Tom watched his backyard from his bedroom window, and then looked towards the plain white walls. He briefly pondered about his future, if not merely for what color would be appropriate for his small, drab room. It was not the biggest thing on his mind, but it was both unimportant and imminent, and while it could, Tom enjoyed the pleasure of being distracted. Only when it was the fair amount of time later, he left to his cellar kneeled at a drawer. Tom felt it was time to visit again. The drawer was small, but magnificent. It gleamed with dozens of gems and jewels. Its purpose was far more dubious. It was only a weapon rack.
A tingle ran down Tom's spine. He could feel the potency of each and every weapon it contained. Carefully, painstakingly, he removed a single, gleaming sword, his grandfather's sword.
It was simply Tom's way of remembering him.
He removed the mock ivory sheath. The sword was a masterpiece. And such a sword had a great designer.
Of course, Tom only knew the great smith by codename. The Tinker, he was called. Surely, he was the country's, no, the world's greatest creator of weapons and other armaments.
From all of the weapons he'd made, enough were featured at a particular national museum to make Tom think the curator and Tinker were the same.
Not necessarily employed by the government, he is the source of the greatest weapons for generals and even the royal family themselves. It was an honor for his grandfather to have one. Tom sharpened and then polished the great blade, which resembled a saber.
It was perfectly balanced, and at the boundary of the hilt and blade, there was a single jade gem.
Tom wasn't exactly a weapons expert, but he knew that it must've had an important function. As Tom was putting on the finishing touches, he heard the door creak. He didn't want to be interrupted.