Page 21

Chapter 20

W e gathered around the cold forge, our auras creating a kaleidoscope of colors in the dim light. Sylwen stepped forward, his starlight aura shimmering.

“In elven tradition,” he said, “we often mark new beginnings with offerings. Each person contributes something meaningful to represent their hopes for the future.”

Thyri's eyes lit up. “Ooh, I love this idea! I'll start.” She rummaged in her pockets and pulled out a small bundle of dried herbs. “Rosemary, for remembrance of where we've come from, and sage for wisdom going forward.” She tossed the herbs into the forge, her orange aura flaring brightly.

Mrs. Crumble was next, sprinkling what looked like glittering dust into the forge. “A touch of brownie magic,” she said with a wink. “For luck and protection.”

Sylwen contributed a drop of the moonwine, which sizzled as it hit the cold metal. “For clarity of vision and purpose,” he intoned.

Vorgath stepped forward, placing a small piece of metal into the forge. “Orc-forged iron,” he explained. “For strength and resilience.”

They all turned to me, expectant. But what did I have? On a whim, I reached into my pocket, and my fingers wrapped around a slim piece of metal—the spoon. The one that Mrs. Hargrave inadvertently served with tea to Tynsera Wildclaw.

“This spoon…” I offered with a sheepish smile. “For... serendipity.” I placed it gently into the forge.

Mrs. Crumble hummed approvingly, “Serendipity, yes. I like that.”

The room was silent for a few beats, each of us seemingly lost in our thoughts. Then, Vorgath moved toward the bellows, and with practiced ease, his strong arms worked the bellows, sending a gust of air into the heart of the forge. The symbols on the orc metal glowed softly, and the offerings within began to shimmer, sparking to life.

And in a quiet whoosh , a flame flickered to life in the forge.

There it was—our fire.

The colors of the flames reflected in each of our auras, and for a moment, it felt like the whole world held its breath. The forge glowed like it hadn’t in years, but it wasn’t just the warmth I felt.

It was hope. My hope.

Tears swelled in my eyes as I looked around at the people who had made this moment possible. My friends. My family.

“Looks like you’ve got a well-tended fire here,” Sylwen said quietly, his starlit aura swirling as he smiled at me. His gaze softened when it lingered on our interwoven flames.

Thyri, wiping away a dramatic tear, sniffled. “Well,” she said, “it’s about time! I was getting cold.”

The tension lightened immediately, laughter bubbling up unchecked amongst us. Even Vorgath chuckled, his deep laughter rumbling through the smithy, a sound that sent a comforting shiver down my spine. It was like the flame had reignited more than just the forge—it had brought us all a little closer together.

###

Time slipped away unnoticed after that, fueled by lively conversation and more of the delicious moonwine. To my surprise, Sylwen seemed genuinely captivated by Thyri, despite their stark differences. He listened with rapt attention as she recounted her wild escapades in the Hargrave kitchen, hanging on her every word.

When she got to the part about nearly setting the councilman's pants on fire, he interrupted her with a long-fingered hand on her arm. “While I’m no fan of the councilman, perhaps you’d be interested in learning a rune or two to prevent such mishaps in the future.”

Thyri nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “Only if you teach me how to make those elvencrusts they sell every year at the Moonshadow Celebration.”

“And what do I gain from this arrangement?” Sylwen asked, feigning a thoughtful look.

“All the stolen sweet rolls your elf heart desires?” Thyri suggested.

Sylwen chuckled. “How about friendship instead? I’d like to add a talented human chef to my collection.”

Thyri’s expression turned mock-serious as she raised an eyebrow. “Your collection?”

The room erupted in laughter, the camaraderie between them brightening the atmosphere. Their auras shimmered in response, swirling together—Thyri’s warm oranges dancing playfully with Sylwen’s cool blues, creating a beautiful contrast

As the night deepened, I settled closer to Vorgath, enjoying his warmth. Our auras also danced in unison, the vibrant reds and purples mingling as I nestled against his side, feeling safe and content. It was comforting to be surrounded by friends, their laughter echoing off the forge walls while the flames flickered, casting playful shadows around us.

Eventually, Mrs. Crumble gave a sly smile and excused herself from the group. “Time for me to get to bed,” she said, brushing a bit of ash from her apron. “Someone has to be up with young Elias first thing, and I have a feeling it won't be any of you.” With a wink, she vanished in a swirl of leaves and wildflowers.

Thyri tipped her cup despondently. “What I'd give for another glass.”

Sylwen sighed dramatically. “Alas, I don’t have any more with me. It seems the night has turned against us.”

“Well, lucky for us, I know where the councilman keeps his Elderberry wine,” Thyri said, standing abruptly. “What do you say? Are you up for a little sneaking around?”

Sylwen raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “If you were to learn a few runes, you wouldn’t have to do quite so much sneaking.”

“Why do I need to learn when I have you?” she quipped with a grin.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I fear your friendship might be more trouble than I bargained for.”

“That's probably true,” I chimed in. “Do you remember that time—”

Thyri turned to me and pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh! Don't scare off my new friend. I need him now that you're otherwise occupied.” She lifted one eyebrow and glanced meaningfully in Vorgath's direction.

Vorgath smirked. “Do not discourage her if it means I get time alone with you.”

Sylwen stood now, too, setting down his empty drinking tin and holding out his arm for Thyri. “I do believe that's our cue to make ourselves scarce,” he said.

Thyri linked her arm with Sylwen's. “Come on, then! Adventure awaits!” With that, they slipped out of the forge, their laughter dancing in the air behind them.

And suddenly, it was quiet.

With a soft grunt, Vorgath stood up, moving toward the forge to stoke the embers back to life. I watched him, mesmerized by the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin, the flickering firelight accentuating the strength in his frame. I took the opportunity to rise as well, stepping closer to the workbench to tidy up.

“Serendipity,” he said softly, echoing the word I’d tossed out earlier. “Is that all it is? Just... chance?”

I tilted my head, biting my lip as I considered him—not just the question, but the subtle shift in the air between us. “Maybe some of it,” I admitted honestly, thinking of all the thousand little moments that brought me here—to him.

“I don’t think it’s chance,” he said. “I think it’s choice. Every day. Every moment. You chose this. You chose to keep going.”

He was right. This—us—it wasn’t just some random twist of fate. I had chosen him, at the faire, in the forge, in the moments after Elias was tucked into bed, in the quiet spaces where we shared more than just work.

As I contemplated his words, my aura reached for his, tendrils unfurling like delicate fingers. They intertwined with his fiery reds and golds, drawing him closer. It felt like a physical pull as he closed the distance, stopping just inches away. I had to tilt my head back to meet the dark depths of his eyes.

“I did,” I whispered. “I chose you, Vorgath.”

His voice was thick, almost hoarse. “Do you know what that means?”

My pulse thrummed in my throat. “Tell me.”

Vorgath leaned down, and his tusks gleamed faintly in the flickering light of the forge. His breath was warm against my skin as he spoke, every word reverberating deep within me. “When an orc chooses someone, it’s not something we walk away from… It's forever.”

I didn’t hesitate. I pressed my palm against his cheek, felt the coarse hairs of his beard, the ridge of the scar that cut across his eye. “I choose you,” I repeated.

His hands gripped my waist and pulled me flush against him, like he needed the feel of my body pressed to his to understand that I was real. “Soraya, if I hurt you… If I—”

“You won’t,” I interrupted, my voice breathless but certain. “I trust you.”

Vorgath’s forehead lowered to rest against mine, his eyes closing. I tugged on his tunic, encouraging him, pulling him down to me until our lips met. His body—so large and solid, a wall of muscle against me—created this sense of safety, of being surrounded. His every touch was tender, careful, like he was afraid of how easily he could break me.

“I’m not fragile,” I whispered, my lips brushing against his ear.

He stiffened, his hand stilling on my back. “You're human.”

“But I’m not made of glass.” I leaned back, hands framing his face. “I won’t break.”

He studied me for a long, tense moment. Then his gaze darkened, a hunger sparking behind his eyes, and finally— finally —something released in him.

His lips crashed into mine, searing and intense, exactly what I craved. I arched into him, my hands tangling in his hair, tugging just hard enough to draw a low growl from his chest. He kissed me like I was his air, like he couldn’t breathe without tasting me.

The tension, the unspoken words, the simmering heat between us—all of it shattered, igniting into a blaze we couldn’t control.