serendipity (5)

"Before I even think of getting into more battles, I need a weapon and to do that, I need a blacksmith, and maybe check out what's up with that coat," Belial thought to himself. He crumpled the piece of paper Cassidy had given him, the one leading to the address of the blacksmiths in this unfamiliar part of downtown of Silva city. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets as he began his quest.

As Belial strolled through the meandering alleys and bustling markets, his fingers fidgeted with the balled-up address nestled in his pocket. The townspeople swarmed around him, their voices merging into a harmonious yet tumultuous chorus of existence. Approaching the initial blacksmith he came across, he found himself facing a brawny artisan cloaked in a grimy apron.

"Excuse me," Belial began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need someone to take a look at this coat." He carefully pulled out the strange, otherworldly garment he had acquired in his recent adventures.

The blacksmith raised an eyebrow, his massive arms folded across his chest. "What's so special about that coat, lad?"

Belial hesitated, uncertain of how much to reveal. "It... it's not from around here," he finally admitted, his eyes avoiding the curious gaze of the blacksmith.

The blacksmith scratched his beard, a skeptical look on his face. "I don't work on strange things, lad. You might want to try someone else."

Dejected, Belial moved on to the next blacksmith, and then the next, only to be met with the same response. None of them had ever seen anything like his coat, and their reluctance to touch it was palpable

Frustration gnawed at Belial's patience, and he was on the verge of tossing the enigmatic coat into a nearby trash can when a distinctive sound caught his attention—a rhythmic clinking of metal on metal. He followed the source of the sound, a mixture of curiosity and desperation driving him forward.

As he turned a corner, Belial stumbled upon a rundown shop. Its sign had long since faded, but a small nameplate near the door revealed the name "Serah." Hesitating only for a moment, he pushed the creaking door open and entered.

In the gloomy interior, the persistent reverberation of hammers colliding with metal was the dominant melody. The air was infused with the pungent fragrance of burning coals and the unmistakable presence of artistry in progress. Belial's gaze fixated upon the epicenter of this metallic harmony.

In the midst of the cluttered arsenal of tools and the flickering embers, a woman of unparalleled uniqueness came into view. Her long, pointed ears and her ebony, cropped hair framed a face that radiated unyielding determination and a captivating air of mystery. Yet, it was the awe-inspiring power and definition of her muscles that left the most profound impression, skirting the line between impressive and downright intimidating.

Belial found himself entranced by the impressive assortment of weaponry gracing Serah's forge. Blades of various dimensions, reflecting a fusion of artistry and functionality, adorned the walls. From exquisitely crafted daggers to commanding spears, it was unmistakable that Serah was a true virtuoso in her trade.

Turning his attention back to the blacksmith, Belial offered a courteous nod. "That's quite a collection you've got out there," he praised, genuinely impressed by the artistry on display.

"Serah, right?" he continued, trying to strike up a conversation.

She grunted in acknowledgment, her focus unwavering as she continued to shape the hot metal. "What do you want?" she replied, her tone gruff and no-nonsense.

"I just want to get something appraised," Belial replied, raising the mysterious coat for her to see. "It repelled bullets, from a shotgun, and there's not a scratch on it," he explained, hoping to pique her interest.

Serah glanced at him briefly before quenching the metal in a nearby trough. "You can go to a doctor or something about that," she retorted, her attention still divided between her work and Belial.

Frustration welled up within him. "If you can't do it, just say so. I'll just leave," Belial stated, feeling his patience wane.

The woman, however, surprised him by pausing in her work and turning to face him squarely. "Do you think I can't do it?" she shot back, her amber eyes locking onto his.

Taken aback by her sudden intensity, Belial stammered, "I didn't mean... I just..."

"Good to know I came to the right person, then," he quickly added, realizing that her stern demeanor was a testament to her unwavering confidence in her abilities

Serah's curiosity was piqued as she examined the mysterious coat, her skilled fingers running over the unusual fabric. "Where did you get this?" she inquired, her elfin ears perking up.

Belial, still somewhat amazed by the coat's resilience, replied calmly, "From a treasure room during a C rank gate expedition."

"You got this from a C rank?!" Serah exclaimed, clearly surprised. "Well, I can tell you one thing. This coat is not made of any ordinary material."

As she donned a pair of goggles and began a detailed inspection, Belial watched with keen interest. Serah muttered to herself as she identified the various materials. "Abyssalite, Dragonsteel, and other materials like Mythrilium, and..." Her words trailed off, and her eyes widened with realization.

Belial's heart sank as she spoke of the curse, confirming his suspicions. "Can you remove that contract?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Serah shot him an annoyed look. "Remove a contract? Are you stupid or something? A contract is a soul-binding vow; there's no way I can remove it."

{…}

Belial knew he had to change the subject. "So, what about a katana? Can you make one?" he inquired.

Serah let out a stressed sigh, clearly exasperated. "Ugh... you're probably the most stressful customer I've ever had. Why are you so interested in demonic weapons?"

"I just like their... design," Belial replied, feigning innocence.

"You know it's basically illegal to have one, right?" Serah pointed out.

"Also, this too.."he slid the bracelet on to the table, "please make this the no.1 priority.."

Belial raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on his lips. "How about I add compensation for your 'hard work'?" He pulled out a bag filled with 20 gold coins, his way of sweetening the deal.

Serah's eyes widened at the sight of the bag. "So you do know how to do business. I feel like we're going to get along just fine," she said with a grin as she shook Belial's hand.

"Good choice," Belial replied.

"It'll be ready in a three days. You can come back then." With a newfound alliance forged, Belial left Serah's shop.

Walking down the bustling streets of downtown Xin, the musician was hidden beneath a clever disguise. His once-iconic hair was now tied up under a nondescript black hat, and a mask concealed his features. Xin had garnered fame from his numerous concerts in this very area, and his presence usually drew a crowd. But today was different; he had no intentions of performing.

Frustration welled up within him as he muttered, "Why does this have to happen?" His beloved guitar had betrayed him when its strings snapped, leaving him no choice but to venture to the distant music store for replacements.

Approaching the storefront, Xin couldn't help but notice a display of his old concert posters and candid photographs of himself. He ignored the nostalgia that threatened to tug at his heartstrings, focusing solely on his mission. He navigated through the familiar layout of the store, making his way to the wall where the guitar strings were displayed.

Finally, Xin had found the guitar strings he sought, cradling them in his hands like a precious artifact from a forgotten time. With his valuable cargo in tow, he navigated the aisles of the music store, seeking the familiar sight of the cash register.

As he approached the counter, a young cashier with a warm and friendly smile greeted him. Her eyes met his masked gaze, and she couldn't help but sense a vague familiarity about the man before her. She had seen countless faces pass through this store, but there was something about this one that tugged at her memory.

"Finding everything alright?" she asked in a polite tone, her fingers deftly scanning the strings.

Xin nodded, his disguised voice betraying nothing of his true identity. "Yes, thank you," he replied, his tone slightly deeper than usual.

The cashier furrowed her brow, her gaze lingering on him a moment longer. "You look familiar," she admitted, her brow furrowing slightly. "But I can't quite put my finger on it."

Xin's heart skipped a beat beneath his mask. He had taken great care to conceal his identity, yet this perceptive cashier seemed to sense something. His mind raced, wondering if he should offer some explanation or simply let the moment pass.

"I probably got one of those faces," Xin replied with a nervous chuckle, trying to brush off the cashier's lingering suspicion. He handed her a silver coin and hastily made his exit, feeling a growing unease.

"Wait, you forgot your change!" the cashier called after him, but Xin was already on the move, not daring to linger a moment longer.

Outside, Xin's heart pounded in his chest as he hurriedly navigated the crowded streets. He barely noticed the people passing by until he collided with someone, nearly stumbling backward.

"Xin?" a familiar voice called out.

He looked up, startled, and found himself face to face with Belial. The shock on Belial's face mirrored Xin's own astonishment.

"It really is THE Xin!" the cashier's voice rang out from behind them.

The surrounding crowd seemed to suddenly awaken to Xin's presence. Excitement rippled through the store, and people began clamoring for his attention.

"Xin? Is it really her?"

"I'm such a huge fan!"

"Can I have your autograph?"

Belial, bewildered by the sudden chaos, turned to Xin for an explanation. "What's going on?"

Xin's eyes widened when he saw Belial. "What are yo— There's no time to explain; we've got to run!" he urged, grabbing Belial's hand and leading him away, their escape from the frenzy of fans and curious onlookers beginning in earnest.

As Xin and Belial darted through the labyrinthine streets of downtown Xin, the cacophony of excited voices and eager fans faded into the background. The two of them moved swiftly, their steps in sync, guided by a shared determination to escape the unexpected chaos that had erupted in the music store.

Xin's mind raced with worry as he led Belial through winding alleys and hidden shortcuts, doing his best to put as much distance as possible between them and the clamoring crowd. He couldn't afford to be recognized, not now, not when he was trying to keep a low profile.

Finally, they found a quieter, more secluded spot, hidden from the prying eyes of the public. Xin caught his breath and turned to Belial, his face still hidden behind the mask. "I'm sorry for dragging you into that mess," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "I never expected to be recognized here."

Belial, catching his breath, waved it off. "Don't worry. It happens. But what's going on? Why did we have to run like that?"

"I used to perform a lot here before I moved," Xin confessed, a hint of nostalgia tingeing his words as they continued their walk.

Belial chuckled, his eyes dancing with playful mischief. "Suffering from success, I see," he said, stroking his non-existent beard with a theatrical flourish.

Xin couldn't help but play along, giving Belial a playful punch to the shoulder. "Sometimes I can't with you," he laughed.

Their camaraderie was a welcome relief from the unexpected chaos they had just escaped. Despite the mysteries that surrounded Xin's past and the enigmatic nature of Belial's own journey, the two found solace in each other's company as they strolled through the streets, sharing stories and laughter along the way.

As they walked, Xin shared tales of his life as a musician, recounting the highs and lows of his career. Belial, in turn, spoke of his adventures in distant lands, the battles he had faced before coming to Silva city.