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Chapter 7.1
Data de publicação:
2026-04-06 16:00:14Passing 7.1
***
The fireworks began well before the stroke of midnight: children, teens and adults, making excuses to do “test runs”; but really, indulging their urge to see mostly harmless explosions, emphasis on “mostly”. It started with small, polite trespasses: pinpricks of sound that raised their heads above the town’s ordinary hum and asked for attention, until an enterprising bloke would bring out the contraband, and the pinpricks would be punctuated by o
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The Ironsmith's Mandate Chapter 7.5
Passing 7.5***The visiting bus from Alba Precepts Preparatory Academy rolled into Southern Cross High’s courtyard just before noon—a gleaming, tinted leviathan that looked too polished for the cracked concrete of the lot. Even the crest painted on the door—a silver tree wrapped in a chain—looked smug. Students spilled out, laughing, confident, their uniforms pressed and immaculate. You could smell the perfume of money and discipline.Jaric whistled. “Fancy lot, huh? They look like they practice sword-fighting and table manners.”Dr. Harry chuckled. “Don’t let the shine fool you, Jaric. Some of those kids train hard enough to break marble with their teeth.”Coach Greg stood beside him, arms folded, his weathered face unreadable. His voice, when he spoke, was the gravelly calm of a man who’d seen a hundred bouts and only half as many explanations. “All right, Southern Cross, eyes up. Remember: they’re here
The Ironsmith's Mandate Chapter 7.4
Passing 7.4***The first day of school after Christmas break always feels like stepping into a place that forgot you briefly. The air around Southern Cross High still carried that odd blend of new notebooks, disinfectant, and sunlight striking wet pavement: a combination that made you feel both refreshed and uneasy, as though the halls had been reset while you weren’t looking.Jaric swaggered beside me, as if the weeks away from classes had only polished his confidence instead of taming it. His bag hung off one shoulder like a prop, his grin already set to “default mischief.” The morning light caught the faint tan he’d earned from afternoons of pretending to “rehabilitate” his arm while actually flirting at basketball courts across San Vicente.“Ah, I’ve missed this smell,” he declared, spreading his arms as if greeting old friends. “School’s back, my man. New semester, new rules, same cafeteria food.”“So much for New Year’s reso
The Ironsmith's Mandate Chapter 7.3
Passing 7.3***They were talking about the match around the fruitcake like it was an out-of-season miracle. Voices folded the same way they always do in our town: soft praise passing from mouth to mouth, the story gaining a neat tail each time it was told. Jaric laughed the loudest, reliving a moment where he said I’d looked like a man who had remembered how to move. Moira nodded in a way that suggested she approved of men who could keep their hands honest. Salve distributed plates with the accuracy of someone who could also divide an estate without drama. I moved with a tray because that is what hosts learn: keep the wheels turning and people forget to look under the hubcap.Their voices made an evening chorus. “He’s a natural,” someone said. “A prodigy for sure,” another added, and they all meant the same thing in slightly different tongues. I let them speak. The praise is useful to the soul the way soup is
The Ironsmith's Mandate Chapter 7.2
Passing 7.2***One week ago…***The front gate clicked open like a small, polite announcement as the first of the Maestro’s relatives arrived in a pleasant trickle: with them were neighbors carrying covered dishes, a pair of cousins in sensible coats, someone from Manila who brought a fruitcake that tried very hard to look traditional. I met them at the door because that is what hosts do; Salve had given me a list in the kitchen and a look that said: distribute, divert, and no talk of legal bullshit anywhere. I kept the Maestro’s will on the back burner with the rest of the winter stew: simmering, necessary, but not to be boiled over tonight.“Welcome,” I said to each face as they came in, saying names like small blessings. I took coats, found places for hands to rest, put someone beside the tray of fried lumpia, and performed the brief choreography of hospitality: move thi
The Ironsmith's Mandate Chapter 7.1
Passing 7.1***The fireworks began well before the stroke of midnight: children, teens and adults, making excuses to do “test runs”; but really, indulging their urge to see mostly harmless explosions, emphasis on “mostly”. It started with small, polite trespasses: pinpricks of sound that raised their heads above the town’s ordinary hum and asked for attention, until an enterprising bloke would bring out the contraband, and the pinpricks would be punctuated by occasional booms and bangs. Outside my window, the sky over San Vicente was a slow, generous canvas of darkness, dotted with stars and occasional intrusions of color. The colored bursts would intensify on the road to midnight: scatters of gold, then a hard, honest red like a coin turned up to the light, then a long blue comet that hung in the air before blooming like a flower in the near-midnight sky.I sat on the sill: standing felt like an affectation, while lying down felt like escape.
The Ironsmith's Mandate Chapter 6.5
Grief 6.5***Miss Salve and I started the holiday decoration on a Sunday, because miracles often come to small towns on days that do not conflict with the three b’s.(Yes, even in an out-of-the-way town like San Vicente, the three b’s of sports reigns with an iron fist: basketball, boxing and billiards.)She had the list of decorations memorized, having wrested the responsibility of holiday decoration from my grandfather last year. Jaric, meanwhile, insisted on being present because, according to the Cruz family, the only holiday decorating the men did would be lifting boxes, assembling Christmas lights, and climbing things to mount decorations on.Jaric already ran the risk of falling onto ornaments with two good arms, so he was content with showing up to be the moral support.The workshop had also doubled as a storage room ever since my grandfather began to plan for his passing: as we opened it to grab the boxes needed, the smell of the room lingered like a cat lounging on a nearby
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