Page 6

This orc was huge, with broad shoulders and muscles that strained against the dark leather apron strapped across his chest. His green skin glistened faintly in the forge's firelight, and the deep lines of his face, sharp jaw, and dark beard made him look as if he were carved from stone—strong, unyielding, and timeless. There was something undeniably magnetic about him. Something powerful.

And very, very hard to look away from.

But now wasn't the time for such distractions.

Steeling myself, I approached the main entrance, where Thorne stood overseeing his apprentices. He was a stout manwith arms thick from years of swinging a hammer, his once-dark hair now streaked with silver. The deep lines around his mouth and eyes gave him a perpetually stern expression. As I grew nearer, his sharp eyes flicked toward me, and for just a moment, I thought I saw a flash of surprise there.

“Master Ironsmith,” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Mrs. Ashford,” he acknowledged curtly. “This is a surprise. What brings you here?”

“I was hoping I could speak with you about something… important,” I began, trying to find the right words.

Thorne glanced at the work being done around him before focusing back on me. “Of course,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

I hesitated, my fingers fiddling with the hem of my sleeve. “Well, you know, the forge has been empty since Kald… well, since he’s been gone,” I started, feeling the awkwardness creep into my voice. “And I was thinking…”

His expression softened, and to my surprise, a hint of understanding flickered in his eyes. “Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “Yes, of course, I should have thought of this sooner. I’ve been meaning to reach out. I’m sorry I didn’t offer assistance earlier.”

I blinked, not expecting that. “Oh, yes, um, well, thank you.”

“Of course, of course,” Thorne interrupted, glancing over his shoulder. “Tom! Come over here, lad.”

A young apprentice swaggered over, wiping his hands on his already dirty apron. He was tall and lanky, with a cocky grin. He didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes swept over me, sizing me up.

“Tom,” Thorne said, clapping the apprentice on the back, “this is Mrs. Ashford. Her husband was Kald Ashford, the blacksmith who passed in the war.”

Tom nodded, and it wasmyturn to sizehimup. His wiry build and soft hands did nothing to suggest he had any real experience behind him. What was Thorne thinking? To apprentice me to this kid?

“Well,” Thorne continued, “Tom here has been looking for space to rent. Somewhere he can really get his own work going. And your forge might be just the place. A perfect arrangement—he can handle the heavy lifting and keep things running.”

My eyes snapped to Thorne. “Wait—what?”

But the kid, Tom, was already making plans. “Yeah, I could put that old forge to good use. Probably needs a bit of a revamp, though,” he added with a casual shrug. “Maybe some upgrades to keep up with the times.”

“No,” I said firmly, cutting them both off before the conversation spiraled further out of my control. “That’s not why I’m here.”

Thorne and Tom both blinked at me, surprised by the edge in my voice.

“I’m not looking to rent out the forge,” I continued. “I wanted, well, I thought maybe I could… I mean, I want to learn. To take up the craft, you know? Get the forge running again... myself.”

Thorne’s eyebrows rose slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes as he tried to make sense of what I was saying. “Yourself?” he repeated back at me.

I nodded.

Tom let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You?” He exchanged a glance with Thorne, then shook his head, clearly amused. “You’re serious?”

“Yes,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I know it’s not what anyone would expect, but I already have everything I need. Except, well, a teacher.”

Thorne let out a small, patronizing chuckle. “Blacksmithing is no simple task. It’s grueling work, requiring strength and skillthat… well, let’s just say it’s not exactly suited to someone like you.”

Someone like me? A woman, I guessed. I forced myself to stand my ground. “I know it’s hard work, but I’m ready for that. I’m willing to put in the effort.”

Tom snickered, clearly enjoying the exchange. Thorne glanced at him, then back at me, his smile widening slightly as if he were about to indulge a child in a harmless fantasy.

“Mrs. Ashford,” he said slowly, “I understand you want to do something productive, something to fill your time, but blacksmithing isn’t for everyone. It’s not just the physical demands—though trust me, that alone would be enough to make most people think twice. It’s a man’s trade. One steeped in tradition, passed down from father to son, from master to apprentice. It’s not something you just… pick up because you want a project.”

The other apprentices, overhearing the conversation, began to murmur among themselves, their voices tinged with laughter.