Page 11

Chapter 10

T he path grew narrower as we walked, the familiar sights of Everwood slowly giving way to a more unconventional landscape. The buildings here were older, their wooden facades weathered by time but adorned with intricate carvings and symbols. Lanterns flickered with an otherworldly blue flame, casting ghostly reflections on the cobblestone streets. There was a hush here, as if the very air held its breath.

Finally, we arrived at a small, nondescript building tucked between two larger ones. The door was carved from dark wood and etched with symbols I didn’t recognize but that gave off a faint glow in the dim light. Runes, perhaps. They seemed to pulse with a quiet energy, as though the building itself was alive, watching us.

Vorgath pushed the door open without hesitation, gesturing for me to step inside first. “After you.”

I hesitated for a moment, but curiosity soon won over apprehension. As I crossed the threshold, a shimmer caught my eye—a faint ripple in the air, like heat rising from stone on a summer’s day. The air tingled as I passed through, brushing against my skin like silk. For a split second, I felt a strange resistance, as if something was probing me, searching for something deeper. Then, it released, allowing me through.

I glanced back at Vorgath, who had already stepped through with ease.

“What was that?” I asked quietly.

“Protection.” He paused, his eyes scanning the room ahead. “There are wards to keep out those with ill intent.”

I nodded, impressed but suspicious. Whoever commanded this kind of power didn’t need guards or locks, but why hide in the Shadows?

Vorgath stepped toward a low counter at the center of the room, and I followed, taking in the Runery’s wonders. Shelves that seemed to stretch up endlessly were filled with every imaginable kind of rune stone, enchanted inkwells, and ancient scrolls. The walls were adorned with hanging tapestries depicting battles and rituals, all woven with threads gleaming in the dim light. It was as if we had stepped into a secret library of magical relics hidden away from the rest of the world.

A figure appeared from behind the counter, moving with a fluid grace that made me do a double take. The elf had long, platinum hair that hung down his back like a sleek curtain, starkly contrasting his deep, rich brown skin. His pointed ears were adorned with delicate golden chains, and the robes he wore, open at the front, revealed a bare chest marked with runes etched directly into his skin, casting a soft glow on his muscular frame.

“Vorgath,” the elf greeted us. “I see you’ve brought company this time.”

Vorgath inclined his head. “Sylwen, this is Soraya Ashford, the new apprentice I mentioned.”

“So, this is your student,” Sylwen mused, studying me with an intensity that was both unnerving and mesmerizing. “A pleasure to meet you. Vorgath speaks highly of you.”

“Does he?” I tried to keep my voice light, unsure what to make of this entire situation.

I thought back to the first time I’d noticed the elven tools in Vorgath’s forge. It had struck me as unusual then, but now, seeing him here in this place, it made sense. Where others saw differences, Vorgath saw possibilities. In his forge, in his life, there was room for anyone willing to work beside him. Elves, dwarves, humans—he accepted them all with the same quiet respect, just like he accepted me.

“Indeed,” Sylwen replied, his gaze shifting to Vorgath with a knowing look. “Come, I've prepared everything as requested.”

I exchanged a questioning glance with Vorgath, but he merely nodded toward a nearby table where Sylwen laid something wrapped in a rich, crimson cloth. With delicate care, Sylwen unveiled the cloth to reveal a hammer. But not just any hammer. This one gleamed with an ethereal light, the handle carved from the finest Alderwood, tipped with silver runes spiraling down its length.

The elf and I both looked at Vorgath, but he was looking at me. “Pick it up,” he commanded.

“Me?” I asked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. What business did I have touching such a fine instrument?

But Vorgath nodded encouragingly. “It's for you, Soraya.”

My heart skipped a beat at his words. With trembling fingers, I reached out and grasped the hammer's handle. The moment my skin made contact with the wood, I felt a surge of... something. It wasn't a jolt or a shock, but rather a gentle warmth that seemed to flow from the hammer into my arm and then throughout my entire body.

The hammer, which I had expected to be heavy, felt perfectly balanced in my grip. It was as if the tool had been crafted specifically for my hand, responding to my touch in a way that felt almost alive.

“How does it feel?” Sylwen asked.

I struggled to find the right words. “It's... incredible. Like it's an extension of my arm.”

Sylwen nodded, a pleased smile playing on his lips. “Indeed. Vorgath forged this hammer himself, but he brought it to me for a special purpose. The runes you see aren't just for decoration. They're designed to focus and channel your inherent strength.”

“The runes don't make you stronger,” Vorgath explained. “They ensure that none of your strength is wasted. Every strike counts.”

I looked at him, questions bubbling up inside me, but they stalled on the tip of my tongue. His words from earlier echoed in my mind— Strength comes with time. But the heart for it—that you’ve already got. This wasn’t just a tool. It was a part of him, crafted with care and imbued with his strength. His belief in me.

“The magic within responds to you, Soraya,” Sylwen added. “It amplifies your natural abilities, allowing you to effectively channel your energy. In essence, it helps you shape your strength, much like you shape the metal in the forge.”

I hefted the hammer, marveling at how it seemed to harmonize with my movements. “It's perfect,” I whispered, overcome with gratitude. Before I could second-guess myself, I stood on my tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to Vorgath's cheek.

The moment my lips touched his skin, time seemed to slow. I was acutely aware of every point of contact between us—my lips on his cheek, my hand resting lightly on his broad chest for balance. I could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm, a rhythm that seemed to quicken ever so slightly at my touch.

As I pulled back, my lips grazed the edge of his tusk. Our eyes met, and his intense gaze made my breath catch in my throat. There was surprise there, yes, but also a heat that made my skin tingle with awareness. For a heartbeat, we stood frozen, the air between us crackling with unspoken tension. I found myself wondering what it would be like to kiss him properly, to feel those strong arms around me, to—

Sylwen cleared his throat softly, breaking the spell. I stepped back, my cheeks burning as I remembered we weren't alone. Vorgath’s expression flickered—surprise, something softer, before he drew himself back to his usual steady composure.

“I see the hammer has found its true wielder,” Sylwen said, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

I clutched the hammer to my chest. “Yes,” I managed to say, my voice sounding breathless even to my own ears. “Yes, it has.”

As we left the Runery, the atmosphere between Vorgath and me was thick with unspoken emotions. It wasn’t discomfort or regret, but a fear of how real this was starting to feel—at least for me. Each moment was building on the last, creating something between us that felt as if it had always been there, waiting. I wasn’t certain where it was leading, and choosing to follow felt as natural as breathing—but that didn’t make it any less terrifying.

We walked in silence for a while, the distant sounds of the marketplace growing louder as we approached. Just as the silence was becoming unbearable, I cleared my throat.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. “We could grab some food.”

Vorgath's steps slowed, and he looked down at me. “I'm not sure that's wise,” he answered. “The locals might not appreciate...”

“I know a place,” I said. “You'll be welcome there—I promise.”

Vorgath gave me a long, searching look before nodding. “Lead the way, then.”

With my new hammer swinging at my side, I led the way through the winding streets toward the Heart District. Here, townhouses with rooftop gardens clustered around communal squares, and I could smell fresh bread baking from a nearby bakery. The air hummed with the lively chatter of tradespeople, children’s laughter, and the occasional musician strumming a lute.

As we ventured deeper, I noticed that the curious glances and whispers were fewer here. The Heart District was known for its diversity, and we hardly stood out. Even Vorgath seemed to feel it—his shoulders eased after the second time a passing merchant greeted him without a second thought.

Finally, we arrived at our destination. The Cozy Hearth Inn stood before us, its weathered sign swinging gently in the breeze. Ivy clung to the stone walls, and the steady murmur of voices within hinted at a lively gathering.

I turned to Vorgath with a smile. “Here we are. The best food and company in all of Everwood.”

Vorgath raised an eyebrow. “Bold claim.”

“Just you wait,” I said, pushing open the door. “You'll see.”