The street buzzed with warriors, some collecting their first weapons, others veterans seeking to maintain or upgrade their gear. The sun beat down heavily, but it wasn’t just the day’s heat that hung thick in the air—it was the glow of molten metal from the countless forges lining the street, each blacksmith hard at work.

Luke's gaze fell on one forge in particular, larger and darker than the rest. The brick walls were blackened from years of exposure to heat, supported by wooden beams that looked as though they had already begun to char. The door stood tall, still brown beneath rows of steel reinforcements, a testament to the strength required to protect what lay inside. Above the entrance hung a sign, written in a messy yet legible script: "Durin’s Forge."

Pushing open the heavy door, Luke was immediately met by a wave of heat that felt thick and almost suffocating. Sweat formed instantly on his brow as he stepped inside, the air prickling his skin. The interior was even more charred than the exterior, the walls darkened by the constant blaze. Yet, it was lined with weapons of every kind—swords, spears, halberds, daggers—many that Luke could name, and many more he couldn’t.

At the far end of the room, an anvil rested near a quenching tub, while the furnace roared to life beside it. Tools Luke didn’t recognize hung on the walls—gloves, tongs, hammers of all shapes and sizes, each meant for crafting some specific part of the deadly arsenal on display.

Standing before the furnace, hammering away at a red-hot piece of steel, was a dwarf. His long beard swayed with each stroke, and goggles covered his eyes. The rhythmic sound of his hammer echoed through the room, filling the space with the raw power of creation. Despite the sweat dripping from his forehead, the dwarf remained unbothered, fully immersed in his work, so focused that he hadn’t noticed Luke enter.

Luke narrowed his eyes as he stood in front of the dwarf. He didn’t want to interrupt the man mid-swing, but with the sun lowering, the urgency to find a place to stay before dusk was growing.

"Excuse me," Luke called, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the rhythmic clang of metal. The hammering didn’t cease, and the dwarf didn’t even glance up, his focus locked on his work.

After a tense pause, the dwarf finally spoke, his voice gruff and dry, barely cutting through the noise. “What do you want, kid?”

"I want a new weapon. Can you make it?" Luke's tone was rude and urgent.

“You want a weapon? What type? Be more specific. I can’t randomly forge you a weapon without knowing what you want, boy!” The dwarf was grumpy since a human had just walked into his forge requesting a weapon without even specifying what he wanted.

“A sword.” Luke hesitated, knowing he was a novice with the blade, his past experiences telling him he was useless in swordplay. Yet, the lightning that had sparked during his fight with the minotaur gave him hope—a flicker of belief that Kelly had been right, that he might just be a late bloomer. “Something light and swift.” He unveiled the horn of the minotaur, still covered in tattered cloth.

The dwarf’s expression shifted from surprise to delight as he examined the horn, his eyes gleaming with keen interest. "A rare breed! A northern and southern minotaur mix!" His voice carried an almost reverent tone as his fingers traced the jagged edge of the horn. "How is this possible?" he muttered, more to himself than to Luke, his brows furrowing in thought.

"Mysterious, mysterious... Mysterious indeed," he continued, now fully absorbed in his own musings. His calloused fingers ran along the length of the horn, his gaze distant as if lost in the depth of some hidden knowledge. The rhythmic clang of his hammer had ceased, replaced by a contemplative silence, broken only by the dwarf's quiet muttering.

Luke stood there, watching the dwarf, unsure whether to speak or let the man carry on with his odd monologue. The forge’s heat seemed to press down heavier now, the crackling of the furnace matching the quick beat of Luke’s heart.

The dwarf finally glanced back at Luke, his eyes still gleaming with that same wild fascination. "This ain’t just any weapon material, boy. This here could forge something truly legendary.”

The dwarf finally looked up at Luke with a tense face. “Where did you get this?”

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“From a minotaur that I fought in the Forest of Initium.”

“Initium? Why would a minotaur be there? No, it might be possible.” The dwarf muttered to himself for a few more moments before turning his attention back to the horn. “I’ll forge you a sword, but it will cost you, and it will take some time.”

Luke reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch of gold. “Is this enough?”

The dwarf opened the pouch, his eyes widening in surprise. With a chuckle, he exclaimed, “At this point, I’m not even surprised anymore!” He took a handful of coins, then handed the pouch back to Luke. “That’s more than enough. I assure you, the quality of the blade you’ll receive will be unmatched.”

With a dismissive wave, the dwarf added, “Now go. I have much work to do.” The dwarf practically shoved Luke out of the forge. Luke stood wide-eyed for a moment, caught off guard, but quickly composed himself. Being pushed out of a room—it had been a while since that happened. The only one who used to do that to him was Kelly. She would always playfully push him out of the house whenever he felt lazy.

He looked up at the sky. The golden light of the sunset bathed the clouds in a beautiful orange hue, casting a warm glow over everything. He wondered how she was doing up there.

As the sun sank below the horizon, casting long shadows over the cobblestone streets, Luke wandered aimlessly, his mind adrift. His surroundings blurred into the background as his thoughts fixated on Kelly—imagining her walking beside him, her familiar smile lighting up the darkening world. But the warmth of those memories quickly gave way to the cold reality of her absence, and a growing bitterness twisted in his chest.

How could he find the bastards that caused her death? The question echoed in his mind, relentless.

Luke found himself sitting on the roof of an abandoned building at the edge of the village, his figure silhouetted against the glow of the full moon. Its light bathed the world below in an ethereal, silver hue, illuminating every crater and curve on its surface. The night was hushed, broken only by the occasional chirp of nocturnal insects. Overhead, clouds drifted lazily, their shadows barely visible beneath the moon’s radiance. The stars, far brighter and more numerous than on Earth, dotted the sky like a sea of diamonds, the untainted air of this world allowing them to shine with unparalleled clarity.

A gentle breeze swept through the night, brushing against Luke’s skin—a stark reminder of the injuries that had only recently been healed by Aurelia. The pain, once gnawing and constant, had faded, leaving behind only a dull ache that the wind seemed to soothe as it danced over his freshly healed wounds.

Luke’s blue eyes were locked on the moon, his gaze unwavering, as though it were the last thing in the world that held any meaning for him. In the moonlight, his dark black hair fluttered with the wind, creating a striking contrast with his worn and battle-worn appearance. He might have looked like a graceful, almost serene figure in the stillness of the night—if not for his tattered, blood-stained white shirt, ripped brown pants riddled with holes, and the broken, dirt-caked black cloak draped over his shoulders.

Luke raised his arm as though reaching for the serene moon, his other hand bracing his weight. The world felt still—so quiet, peaceful, beautiful. It was moments like these that made Luke long for someone to share it with.

“Oh?”

Startled, Luke sprang to his feet, instantly assuming a defensive stance. But when he looked closer, he recognized the figure.

Aurelia laughed nervously. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to sneak up on you—I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

Luke exhaled and sat back down. “It’s fine.” He patted the spot beside him. “Care to join me?”

Aurelia chuckled softly and accepted his invitation, taking a seat next to him. She removed her cloak, likely the one she used to sneak out of the church. Her clothing was much more practical than the bright white dress she had worn earlier; she sported a fitted, padded leather shirt, and her blonde hair was tied back in a single ponytail. Instead of a skirt, she wore leather pants, presumably for better maneuverability.

“We meet again pretty quickly, huh?” Aurelia’s bright eyes wandered over Luke’s face. “You look kind of blank. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s just... the moon. It’s beautifu l.”

“Really? That’s all? You look like you’ve got something deeper going on.” She sighed, a bit disappointed, but let her gaze drift toward the graceful moon. “It is beautiful, though. I always come here when it’s a full moon.”

“You sure you won’t get in trouble with the priest?”

“He won’t know... unless you tell him.” Mischief sparkled in her eyes and playfulness filled her smile.

“You really look like her.” Luke smiled as he blurted out his thoughts.

“Who?” As her curiosity on this mysterious girl that she supposedly resembled grew her eyes basically sparkled with interest.

Taking a look in her eyes made Luke wince. His peaceful night was slipping away, replaced by something far more exhausting—but maybe, just maybe, far more enjoyable.