Chapter 18: Forge
Caelen wiped sweat from his forehead with a dirty cloth, watching the iron slowly melt in the furnace. It wasn't elegant—more like a medieval BBQ pit with ambitions—but it did the job.
Molten iron hissed inside a stone mold, casting out thick heat. His copper tongs clinked against the edge as he adjusted the form.
Zira stood nearby, arms crossed, curiously watching. "You really made all this?"
He grunted. "Yeah. One rock and stupid idea at a time."
She laughed. "Impressive. I can barely cook berries without setting fire to the pan."
"I've had my fair share of food crimes," Caelen muttered, flashing back to the mushroom stew incident. "We don't talk about those days."
The iron cooled slightly. Caelen carefully pulled out the mold and set it aside. Next to him were other forged tools: a new axe head, nails, a half-finished chestplate.
Zira leaned closer. "How do you even know all this?"
"Trial and error," he lied, poking the fire. "Mostly error."
"Still..." She kicked at the dirt. "Living here, all alone? This forest is dangerous."
"I noticed."