Mamnen Alone

Vereella had done a poor job of making this shirt, he noted as he adjusted it over his shoulder for the fourth time since starting on his way to the library. The neighborhood was still bustling over the rumor that there was a tiefling participant in the Ring Master’s tournament who had refused to fight. He knew what that meant and he knew who it was. Atka had made it through to the tournament only to back down. He was both relieved and sad, because the rumor was she had been sold to the highest bidder, name undisclosed.
 
He felt tears welling up in his eyes, feeling his other half severed from him. Mamnen did not want to believe it, but he may never see his twin again. He had been too harsh with her. And he never would sleep again.
 
He made it to the blacksmith and began to sneak tools into the backroom to work. Everyone thought he made it with his psychic ability, which he admittedly didn’t have, so he needed to do his work in the background as best he could. As an apprentice, he could get away with this. Today, though, as he worked, the shirt Vereella made had other plans, slipping down his sweaty biceps. He got heated and ripped it off. He was about to strike the hammer down on the blade again, and stopped short, eyes wide and frozen. “Shit,” he thought, “what are they doing here?”
 
The blacksmiths were talking in the front of the shop, joking and laughing. Before Mamnen could dress and exit to greet them, they burst in. “What’s this now? Trying your hands at the craft?” asked the first. The second laughed and agreed, “Seems like he’s been working a sweat up.”
 
Mamnen laughed nervously, lowering the hammer to rest its head on the ground and catching his breath. “Very funny. But yes, that’s all I’m doing…trying out a new style in case I lose my abilities…”
 
“Please. We know you’re a fucking liar, and we want you out of here. You’re bad for business and have been since you got here.” said the first again. Mamnen felt an anger brimming up that he had never experienced. He had worked there a year and they’d treated him like absolute second-class. He put out quality work. He wasn’t bad for business; they just didn’t like his look.
 
He threw his bangs out of his face, standing up to tower over the two. He just stared down for a moment, fingers drumming on the handle of the large forging tool propped between his legs. Mamnen rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms, chest, abs, because he knew that they could see him. “You’re going to see me out? Me? When will you know what I’m capable of?”
 
“Please, we know you’ve been doing this by hand the whole time–and your stature and muscles don’t scare us. Two on one, check!”
 
They laughed.
 
LAUGHED.
 
Mamnen closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “May this place fucking come down right behind me…” He whispered and pushed past them. He opened his eyes and walked out of the shop, slamming the door behind him. He took two steps and flinched as he felt and heard the collapse of the top of the building. Mamnen turned around quickly and saw a hole in the shop. Curious he lifted his hand and flicked his wrist as if to shoo the outer wall away. It toppled over on top of the pile effortlessly. Yes, surely they were dead, and surely the crowd wouldn’t suspect him…but his next course of action was clear: alert Atka discreetly, because if his powers were true, then it was possible hers were too.
 
***
 
It didn’t take long for the neighbors in that crafting district and the regular clientele to miss a blacksmith shop at that location. He was approached by an artisan guild to take over the mess, so long as they helped clean it up, and take over the process as a full-fledged blacksmith. It would be a perfect front for him. Everyone around there knew him as an apprentice who psychically detailed their works… Now that this had awakened, he could harness, control, and grow this ability in secret, out in the open.
 
And grow they would, to have exceptional health.