Magical Toolmaker Dahlia

Volf left the Green Tower, returning to the castle in the early hours of the morning. He stopped at the gates to have his glasses inspected and registered. It was a fairly quick process. According to the inspector, efforts to develop glasses with concealment magic like these had been underway for a little while now, with some good results. Thankfully, this meant that Volf was not quizzed on where he’d acquired his pair. The inspector did, however, discover something unusual about Volf’s glasses. As it turned out, their enchantment only worked on Volf. When the inspector tried them on, their only effect on his appearance was a slight difference in eye color from the tinted glass. He could only put it down to Volf having such extraordinary eyes to begin with.

“I’ll bet they only work on pretty boys,” one of the soldiers commented, at which everyone had a hearty laugh.

With that resolved, Volf went straight to his room in the barracks to rest, but he found himself awake again after only a couple of hours. After a quick wash in the bathhouse, Volf got dressed, put on the enchanted glasses, and headed back into town. Volf made for the Central District, where the streets were always busy. It was just around the time the morning market opened for business. Vegetables and grains were piled high in the storefronts, along with gleaming heaps of fresh meat and fish upon slabs of ice, and bundles of flowers in every color. At every turn, a potent mélange of fragrant spices assaulted his nostrils. Even at this early hour, shoppers jostled cheek by jowl along the lively street. There were countless voices hawking, haggling, greeting, and chattering; they flooded Volf’s ears in a great wave of noise.

The young knight pushed up on the bridge of his glasses once before striding into the throng. As he moved through the crowd, Volf passed by all kinds of people, yet not a single pair of eyes lingered upon him. Even when someone did occasionally glance his way, perhaps because of his height or his unusual colored glasses, their interest was soon drawn elsewhere. There were no lustful gazes, no intense stares, no rude gawking. There was just the street. Just the crowd. To at last be able to mingle with the townsfolk without drawing attention was an exhilarating feeling. Through anyone else’s eyes, the scene would have seemed utterly ordinary, but Volf’s “ordinary” had always been different from other people’s.

Feeling for the first time as though he were a part of this city, Volf walked on, eventually arriving at the park he and Dahlia had visited yesterday. Here and there along the street, a few vendors were busily readying their stalls for the day ahead, but Volf saw no one else within the park. He wandered along slowly, taking in the lush greenery and the fragrance of the flowers, as he made his way to the same picnic bench where he’d enjoyed lunch with Dahlia. Volf leaned back and raised his eyes to the sky. It was a great expanse of blue today, unbroken by a single wisp of cloud. The tinted lenses added another shade of intensity to that dazzling blue. It stung Volf’s eyes until they watered, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

Since he was a small child, Volf had been capable in just about all things except magic. As the fourth son of Earl Scalfarotto, he achieved what was expected of him in his studies, swordsmanship, and etiquette without any particular difficulties. Born to the earl’s third wife, a woman without noble rank, he was always conscious never to draw attention away from his elder brothers. The earl saw to it that Volf’s mother was provided for in every way, but now and then, the young Volf would catch her staring wistfully out the window. Before marrying, his mother had been a guard to a duchess. Seemingly, his father had been very insistent in his desire to wed her, and it had been her family, rather than she herself, who had approved the match. What power and wealth she would be marrying into, everyone had told her. She would rather have stayed a knight.

Volf’s mother was supremely gifted in water magic. She was known to fight with a blade of solid ice that she could summon at will. She was also a very beautiful woman, with lustrous black hair and skin as pale and unblemished as newly fallen snow. His father had no doubt expected her to give birth to a child with even greater magical prowess and particular talent in water magic. Failing that, he would have been satisfied with a beautiful girl who would be eminently marriageable once she came of age, even if her magical power was less than impressive. Instead, he got Volf, a child without a single iota of magical talent in any of the five schools prized by the aristocracy. Volf’s striking beauty only added insult to injury. If only he’d been a girl, those looks might have secured his future, but they were useless, wasted on a son. His father had never taken much interest in him, and Volf had no particular memories of any meaningful conversations with the man.

“Your strengthening spells will serve you well as a knight, Volfred. That is what you will become,” his mother had told him.

And so, Volf’s training in swordsmanship began. His mother was a harsh teacher, not sparing him despite his tender age. Yet, no matter how skillfully he swung his sword, he knew he would never compare with his older brothers, who aspired to be great mages. He learned to empty his mind and absorb himself completely in his training. Perhaps in an effort to encourage him, his mother often read him tales of valiant knights. The young Volf was captivated by the magical swords that appeared in those stories. He could not use magic, but a magical blade was within his grasp. If only he could wield one of those, one day he might become even mightier than his mystic knight mother, stronger than anyone—an indomitable hero. That was the dream Volf cherished—a dream that all too soon would be shattered.

When Volf was in elementary school, he and his mother left on a trip across the earl’s domain, along with the earl’s first wife and her son, Volf’s eldest brother. The entourage included several carriages and ample guards. They should have been safe. However, not far from the royal capital, the party came under attack from a large gang of bandits. Volf’s mother hid him beneath the seats of the carriage and leaped outside. Men’s screams rent the air, blasts of fire magic roared, blades clashed—then, quite suddenly, the sounds died away. When Volf dared to peek out of the carriage window, he saw his mother in front of the first wife’s carriage with a blade through her shoulder.

In the wall of Volf’s carriage was a longsword for self-defense. Gritting his chattering teeth, the young boy reached out, seized the hilt in his trembling hands, and jumped down from the carriage. By the time he reached his mother, there was nothing left of her but a body hacked in two upon the ground. He had no memory of the sound that tore from his throat; he didn’t know whether it was a scream, a howl of rage, or a wail of grief. From that point on, his memory began to fragment. With blade in hand, he’d whirled among the men as if possessed; his vision was drenched in crimson, then plunged into impenetrable darkness.

When Volf came to, he was lying on a treatment bed in the temple. He remembered finding his arms and right leg oddly clean and unmarked. His father, sitting at his bedside, told him of his mother’s death and that the first wife and his older brother were safe.

“You fought well,” he said, and hugged Volf so tightly he could barely breathe.

That was the first and only time in his life his father embraced him.

If he’d gotten out of the carriage sooner, if he’d only been stronger, would his mother still have died? Even without any magic power of his own, if he’d wielded a magical sword that day, would he have been able to save her?

Volf spent several days at the temple, doing little more than weeping in the arms of the maid attending him. When he finally returned, it was to a changed house. The father of the earl’s second wife had passed away from illness, and her son, the second eldest, had fallen from his horse during a long ride and died from his injuries. To grieve her father and son, the second wife had gone away and entered a convent. Even at that age, Volf understood well what that meant. People were to be feared more than any sword, and his father more than most. That fact alone was seared into the boy’s mind.

As he grew into a young man, unsettled and lost in life, Volf became aware of a change in the women—and some of the men—around him. He had soon grown sick of the lustful gazes, persistent stares, and unabashed propositions he was assailed with. Jealous men began to insult and belittle him, any friendships he made were soon in tatters, and he was frequently entangled in misunderstandings. Eventually, he lost the will to seek out new friends or bother righting people’s misconceptions. His only refuge was in training with his sword, and he dedicated himself to it wholeheartedly.

When Volf joined the royal knights, he was told that his noble birth would mean nothing within their ranks. He applied to join the Order of Beast Hunters as a Scarlet Armor. The role was ideal for him, he felt. The danger never fazed him, for he knew there was no one in the world who would mourn his loss. From time to time, he joined his comrades to enjoy good drinks and good food, but he continued to devote most of his spare hours to training. He thought life would go on this way until he was either slain in battle by a monster or retired from the knights’ ranks. Yet Volf still harbored a dream that pursued him like a curse or an unfaltering prayer. Even now, he yearned for a magical sword. With such a sword in his hand, perhaps he could even best his mother, the mystic knight. Perhaps, the next time the nightmare of that day haunted his sleep, he could finally save her. But Volf knew in his heart that that dream would never come true.

Volf removed his glasses briefly before sliding them back on again. Every time he looked at them, he was reminded of a certain magical toolmaker. The day he’d finally stumbled out of the forest after falling from the sky with the wyvern, he’d been saved by a young man who called himself “Dali.” The conversation they had was such a joy that Volf was left determined to see Dali again. His wish was soon granted, and the next time they met, they once again talked of magical swords and tools, enjoyed fine food, and raised many a glass to each other. Simply being in the company of that young woman—as she had turned out to be—was a genuine pleasure.

Dali—that is, Dahlia Rossetti—was a magical toolmaker. Volf had watched the sweat pour from her forehead like a waterfall as she’d enchanted the lenses in his glasses. As it had threatened to trickle into her eyes, she’d wiped it away with a sleeve, with no regard for gentility. Even as her makeup ran, her gaze never wavered from her work. Volf had been utterly captivated by the sight of her. Never in his life had he seen a woman look so earnest and so beautiful.

At the end of it, she had handed him these glasses. The lenses, enchanted with the magic of fairy glass, had shown Volf the world through the eyes of an ordinary man. They had allowed him, for the first time in his life, to blend into the streets of the royal capital. Though they had met only three times, Dahlia had changed his world. However, Volf desired nothing more from her than friendship. He wished only to remain by her side; to laugh and talk with her. He wanted to support her in all her toolmaking endeavors. Anything she desired, he wanted to give her. He was resolved to protect her from anything or anyone that would do her harm.

But this wasn’t love. He had no wish to become Dahlia’s lover. Entering into that kind of relationship would surely mean they would part one day. It could even lead to him hurting her. Dahlia felt the same way; she didn’t care to be seduced by him. That miraculous magical toolmaker, who had never once looked at him with eyes of lust, had sought nothing more than to protect him as a friend. It was as a friend that he wished to be there beside her, harboring no burdensome, complicated feelings, only friendship and respect.

Volf once again looked up at the sky. Through the tinted lenses, it was indescribably blue. Very soon, the dazzling sun would rise over the horizon. As he gazed skyward, the young man was unaware of what sparkled beneath his glasses. Shining in his golden eyes was the tender look of love.

It was just after midday, and Dahlia was in her workshop, checking over the sheets of waterproof cloth she’d prepared for the Couriers’ Guild when she heard the bell at her gates. Guessing it must be Irma, she emerged from the tower to see Volf, who’d only left in the early hours this morning. She noticed immediately that he was wearing his enchanted glasses.

“Sorry to drop in on you like this. I wanted to pay for these glasses as soon as I could.”

Volf’s words tumbled out uncharacteristically quickly. He handed Dahlia a pouch of gold coins and a leather folder. She wished he wouldn’t look so much like a dog who’d just fetched her a ball. She cocked her head in puzzlement—was he simply that grateful for the glasses?

“I thought it over and decided to get a scrivener to draw this up for me,” Volf explained with a smile. “The last thing I want to do is cause any trouble for a dear friend.”

“Don’t tell me you...”

With a feeling of utter dread, Dahlia slowly opened the document to see the words: “Dahlia Rossetti will be recognized as a friend of equal status and permitted to speak freely without fear of censure.” This declaration was followed by paragraphs and paragraphs of explication that took up not one but two sheets of parchment. Dahlia balked at the prospect of reading it all. Now you’ve done it. It wasn’t the most eloquent response, but it was all that came to mind. As she glanced down at the scrivener’s signature, she was perplexed to recognize that of Dominic’s from the Merchants’ Guild. How was she supposed to look him in the eye the next time she saw him? How would she explain? Dahlia longed to go crawl underneath her bed and hide.

“I...can’t believe you actually did it. Whyever did you go to the Merchants’ Guild?”

“I knew a scrivener who’s used to dealing with nobles would read far too much into it and make things complicated. So, I went to the Merchants’ Guild and explained to them, ‘I want to consult this magical toolmaker about some orders and need her to be able to speak freely with me.’ This man, Dominic, agreed to arrange it for me.”

“Oh. I see.”

It was a plausible enough explanation. She could only pray that Dominic had bought it.

“By the way, Dominic recommended I make an investment in the Rossetti Trading Company. What do you think? I’d do it by the book, of course, through the Merchants’ Guild.”

“What?”

What would Dominic say a thing like that for? Dahlia was baffled. She already had sufficient investors and wasn’t looking to increase the company’s capital any further at the moment. She’d only set it up to help with procuring materials.

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to bribe you into developing that new waterproof cloth or enchanted swords. If there’s a chance you’ll come up with more incredible inventions like these glasses, then I’m more than happy to support you. I have some savings I don’t really need anyway. Plus, I heard you’ll have a better chance of getting your hands on rare materials if you have more nobles among your investors.”

His reasoning was sound, Dahlia had to admit. From Dominic’s perspective, both she and Volf must have seemed little more than children. No doubt he was simply trying to look after her. If Volf invested, the Scalfarotto name could open up many new procurement possibilities to her. When she thought of it that way, it seemed foolish to refuse. After all, when it came to appreciating magical materials, she and Volf were birds of a feather. Well, they were perched in the same tree, at any rate.

“Understood. Then I’ll accept your investment with gratitude. I promise to do the best work I can so you see a good return.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry for springing it on you. I’ll arrange the payment with the guild as soon as I can. Also, I want you to let me know if you ever run into trouble, whether it’s to do with me or not. My home address and the barracks’ address are both included in that document. I’m a royal knight and a member of the Scalfarotto family, after all; may as well make good use of the name.”

“But Volf, you’re going to become a commoner someday. Isn’t that a bit of an abuse of power?”

“Not at all. As long as I still live in my father’s house, I’ll just be, ah...exercising my privilege.”

This man had a lovely face but a capricious character. In contrast to the care and kindness he showed Dahlia, there was his mischievous side that loved nothing more than to tease and poke fun at people. At times he was like a gentle dog, at others as carefree as any commoner, and now and then, she saw that darkness in his eyes that she’d come to associate with the nobility. He was utterly unreadable. For the sake of her sanity, she knew she had best give up on trying to read him and just accept this strange bundle of contradictions called Volf.

“Dahlia, I’m truly grateful. Thank you. For everything,” Volf said as he suddenly bent over in a deep bow.

It felt like this young noble had been bowing to her, a mere commoner, nonstop since yesterday. Just as she opened her mouth to implore him to stand up straight, he did just that, looking down at her with a sunny, boyish smile.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am. Just by putting these on, I can walk around wherever I want. No one calls out to me; no one stares at me. I don’t get any men sneering at me or women asking my name. I walked here all the way from the castle today and wasn’t stopped once.”

“I’m so glad.”

She was already familiar with Volf’s struggles, but hearing him speak like that tugged at her heartstrings. She hoped he would use those glasses to explore the city to his heart’s content.

“I hate to ask, but I think I would like a second pair after all, in case these break,” Volf said apologetically. “I don’t expect you to make them right away, of course. I saw how hard it was on you. But I would like to put in the order. I don’t mind how much it costs.”

“No problem. I’ll find out where I can procure some more fairy glass and let you know as soon as I’ve calculated the costs. What color would you like? I used a faint blue-gray for that pair, but we can do something different this time if you’d prefer.”

The blue-gray lenses and fairy glass had turned Volf’s golden eyes green. Perhaps for his next pair of glasses, she could choose a different color of glass and imbue the fairy glass with a different image. The big question, however, was whose eyes she should model them after this time.

“I’ll stick with the same color. This green’s quite similar to yours, I noticed.”

“I think we should pick a different color! A totally different one!”

“Wait, no! I like this one!”

Purely out of embarrassment, Dahlia tried to make him change his mind, but Volf was having none of it. He sounded so much like a little child desperate to have his way, she couldn’t help laughing.

“I was only joking, don’t worry. There are lots of people with green eyes, after all.”

“Right, got it.”

“Shall I put the kettle on?”

“Oh, no thanks. I can see you’re working; I don’t want to get in your way. I’ll come by some other time. As soon as I know when I’ll have time off, I’ll send a messenger to let you know. I’d love for us to meet then, if you don’t have other plans.”

“Sounds good. What do you say we have a go at enchanting a shortsword next time?”

“Well, now I really can’t wait.”

It was funny; both of them now took it for granted that they would meet again and eagerly anticipated it. They’d met a mere three times before today, yet Dahlia felt as though she’d known Volf for years.

“All right, then. See you soon!” Volf said with a grin.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Volf removed his glasses for a moment and gazed squarely at Dahlia with his deep golden eyes. It was the kind of gaze usually reserved for someone very dear, and for a moment, Dahlia almost believed she was. The power of this man’s beauty couldn’t be taken lightly.

“Thank you once again. From now on, I can walk through town to get here on my own, all thanks to these.”

Volf slowly slid the glasses back on and smiled before returning back the way he’d come. Dahlia watched him go, noting the spring in his step. Once he was out of sight, she returned to her workshop. Today, she’d finish working on that consignment of waterproof cloth, and in the evening, she’d open a bottle of red wine and sip away while she refined plans she’d drawn up for some new magical tools.

After all, she was a magical toolmaker. Almost since the day she was born, she’d been at her craftsman father’s side, watching him work. All these years, she’d aspired to follow in his footsteps. Carlo Rossetti’s magical tools changed so many lives and brought smiles to households across the land. She’d always been so proud of him and respected him deeply. She wanted to uphold his legacy by continuing to craft the magical tools he’d invented. She had always hoped to one day become as fine a toolmaker as her father had been. At the same time, she had her own identity and pride as a craftswoman. She was driven to bring her own unique creations into the world—tools that would make people’s lives easier and make them smile. She wanted to be known not as Carlo’s daughter but as Dahlia, a magical toolmaker whose works brought joy into people’s lives. If she’d ever said all this to her father, she knew just how he’d have reacted. “Go on, then,” he’d have said with a smile. “You can do it!”

Society didn’t have much regard for the magical toolmaking craft. She’d been told that the likes of her were nothing compared to mages and alchemists. She couldn’t slay monsters with impressive blasts of fire or ice. She couldn’t heal people’s wounds. She couldn’t brew potions or conjure up precious metals like an alchemist. Even when she made something she was proud of, people would often question what the point of it was. Sometimes people wouldn’t read the instructions properly and dismissed her tools as useless or too much hassle. She’d been called tight-fisted over the prices of her magical tools and the arrangements in her contracts. Developing new tools felt like fumbling in the dark at times; her experiments were far more likely to fail than succeed. Sometimes, when looking at a pile of useless prototypes, she almost lost the will to go on. However carefully she performed her enchantments, she was constantly at risk of wasting her expensive materials, and she often did.

In spite of all this, there were many times in Dahlia’s life when she felt immensely glad to be a magical toolmaker. She was so happy each time someone smiled at her and told her how useful one of her tools had been to them. There was no better feeling than knowing a tool she’d created had made someone happier, even if only a little bit. On days like those, she was reminded why she could never give up this craft. Today was one of those days.