Online: Eiodolon Realms – Child of Ruin-Chapter 44 - 43 — The Door That Shouldn’t Be Opened

Chapter 44: Chapter 43 — The Door That Shouldn’t Be Opened

Three days had passed since Eron had earned the old man’s grudging praise.Three days of heat, hammering, and the unending scent of burnt metal that clung to his clothes and hair like a second skin.

But the words the old man had thrown at him that day, ’Never come to my house again’ still clawed at the back of his mind.

It wasn’t the tone that bothered him. The old man cursed like he breathed. No, it was the fear in his eyes when Eron had shown up unannounced. The way his hand had twitched toward the door in the corner of his house before shoving Eron away.

That door...It was kinda plain outside of the magical engraving on it. Yet somehow it radiated an invisible weight, as though it guarded something far beyond the worth of the rusty hinges it hung upon.

Eron had told himself he wouldn’t pry. He had told himself the forge was all that mattered. But telling himself something and actually believing it were two entirely different things.

Now, as the sun dipped low and the day’s last rays slanted across the illusionary cobbled street outside the forge, Eron stood wiping sweat from his brow. The old man had gone to fetch something from the market—or so he claimed.

This was his chance.

He lingered outside the workshop, pretending to tidy a few tools in case anyone passed by. Inside his chest, his heart pounded hard enough that he was sure the neighbors could hear it.

"It’s just a door." he muttered under his breath.The words didn’t help.

The old man’s house was quiet, strangely so without the usual clanging of hammers and the grumbling that came with them. The smell of scorched coal still lingered faintly, but underneath it was another scent he couldn’t quite place... a faint metallic tang, different from steel or iron. Something sharper.

Step by cautious step, he moved across the creaking wooden floor. The forge was separated from the living quarters by a simple archway. Beyond that, a narrow corridor led to a small kitchen, a side room, and—there it was.

The door.

It wasn’t locked—not visibly—but the iron latch seemed... heavier than it should have been, as if years of secrets had soaked into its grain. The wood itself was darker than the rest of the house, as though stained by shadow instead of time.

He reached out. His hand hovered just above the latch.Sweat prickled his palms.

"What could he be hiding?" he thought. "Rare ore? Old weapons? Maybe an unfinished masterpiece? Or..."A sudden shiver ran down his spine. "Something dangerous."

The floor creaked behind him. Eron froze.

He spun—only to see the hallway empty The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. "Stop jumping at shadows," he told himself.

Still, he knew lingering here was dangerous. The old man could return at any moment.

Yet the pull of curiosity was too strong. He placed his fingers on the latch, ready to lift it. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

His hand hovered over the handle.

Turn it. See what’s inside.

He gripped it and tried.

Nothing. The handle wouldn’t budge, as if the door had fused with the frame.

He frowned and pushed harder. No movement. He tried pulling instead, but the result was the same.

It wasn’t locked in the usual way. Something else was keeping it shut.

That’s when he heard it—the faintest whisper of movement behind him.

"Eron!" The old man’s voice boomed like a hammer striking an anvil.

Eron flinched so hard he nearly fell backward.

The old man’s heavy boots thudded across the floor, each step making the boards groan. His eyes locked on Eron immediately. And they weren’t just angry—they were... sharp. Piercing. Like they could strip away every excuse before it left Eron’s lips.

"What the hell are you doing?" he barked.

"I—uh—I was just—"

"Just what? Polishing my door?" The sarcasm dripped like molten slag.

Eron’s mouth opened, then closed. Words failed him.

The old man’s gaze flicked to the latch, then back to Eron. His jaw tightened. "Don’t you ever dare to touch that door."

His voice was low now, but there was a weight to it that made the air feel heavier. "You think the forge is dangerous? That door leads to something you can’t even begin to handle. You want to ruin yourself? Go ahead. But not under my roof."

Eron backed away, shame and frustration battling inside him. But he couldn’t stop himself from stealing one last glance at the door.

The old man caught it. His lips curled into a grimace."You’re worse than a stray dog sniffing at a meat rack," he muttered. "Come on. Back to the workshop. You’re not getting any money to stand here drooling over what’s none of your damn business."

The old man’s jaw tightened. "Curiosity is the first step toward stupidity. And stupidity gets you killed."

"I wasn’t going to—"

"Weren’t going to what? Open it? Walk in? Poke your nose into something that doesn’t belong to you?" His tone sharpened with every word. "I told you never to come to my house without reason. I told you not to meddle."

Eron opened his mouth to protest, but the old man’s glare cut him off.

"You think because you forged one half-decent piece of armor you’ve earned the right to pry into my life?"

"No! I—"

"Then don’t. That door isn’t for you."

The old man’s words were like hammer blows. Eron felt heat rising in his chest—part shame, part anger, part... frustration.

But before he could speak again, the old man turned sharply. "Come," he said curtly. "If you’re going to waste my time, at least waste it in the forge where it counts."

....................................

The forge was already hot from the earlier work, but the old man wasted no time stoking the fire higher. He tossed Eron a pair of tongs. "Grab the tools from the side shelf. No, not that one—the other one. Copper-steel blend. We’re making a shield today."

Eron obeyed, though his mind kept drifting back to the door. The billet was heavier than expected, and he nearly dropped it.

The old man caught the movement. "Hands steady, boy! That’s not a loaf of bread you can drop on the floor and brush off."

They worked for hours—heating, hammering, shaping. The old man’s corrections were constant.

"Strike with the wrist, not with your damned elbow."

"Angle the edges correctly. You want symmetry, not a strange shape."

"By the gods, did your mother teach you to breathe this loud?"

And yet... there was something different about his tone tonight. The insults were almost rhythmic, like they kept pace with the work. The old man’s hands moved with a speed and precision that made the shaping process look effortless.

Eron tried to keep up, mirroring each motion. Every time he faltered, the old man was there to snap at him—but then show him the right way with a flick of the hammer or a twist of the tongs.

When the shield finally cooled, Eron turned it over in his hands. It wasn’t perfect, but the curves were even, the rivet holes clean.

The old man gave it a long look, then grunted. "Better." He didn’t elaborate, just tossed Eron a rag and went to store the piece.

As they tidied up, Eron’s curiosity burned hotter than the forge fire. He wanted to ask about the door, but the old man’s earlier reaction still echoed in his ears.

Instead, he just nodded when the old man said, "Same time tomorrow. And don’t wander where you’re not wanted."

Eron left the forge that night with a storm in his head. The door was still there. The secret was still there.

And sooner or later, he was going to find out what it was.