Page 30

Chapter 29

W hen Thorne was gone, I lingered by the forge, my gaze falling to the unfinished silverware on the bench. I’d been stealing moments to work on it while rebuilding the forge, and with my mind racing from the conversation with Thorne, sleep felt like a distant possibility. I was wide awake, and my fingers itched for the steady rhythm of the work, for the distraction it offered, for the calm focus that always came when I had metal under my hands.

I settled onto the bench, tools laid out: chisel, etching needle, a tiny hammer for the finer work. The silver gleamed under the forge light, ready for the last details. Tynsera had asked for something elaborate and elegant—a set that would impress with both function and beauty.

As I leaned over the silverware, I carefully lowered the etching tool, the tip kissing the silver, my mind already mapping out the curves of the petals. With steady pressure, I began the delicate etching, each line forming part of a vine twining around an intricate rose, the kind Elias and Mrs. Crumble always tried to grow in our little garden but never quite managed.

Elias. My thoughts drifted to my son, fast asleep, safe in the warmth of our home. The image of him brought a calm to my heart. He deserved this—peace, stability. He was too young to understand the struggle that had come before, but I thought of the example I was setting for him, the strength I hoped he’d see in me.

I was showing him that no matter how many times life tried to tear us down, we could still rebuild.

We could still create something beautiful from the wreckage.

A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I imagined him growing older, taking up his own tools, just as his father had once done. Maybe one day, we could work side by side. The thought filled me with a quiet pride.

This was what I wanted for him—for us. A future where the shadows of the past no longer loomed so large, where I wasn’t driven solely by fear of loss but by hope for what we could create together.

I pressed the chisel into the metal, completing another vine as the thought lingered. We were getting there, little by little. The forge was almost rebuilt, Elias was thriving, and Vorgath...

My hand slipped slightly, and I cursed under my breath.

I adjusted my grip, but my focus had already wandered, much like it always did whenever he came to mind. It wasn’t exactly helpful for the fine, detailed work in front of me, but there it was. No matter how much I tried to concentrate on anything else, it was like my thoughts kept circling back to that orc, dragging me off course. It was almost ridiculous how easily I could picture him, sprawled out under the blankets, his broad shoulders barely fitting into the narrow space.

I exhaled, shaking my head with a rueful smile. He wasn’t what I’d ever expected—not in the way he looked, certainly not in the way the world saw him—but in all the ways that mattered, he was everything I hadn’t realized I needed.

It was almost funny to think that every twist and turn in my life, every heartbreak and misstep, had led to this moment. To an orc—once a fierce warrior—now dozing in my bed.

The absurdity of it made me laugh softly to myself. What were the chances that after so much loss, I’d find someone like him? That I’d find not just comfort, but connection, in someone so different from anyone I’d ever known? He saw me, truly saw me, and in a way I hadn’t expected, I saw him too.

We were both broken in our own ways, both shaped by loss and war, but we had found each other in the aftermath, and somehow, that felt like a gift.

Time passed almost unnoticed as I worked. My neck ached from bending over the workbench, and my eyes stung from staring too closely at the delicate lines. Yet, there was still a quiet satisfaction in the rhythm of the work. Each stroke of the chisel against the silver felt like my own heartbeat steadying, calming.

For just a moment, I allowed myself to believe that this peace could last forever.

Then, I heard it.

“Mama!”

I froze.

A single, sharp breath caught in my chest as Elias’s voice echoed from outside. My heart slammed against my ribcage, jolting me upright, the chisel slipping from my grasp and clattering to the floor.

“Mama! Help!”

It came again, louder—more desperate.

Every muscle in my body tensed as I bolted from the bench. My mind raced, too many thoughts colliding at once— Why is he outside? He was in bed. He should be inside. What’s happened? Is he hurt? Is—

I practically tore the door off its hinges as I sprinted out of the forge and into the coolness of the early morning air. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure it would burst. My feet slipped on the dewy grass as I ran, barefoot and frantic, toward the sound of Elias’s voice.

“Elias!” My throat burned as I called out his name again, hands cupped around my mouth to amplify the sound. “Elias, where are you?”

The air around me was unnaturally silent, a thick, suffocating weight filling the space between shallow breaths. The village was still, asleep, not even a hint of distant life, as if the world had folded inward. I felt a prickle of unease at the back of my mind, a whisper that something wasn’t right.

His voice came again, but farther this time.

How did he get so far? Why didn’t I hear him leave the house?

I moved faster.

My legs carried me into the thicket outside the village, the trees pressing in closer, the familiar paths becoming a blur as panic seized reason. The underbrush scratched at my legs, and my lungs burned from the sprint, but I didn’t care. Not when my son— my son —was out here, somewhere, needing me.

How could I have been so careless?

The thought slammed into me with the same force as my pounding heartbeat, guilt gripping tight around my chest. I had let my guard down. I’d allowed myself to get comfortable, to feel safe, to believe—just for a moment—that everything was going to be okay. That I could have peace. That I could be happy.

I should’ve been there. I should’ve been watching.

“Mama! Here! Please, help!”

The voice was coming from deeper in the woods now, skewing in direction, yanking me one way and then another. I was spinning in circles, disoriented, heart racing so hard I felt it in the backs of my teeth.

What is happening? The voice—it didn’t sound quite right. Something was off about it, some strange echo to the tone, a distortion too subtle to pinpoint.

But fight-or-flight had already chosen for me, and fight had won. My limbs moved on their own, instinct taking over. I fled around another thick tree trunk, heart in my throat, my vision tunneling into the gloom.

“Elias!”

Silence.

No. No, no, no , not silence. Not now.

“ELIAS!”

A shuffle in the bushes to my left.

I turned so sharply I almost tripped on a root. “Elias? Please! I'm here, sweetie. Just come to me, please!”

Nothing.

All that met me was the suffocating weight of stillness and the thrum of blood behind my ears. For a long second, I just stood there, my breath ragged, hands trembling at my sides, scanning the clearing like Elias might step out from behind a tree and laugh. Like he'd say, “Gotcha, Mama,” and this heart-in-my-throat terror would evaporate into thin air.

But no.

Instead, what broke the silence was a low laugh. A deep, cruel laugh.

And it wasn’t Elias’s.

Before I could even whirl to face the sound, before recognition could spark, something struck me hard from behind. Pain exploded at the base of my skull, sharp and blinding, and the world tilted on its axis. My vision blurred, dark spots blooming and spreading until the forest around me faded into nothingness.

I collapsed to the ground, the cold earth rushing up to meet me, but I barely felt it as everything went black.