"

  The Sheriff looked down on his waist. The entire gun holster was knocked away to the ground behind him, the gun within still unscratched.

  And on the other side, the boy's gun had already retreated into his waist.

  Way before the man could recognize it, nor could he reach for the gun with only a hand below his grasp, the boy's bullet had reached him first, piercing through the lightning's roar and disarmed the Sheriff completely.

  The kid, who was no older than sixteen, had outsped the Sheriff. It was impossible for him, as it should be so. It wasn't the Lightning that should be feared.

  His hand was unharmed from the power of Lightning. His movement exceeded the witness's eyes. A natural prodigy.

  "You..."

  That was everything the Sheriff could say at that very moment. It was his defeat, at the hand of the monster in front of him.

  It came, and it left. Like a lightning bolt in the sky. Like a miracle passing by a woman's life. He snapped at such treachery.

  "So you're serious? You’re joining that eighteen-people free-for-all war?"

  "Yes. Do I need to fight against them too?"

  "Of course. There’s no rule preventing you from killing each other for the prize on the other side. You know that there will only be eighteen slots, right? They will be killing each other for the tickets alone. There will be countless monsters out there. Countless dangers, trials, and evils."

  "I know."

  "And...?"

  "I still have a lot to learn."

  The man laughed roaringly through the hail of rain. His frame quaking from the intensity alone, he laughed to bite away the painful truth.

  "Seems that I can't stop you."

  The Sheriff, then, threw to the boy a bag of ammo and provisions. Caught in his arms, the boy was bewildered by the sudden change.

  "You’re letting me go?”

  “Should I change my mind?”

  “Thank you."

  "There's food and ammo inside. I intended to bring the old smith to another town tomorrow. I guess I don't need them anymore."

  He paused for a short while, then was met by the boy's question.

  "I wanna ask one more thing, mister Sheriff. There were words I couldn't read, but... how do I get into one of the eighteen?"

  "The old Mayor already sent the tickets to some well-known dangerous people. You have no choice but to take it from one of them. How funny, right? When justice is all gone and all be done it must be by the end of the world. I smuggled some of the stuff the Central Government hid. Seems like there is actually something on the other side."

  "I see... funny... and..."

  The boy muttered to himself, walking towards the other direction.

  "This direction should be the Lawless town, right, mister Sheriff? Oh, and… Please, would you… take care of her?"

  "You don’t need to ask. Are you going to kill someone for the ticket? If you go that way, you still need to cross some cities before reaching the Lawless one. But why there?"

  “Bad guys.”

  A short pause. Afterwards, the boy turned back and smiled bitterly at him.

  "Killing… Hopefully not."

  The Kid, then stepped foot into his path, into the stage of storm.

  Another. Then another step.

  Accelerating.

  Until he was running through his emotions. Through the past. Through the doubts and sadness. Faster than everything.

  He exceeded the fastest creature of earth, the mother nature.

  Dancing with the storm of lightning and thunder.

  The Kid.