Page 8

Chapter 7

A s we stepped into the cool evening air, the old forge loomed ahead, its squat stone structure suddenly seeming smaller and less impressive compared to Vorgath’s. I could almost hear Grimble’s voice praising its once grand stature, but now it felt like a relic of what it had been.

I glanced at Vorgath, suddenly self-conscious. “It's... well, it's seen better days,” I said, trying to keep my voice light as I pushed open the creaking door.

Moonlight filtered through the dusty windows, casting long shadows across the workspace. I fumbled with the lantern by the door.

“Let me,” Vorgath said, his large hand easily lighting the wick. The warm glow illuminated the forge, and I saw it anew through Vorgath's eyes.

The anvil stood at the center, its surface dulled with disuse. Tools hung on the walls, some rusted, others gleaming where I'd recently cleaned them. The forge itself was cold and dark, a far cry from the roaring heart it had once been.

“It's small,” Vorgath said, his deep voice echoing slightly in the quiet space.

“It served us well enough,” I replied, then winced at how sharp my words sounded. “I mean, it's not as grand as Thorne's, but...”

Vorgath turned to me. “I meant no offense,” he said softly. “It has... character.”

“It does, doesn't it?” I moved further into the space, running my hand along the workbench. “I've been trying to get it back in working order, but there's so much to do.”

Vorgath nodded, his eyes taking in every detail as he moved through the forge. I watched him, noticing how his eyes lingered on certain tools, his fingers ghosting over the anvil's surface. “The layout is efficient,” he said. “Your husband knew his craft.”

“He did,” I agreed, smiling softly.

He paused by the forge itself, crouching to examine it more closely. “The bones are good. With some orc forging techniques, you could increase its heat capacity significantly.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Orc techniques? Like what?”

Vorgath stood, turning to face me. The lantern light cast half his face in shadow, accentuating the strong line of his jaw and the gleam in his dark eyes. “Stones that hold heat better, special clays for insulation. I could show you, if you'd like.”

I nodded eagerly. “I'd like that very much.”

“Good. We'll start next week, after the axes for Grimble are done.”

Excitement stirred in my chest at the thought of restoring the forge, breathing life back into what had become little more than a monument to dreams paused. I could almost hear the rhythmic clang of a hammer on the anvil, feel the heat of the fire on my skin.

And surprisingly, in this vision of the future, I saw Vorgath by my side.

The realization startled me, and I glanced at him, studying his profile in the dim light. When had I started including him in my long-term plans?

When had I started imagining a future where I wasn’t doing this alone?

As if feeling my eyes on him, Vorgath turned to me. “You're quiet,” he said.

“Just... remembering,” I said softly. “And thinking about the future.”

He took a step closer, and I was suddenly very aware of his presence in the small space. “And what do you see in that future?” he asked.

“I see... possibilities.” I moved to a workbench covered in a thick layer of dust. “I've been thinking about redesigning this area,” I said, running my hand along the worn wood. “Maybe adding a workstation for more intricate work. There's a market for jewelry and decorative pieces that most blacksmiths overlook.”

“Trinkets?” he asked, his tone skeptical.

“Not just trinkets,” I countered. “Functional art. Things that are both beautiful and useful. It's an untapped market, especially among women.”

“And you think you can make a living from such things?”

“I think I can make a good life,” I said, meeting his gaze steadily.

He was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes studying me intently. Then, to my surprise, he nodded. “You have vision,” he rumbled. “It's... admirable.”

A warm flush rose to my cheeks at his words. “Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

Vorgath grunted, looking slightly uncomfortable with the sentiment. He turned back to the forge, running his hand along the cold stone.

“Tell me about your husband,” he said suddenly. “What kind of man was he?”

The question caught me off guard. I leaned against the workbench, feeling memories rise up, but they didn’t hit as hard as they used to.

“Kald was... kind,” I said with a small smile. “He loved his family and his work. Always said a blacksmith’s forge was like their heartbeat—when it’s cold and silent, something important is missing.”

“Your husband was wise,” he said, nodding in approval. “You must miss him.”

“Yes,” I agreed, my gaze drifting to the corner where Kald’s old tools still hung. “But it feels different now. The sharp pain fades. It’s more like a reminder, a part of me, but not something I carry with sadness anymore.”

Vorgath’s eyes were on me as he moved closer. “Loss is... familiar to me,” he said, his deep voice carrying a weight of experience.

“What happened?” I asked gently, not wanting to pry but eager to understand more about this enigmatic orc who was quickly winning me over, grunt after noncommittal grunt.

He was quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes distant. Then, with a deep sigh, he spoke. “I lost my brother in the war,” he said. “It was... complicated. We made different choices. In the end, I couldn't save him.”

I felt my heart constrict, recognizing the pain in his voice. I knew the loss of a loved one, the guilt that lingered after, the constant what-ifs that sometimes surfaced in quiet moments.

“People call orcs monsters,” Vorgath continued, his tone bitter but controlled. “But the real monster is war itself. It takes and takes until there's nothing left but scars and memories.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and I felt an unexpected urge to comfort him. Without thinking, I reached out, gently touching his arm. “I'm so sorry, Vorgath.”

He looked down at my hand, then back at me, his eyes softening. “It was long ago. But it is why I left, why I sought a different path. I could no longer be the warrior they wanted me to be.”

His shoulders, usually so steady, seemed weighed down by a burden he rarely let others see. He spoke of loss with quiet resignation, and for the first time, I saw the loneliness behind his strength, the isolation he carried.

It struck me, then, that we weren’t so different. Maybe that was why I felt this growing connection with him—because he understood what it meant to start over, to carve out something new from the ashes of the past. His journey made me feel less alone in my own.

Without a word, I stepped closer, wrapping my arms around his broad chest in a hug.

At first, Vorgath stiffened, clearly surprised by the gesture. Then, slowly, his arms came around me. I felt almost tiny in his embrace, my head barely reaching his chest. His arms, thick as tree trunks, encircled me gently, as if he was afraid of crushing me.

I pressed closer, splaying my hands across his broad back, feeling the hard muscles beneath his tunic. The heat of his body seeped through my dress, and I pressed my ear to his chest, listening to the steady, powerful thump of his heart.

The world seemed to shrink to just the two of us. The forge, with all its memories and possibilities, faded away. There was only Vorgath's warmth, his strength, the surprising gentleness of his touch.

I tilted my head back to look up at him and found his dark eyes fixed on me. My lips parted slightly, a silent invitation I hadn’t realized I was offering until I saw his gaze drop to my mouth, and the space between us seemed to shrink, charged with a new tension.

My thoughts raced. This was Vorgath—my mentor, an orc, so different from anyone I’d ever known. And yet, standing here now, he felt like the most familiar thing in the world. His solid frame, the way my curves seemed to mold perfectly against him, as if we were two pieces that had always belonged together.

I knew I should step back, break this spell before it went too far. But I couldn't bring myself to move. I didn't want to. For the first time in so long, I felt awake, every nerve alive with awareness.

Vorgath's hand moved, ever so slowly, to cup my cheek. His palm was rough, the skin weathered by years of work and war, but the warmth of his touch seeped into me, and I leaned into it, my eyes closing to savor the feeling.

“Soraya,” Vorgath said, his voice low and rough, deeper than I’d ever heard it. The way he spoke my name sent a thrill through me.

I opened my eyes to meet his gaze, trying to decipher the emotions I saw there. Desire, certainly, but also a hint of uncertainty, maybe even fear. It struck me then that this was likely as new and overwhelming for him as it was for me.

“Vorgath,” I whispered back, my voice barely audible even in the quiet of the forge.

He leaned down, painstakingly slow, as if giving me every opportunity to pull away. But I didn't want to pull away. I tilted my chin up, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he must be able to hear it.

Just as his lips were about to meet mine, a loud crash from outside the forge shattered the moment. We jerked apart, both of us turning instinctively toward the sound, the spell broken.

“Mama!” Elias's voice called out. “Mrs. Crumble says dinner's ready!”

I stepped back, a rush of cool air filling the space where Vorgath's warmth had been. My cheeks burned as I smoothed down my dress, avoiding his gaze. “We should go inside,” I stammered, my voice shaky and not at all like the level-headed woman I prided myself on being.

Vorgath cleared his throat, nodding. “Yes, we shouldn't keep them waiting.”

As we walked toward the house, I couldn’t resist stealing glances at him. His face was stoic, composed to the point of seeming deliberate, but the subtle tension was there—in the way his jaw clenched and his hands flexed at his sides.

What had just happened? And more importantly, why did I feel so disappointed that we’d been interrupted?

I paused just before we reached the cottage door, the reality of it all sinking in, making it hard to take the next step.

“Soraya,” Vorgath’s deep voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, and I blinked, realizing he was watching me. “Are you alright?”

I inhaled slowly, then forced a smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed, I suppose.”

His gaze held steady, his hand flexing at his side as though caught between action and restraint. “We don’t have to talk about what happened,” he said. “If you’d rather let it go—”

“No,” I interrupted, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice. “I don't want to forget. I just... need time.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and I felt some of the tension ease from my shoulders. He gave a quiet grunt, more like an acknowledgment. “Alright.”

With one last deep breath, I pushed open the door, and we stepped into the warm, fragrant air of the kitchen.