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Vorgath's presence at my side was a constant, his powerful form moving with purpose as he hurled bucket after bucket at the flames. Our eyes met briefly in the chaos, and I saw my own worry reflected there. Without a word, he nodded, a silent reassurance that I wasn't sure I entirely believed.

“Keep it coming!” someone shouted, and I forced myself to move.

Chapter 23

As dawn broke, casting a pale light over the smoldering ruins of the forge, a hollow ache settled in my chest. The structure still stood, but just barely. Charred beams stretched upwards, looking like the bones of something long dead. Metal shards glinted dully in the debris. The walls were coated in soot, the stones cracked from the heat. Smoke still curled lazily from the scorched wood, the faint smell of ash hanging in the damp morning air.

I stood there, arms limp at my sides, staring at the wreckage. The thought of trying to fix it felt insurmountable. I wanted to collapse to the ground and let the ash swallow me whole. But I couldn’t even summon the energy to cry. It was as though the fire had burned out whatever spark had been keeping me going.

The light touch of a hand on my arm jolted me back to the present. Thyri stood beside me, her face drawn and streaked with soot. She didn’t speak right away; she just surveyed thescene with a quiet intensity that was so unlike her usual vibrant energy.

“What happened?” she asked at last, her voice barely more than a whisper.

I swallowed hard, the acrid taste of smoke still clinging to my throat.

“I don't know,” I rasped, but even as the words left my mouth, a cold certainty settled in my gut. This wasn’t an accident. It had to be Thorne or one of his lackeys, eager to remind me of my place and wipe away everything I’d fought for. I just had no idea his spite ran so deep.

Without a word, I stepped forward, toward the heart of the forge, where the destruction seemed worst.

The moment I moved, I felt Vorgath’s hand around my wrist. “Soraya, it's unstable,” he said quietly. “Stay back.”

I twisted out of his grip, my frustration bubbling into anger. “Just leave me alone.” The words ripped out of me before I could stop them, harsher than I meant. I didn’t look back to see his reaction; I just pushed forward, deeper into the wreckage.

The debris crunched under my feet, each step sending up little puffs of ash, coating my skin and clothes in a fine, gray film. I pushed aside a fallen beam, ignoring the splinters that dug into my palms. My eyes darted around, searching for anything salvageable. My foot caught on something, and I stumbled, catching myself on a scorched workbench. As I steadied myself, my hand brushed against something cool and solid. I looked down, and there it was—the hammer Vorgath had gifted me. It was blackened by the flames, its handle scarred, but still whole.

I picked it up, feeling its familiar weight in my hand. Tears pricked at my eyes as I clutched it to my chest.

“How did I let this happen?” I whispered to myself, the guilt rising like bile in my throat.

I squeezed my eyes shut, clutching the hammer so hard my knuckles ached. This place had been my lifeline, proof that I could rebuild and protect Elias’s future. But now, looking at the charred remains felt like a cruel reminder that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep the world from crumbling around me.

Standing in the ruins of everything I’d worked for, I wanted to scream at the universe for being so unfair. But more than anything, I wanted to believe we could still fix this. That somehow, against all odds, we could find a way out of this nightmare.

I looked at Vorgath, my voice raw and unsteady. “What am I going to do?”

“There is something I need to tell you,” he said, his words careful and measured.

The hammer suddenly felt heavy in my hands. “What is it?” I asked.

Vorgath's jaw clenched, his eyes darting around the ruined forge before settling back on me. “The orc who confronted me at the inn—Dregor.”

My stomach dropped. “What about him?”

“During the war, my brother killed Dregor's son. I had the chance to end Gorkath’s life, to prevent more bloodshed. But I couldn't. I let him go.”

I clutched the hammer tighter, my knuckles turning white. Dregor’s mockery from the tavern echoed in my mind, his accusation of treachery.Grakhul. Traitor.

“Dregor blames me for his son's death,” Vorgath continued, his voice tight. “He believes if I had killed my brother earlier, his son would still be alive. And now... I suspect this is his doing.”

The memories of Dregor’s mockery, Thorne’s disdain, and the precariousness of it all crashed over me like a wave. Dregor hated him. Thorne hated me. Everything felt like it was hangingon a dangerous precipice, and I was scared. Scared of losing everything again, losing Elias, losing Vorgath, losing the fragile hope I’d dared to hold on to. My chest tightened as the fear clawed at me, suffocating.

“Why can’t we just have a moment of peace?” I snapped.

His eyes flickered, and I could see the turmoil there, the struggle to find the right words. I hadn't intended to hurt him, but I felt... lost. Torn between my gratitude and love for him and the gnawing realization that I was standing in ruins. Again.

“I’m trying to fix it, Soraya. But I—”

“Fix it?” I laughed, the sound sharp and jagged. “Can you fix this?” I gestured to the charred wreckage around us. “I finally let myself believe that I could have something again. Something more than just survival. And now look.” My throat tightened as my voice wavered. “I thought I could build a life again, but it just... burns.”