Chapter 7: The Forge
Azel’s eyes sparkled like a kid seeing a dragon plushie for the first time. "Are we getting the cool kind with spikes and flames?"
"We’re getting the kind that doesn’t kill you while you’re still learning how to swing."
Fair enough.
He practically dragged Steven through the doorway. The interior was warm with the scent of burning coal and molten metal.
Weapons of all types lined the walls — longswords, daggers, spears, even a few greatswords taller than Azel himself.
A rack of light armor sat in one corner, and behind a counter stood a broad-shouldered blacksmith wiping soot off his hands.
The man’s beard was a thick cloud of brown and gray, his eyes keen despite his age. As soon as he spotted Steven, he broke into a wide grin.
"Well I’ll be damned," the blacksmith said, his deep voice rumbling like a furnace. "You finally decided to crawl out of that forest hole of yours."
Steven chuckled and clapped the man on the shoulder. "Still smells like charcoal in here, I see."
The two shared a hearty handshake.
Azel stood off to the side, watching curiously. He felt a twinge of nostalgia — it reminded him of watching old men gossip at the barbershop as a kid.