As the morning progressed, mist clung to the gravestones like ghostly shrouds, the early morning light scattering pale gold across the damp earth. Robert Darnaval knelt at a solitary grave, his shoulders bowed, his cane leaning against the marker like a weary companion. His lips moved soundlessly in prayer, but his scarred hands, clenched before him, betrayed the storm within. Beneath the moss-speckled stone, a name was etched, its letters blurred by time and sorrow. Only he and Joyce knew whose name it was.
Prayers rendered, he walked back into the forge and reached for the latest envelope, his rough fingers deftly tearing it open. The seal was unmistakable—a crest featuring a roaring bear entwined with oak branches, belonging to Elias Thornhart, a seasoned hunter known for his daring expeditions into the wild.
Unfolding the letter, Robert began to read aloud, his deep voice carrying the weight of years spent in both battle and the forge:
"Robrt,
Hope dis letta find u gud. We huntin hard now. Gam is scaaared. Woods unnatural. Need strong arrowheeds to kill monsta. Can u make more? We need dem soon for survival. Help me fasd.
ET"
Robert snorted, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What’s the old fool hunting now, an elephant?” he muttered, shaking his head as he folded the letter and set it aside. The humor, however, faded quickly as his thoughts lingered on Elias’s words. Unnatural. The forest had felt wrong lately—too quiet, as though the trees themselves held their breath.
The sound of footsteps drew his attention, and he turned to see Leon and Michael entering the forge. Their contrasting demeanors was as familiar as it was amusing: Leon, calm and precise, already focused on the tasks ahead, while Michael seemed to drift in on a wave of restless energy.
“You’re late,” Robert said gruffly, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of warmth.
“Sorry,” Leon replied with practiced promptness, stepping forward as if reporting for duty.
Michael, however, only nodded vaguely, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
“Michael, on the bellows. Leon, inspect yesterday’s molds,” Robert barked, motioning toward their respective stations.
Michael groaned audibly. “Bellows again? But we’ll be late for—” He stopped mid-complaint at Robert’s stern glare and hurried to his post. Grabbing the handle, he began pumping the bellows with exaggerated effort, forcing air into the flames. Sparks leapt skyward, and the roar of the fire intensified, though his sighs of protest could still be heard over the din.
It didn’t take long for his frustration to show. Michael’s arms trembled as he worked, beads of sweat forming on his brow despite the cool morning air.
He gritted his teeth, his breaths coming shallow and fast. “It’s like this thing gets heavier every time,” he muttered under his breath.
Robert glanced at him, his expression tightening. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it and strode to the forge. The furnace exhaled waves of heat, the air above it shimmering like a mirage, the roar of the flames mingling with the metallic tang of molten ore. Without hesitation, Robert reached into the inferno, his bare hands moving with an ease that defied the savage fury of the fire. His fingers curled around the glowing steel as if it were no more than tepid clay.
Leon paused at the sight, his breath caught somewhere between admiration and unease. This was no ordinary man; he knew that much. The forge had whispered as much in its fiery tongue, and Robert's unflinching manner only confirmed it. "You'll need the molds ready, boy," Robert said, his voice steady, unbothered by the inferno mere inches from his face. He did not glance up, but his command brooked no delay.
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Leon, swallowing his awe, nodded and turned to the workbench. His hands were deft, examining the molds for imperfections under the dim forge-light. One caught his eye—a hairline flaw barely discernible but dangerous nonetheless. He lifted it, called out, “This one. Adjustment needed” Leon yelled over the roar of the furnace.. Robert glanced at him, finally setting the axe head down on the anvil. The molten glow dulled as the metal cooled. “Then fix it,” he said simply, his voice as ironclad as the weapon they forged.
Together, they worked to correct the error. Robert moved with the steady competence of a craftsman who had spent a lifetime mastering his trade, pouring molten steel with a grace that belied his rugged exterior. Leon, for his part, shaped a new mold from clay, following his schematic with exacting precision.
Outside, Michael wrestled with the bellows, his huffs and puffs audible even over the crackling flames. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his frustration grew as sparks danced mockingly toward the sky.
Inside, the forge was a world of focus and industry, and though Leon rarely showed it, these family rituals—even the mundane tasks—had become a quiet anchor in his life. The repetition, the problem-solving, the shared labor: all of it had woven itself into the fabric of his existence, grounding him in a way he rarely admitted.
Eventually, Robert barked, “That’ll be all. Get to the academy before you’re late.”
Michael dropped the bellows handle like it was on fire, dashing out of the forge with a speed that made Robert shake his head. He grabbed Leon’s arm and practically dragged him toward the village road. The small mechanical toy perched on Leon’s shoulder beeped in alarm, its lights flashing faintly as it swayed with the motion.
“Careful,” Leon said, his tone sharp. “There’s no need to rush.”
“Yes, there is!” Michael grinned, his excitement spilling over into his steps, his enthusiasm infectious even as it puzzled Leon.
As they trotted through the cobblestone lanes of Norwood Valley, Leon cast a sidelong glance at Michael. “Why so eager? Your behavior this morning suggests a significant event.”
Michael flushed, his cheeks reddening as he hesitated. “I’m going to tell Lily how I feel,” he admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Leon considered this revelation, his mind immediately calculating probabilities. “Have you had encouraging prior interactions to statistically support a favorable outcome?”
Michael laughed, his nervous energy bubbling into humor. “Not really, but I’m trying anyway.”
“The probability of success is low,” Leon said bluntly.
“Always the optimist,” Michael teased. “Sometimes you have to ignore the odds.”
Leon tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Ignoring data doesn’t change outcomes.”
“Maybe not,” Michael said with a shrug, “but I’ve got a feeling.” He hurried ahead, leaving Leon to follow at his usual measured pace, his mind churning with the illogical notion of ignoring probabilities.
They reached the schoolhouse, nestled among ancient oaks whose twisted branches framed the roof like protective arms. The yard was alive with the chatter of children, their laughter spilling into the crisp morning air.
Michael stopped at the edge of the yard, his expression turning serious as he took a deep breath. “Well… here goes nothing,” he muttered.
Leon blinked, his head tilting slightly. “Here goes what, exactly?”
Michael chuckled nervously, shaking his head. “Just an expression, Leon. See you later.”
Leon watched him stride away, his mind whirling with possibilities and uncertainties. He might not fully understand the subtleties of human emotion, but he recognized that this moment mattered to Michael in ways logic couldn’t quantify. Still, pragmatism prevailed.
“If you require assistance in managing emotional distress following an unfavorable outcome, I will be available this afternoon!” he called after him.
Leon tilted his head, watching Michael disappear into the crowd of children. The mechanical toy on his shoulder tilted its head as well, its green lights dimming. For the first time, Leon wondered if the odds Michael spoke of were far more complicated than his mind could calculate.