The Little Ore

There once was an Ore with the name of Satetsu.

Satetsu was a clod of Iron, formless and seemingly without purpose. His days strung together as one; whether rain or shine, they all conglomerated into one bare amalgamation devoid of life or beauty.

One day, whether it was dark or light I can't remember, Satetsu was found. A man was searching about the mountain where Satetsu stayed, intending to find little Ore in need of purpose. Shortly after the man discovered Satetsu, he gently unearthed him from the only mountainside the little Ore had ever known.

The two journeyed back down the mountain, Satetsu slightly uneasy about his new friend. He wondered why the man had chosen him out of the sea of Ore on the mountain. Surely there were stronger-looking pieces than he? There had to be plenty of Ore that surpassed him in beauty and size as well! Pushing these thoughts away however, a new sense of freedom and purpose overcame him. He may not know why he had chosen him, but he trusted the steadfast spirit of the man.

Arriving at Satetsu's new haven, the man placed him on a table to rest and then went to bed himself. As young Satetsu looked around, he was astonished at his new home. He had not the slightest clue for what awaited him in the morning, but he rested in the comfort of being far from the mountain.

The morning sun shone through the windows the next morning, and Satetsu noticed. He had never paid much attention to the world around, but in that moment, the young Ore dazzled at the beauty washing over him. It was as if he was reborn into a new life, one of joy, wonder, and purpose. The man was already awake, also enjoying the beauty of light pouring through. Satetsu looked curiously at him; his demeanor revealed a sense of satisfaction in the light, seemingly as if he had created it. Walking over to the table upon which he rested, the man gently picked Satetsu up and brought him to a workbench. The man's hands were quite scarred, Satetsu noted; it was as if nails had torn them apart.

On the workbench which Satetsu now rested, tools surrounded the little Ore on all sides. Panic coerced Satetsu's whole being. In one awkward motion, he jumped from the table into what he thought would be an escape from the table and the man. Making no attempt to stop young Satetsu, the man let him leap out of sage patience.

As Satetsu looked around, he realized he had escaped the table; yet where he now stood was far worse. Flames surrounded him, painfully whipping at his petrified form.

Sometime after the little Ore leaped into the fireplace, he found himself slowly being carried out by scarred hands. The man placed Satetsu back on the table and began to hammer away at his vulnerable form. It didn't exactly feel nice, Satetsu thought, but it was far better than the fire. Moreover, each strike had the opposite effect of what he thought it would; instead of destroying him, the hammer shaped him. After a day (perhaps a season) of shaping, the man set Satetsu down to rest for a while. The little Ore was quite tired from his recent endeavors, yet also much stronger. Nonetheless, he rested again in the soft comfort of his new abode.

The next day, Satetsu awoke with a renewed sense of purpose. He was eager for the challenges he would meet, knowing he would be made stronger because of them. His gaze fixated on a furnace across the room. The heat and wild nature of its flames beckoned to him, drawing him close without raising the slightest suspicion. As he got closer, Satetsu scanned the room for Blacksmith to ensure he wouldn't be caught. The fire's name, though never revealing it, was Addiction. Satetsu wanted to dive headfirst into the furnace, but something deep in his conscience stopped him for a brief moment. Within this moment, the Blacksmith swiftly picked him up and put him as far away from the furnace as possible. There was deep concern in his eyes, concern that told the young Ore that he was not ready for this furnace. Instead, the Blacksmith took Satetsu to his workbench for a day of tempering, carefully crafting him in strong integrity for something Satetsu didn't quite understand yet. As the day closed once again, little Satetsuhagane fell fast asleep.

The following day, the little Ore woke up feeling quite mixed. Strength seemed to flow through him as adrenaline does in a warrior's veins before battle, but as he looked up at his friend the Blacksmith, he tried not to show the fear welling inside. Tension hung in the air, and Satetsu could sense it. As if knowing Satetsu's spirit, however, the Blacksmith's eyes quickly set his spirit in quiet fortitude.

Across the room, a furnace raged, looking as if it intended to devour the entire room. This furnace's name was Loss. As Satetsu's fear gravitated into the furnace, the Blacksmith picked him up and began to move towards it. Tears fell from his eyes; nothing but sorrow filled the Blacksmith's heart as he set the little Ore in front of the furnace. "This furnace will be a trial to you, my little one," The Blacksmith said. "You will feel deeper than ever before, and your heart will be tested inexhaustibly. Yet you will endure even when you feel you cannot, and I will not let this fire overcome you; instead, it will renew you." As he finished with these words, the little Ore traveled into the furnace of Loss.

Sliding into the furnace, he quickly began to choke on the air around him, feeling his breath and spirit being crushed. As time crept along, the furnace grew even hotter, the flames ripping him apart blow by blow. Satetsu couldn’t think, agony and mourning demanded every ounce of energy he had. Despite the heat battering him unceasingly, his soul was a bitter tundra of loneliness. Although he knew it not, Satetsu's impurities began to rise to the surface from within him. Pride, Insecurity, Anger, Lust. All of these wretched burdens that once hid within the little Ore were now brought outward by the fire. As Satetsu wept, Pride and its companions burned away. Finally, with Anger letting out his last scream, a familiar scarred hand pulled the little Ore from the furnace.

The Blacksmith worked diligently, forging the scorching shambles of Satetsu into form. His sharp, elongated body was now folded into purpose. As the Blacksmith let Satetsu cool, he smiled with great satisfaction at the weapon before him. The little Ore was no longer an Ore, but a blade. His color and shape told a tale of tenacity, his edge a foreboding promise against the gates of hell.

“From now on, you will be known as Tamahagene, my warrior.” The Blacksmith declared.

The blade Tamahagene lived from then on at the side of the Blacksmith, fighting against the powers of the mountain from which he came. He fought alongside his Blacksmith with valor, seeking to find other Ore in need of purposeful salvation.

Although few may have noticed, Tamahagene still endured countless furnaces even after he had taken shape. As time went on, not one furnace failed to find impurities, yet his dearest Blacksmith never left him knowing every last fault.

If you are a little Ore, perhaps a blade or a hammer now, know that the furnaces of life make you stronger. Above all, however, never lose heart knowing that the same dearest Blacksmith will never give up on forming you.

Yours truly,

The once little Ore