The forge of the dwarves in the fortress — a place where smoke mixes with heat, and the echo of hammer strikes resounds like the heartbeat of the city itself. The dwarves work tirelessly on weapons and armor, beads of sweat dripping from their brows. The air is thick with the scent of hot metal and oil, trembling under the heat.
A few orcs stand near the forge — burly, muscular, with heavy jaws and stern looks. But among them, a few orc women stand out. Smaller than the men, their muscles are taut, and their eyes are filled with seriousness. They wear light leather armor that accentuates their firm bodies, and their hair is braided into thick braids. They are not merely spectators — they are future archers.
Lianel enters the forge, shaking ash off her shoulders.
The master blacksmith Grunnur — an old but sturdy dwarf with a massive beard covered in ash and a golden buckle — stops, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. He grumbles:
—"What have you come up with this time, elf?"
—"I want you to forge bows for the orc women," Lianel says directly.
Grunnur pauses, blinks, and… starts laughing. His laughter is like the growl of a bear, rolling loudly throughout the forge. The younger dwarves join in.
—"Ha-ha-ha! Oh, girl, what bows? Orcs are nothing but dumb butchers! What nonsense have you dreamed up?"
Lianel crosses her arms over her chest:
—"Not all orcs are butchers. Some of them are fast, agile, and resilient. They can make excellent archers."
One of the orc women, tall and lean, steps forward. Her voice is deep but soft:
—"I can draw any bow you make."
Grunnur squints:
—"You may draw it — but the bow won't hold."
Suddenly, a young dwarf named Roldar, standing by the forge, speaks up:
—"What if it's not wood?"
Grunnur slowly turns his head:
—"Have you gone mad, boy?"
—"Well… what if we use metal? The same kind we put on the walls?"
Grunnur laughs again, but this time it's quieter. A flicker of interest shines in his eyes.
Lianel picks up on it:
—"If we make the bow from a special alloy, it will be strong and withstand the orcs' draw."
—"To draw a metal bow, you'd need the strength of a troll…" Grunnur mutters.
One of the orc women crosses her arms:
—"Well, we have that strength."
The younger dwarves exchange glances. Roldar adds:
—"And what if we add mithril to the alloy? It will make the bow lighter and more flexible."
—"Mithril is a fickle thing," Grunnur hums. "If you introduce it incorrectly, it either becomes brittle or soft as dough."
Lianel smiles:
—"But if it's done right?"
Grunnur glares at her with an irritated gleam in his eyes. He can't deny it — she's right.
—"Eh... Fine, let us make one first, before you demand twenty, elf," he grumbles.
The dwarves begin whispering, and finally, Grunnur nods:
—"Alright. One we'll make. If it works, we'll see."
The orc woman named Raxa steps closer:
—"And what about the arrowheads? Regular ones won't pierce heavy armor."
—"Oh, now you're ordering arrows too?" Grunnur mutters, narrowing his eyes.
Roldar doesn't miss the opportunity:
—"If the arrowheads are made of mithril, they'll pierce the armor of any enemy."
Grunnur sighs heavily, massaging his nose:
—"You're going to shorten my life, you know that?"
—"You love challenges, Grunnur," Lianel softly teases.
—"Who am I kidding… I do," the blacksmith mutters.
The forge fills with bustle. The dwarves begin discussing how to create a metal bow. Someone is already sketching designs, others are rummaging through boxes of mithril.
Lianel, satisfied, leaves the forge. Her plan is working.
But she doesn't get far before she hears a noise. The gates of the city slowly open, and a caravan enters.
Ahead, on a black horse, sits Lenor. His long white hair flutters in the wind, and the sharp gaze of his green eyes carefully scans the city streets, evaluating every corner.
Lianel stops, her heart tightens, then begins to beat faster. In her eyes — joy. She smiles and runs swiftly toward him.
Lenor stood in the shadow of the great gate. His dark green cloak barely moved in the light night breeze. His eyes, cold and piercing, swept over everything around him: from the restored fortifications to the dwarves and orcs working side by side.
He had come to make sure this place was no threat. But what he saw turned out to be worse than any threat.
His sister — now his wife.
His mind hadn't yet accepted this.
Then Lianel appeared before him, smiling. But not as she once did. Not childishly, not naively. This was the smile of a woman who had made her choice — and would never look back.
Lenor exhaled slowly, trying to keep his emotions in check.
—"I need to talk to you. Alone," his voice was even, but there was a faint hint of suppressed irritation.
Lianel stopped, shook her head slightly.
—"I can't be alone with another man. Not even with you."
He froze. A flash of something sparked in his eyes — not pain, but anger.
—"What did you just say?"
—"I am the wife of Kano Rom," she answered calmly. "I no longer belong to myself, as I once did."
These words struck like an icy wind.
Lenor felt something tighten in his chest.
Was this a joke? This had to be some bad, disgusting joke! But she wasn't joking.
Her eyes… they didn't lie.
—"You… have you lost your mind?" he nearly snapped. "The wife of Kano? That weakling, the one I only taught to hold a sword?! I knew this wouldn't end well!!"
Lianel didn't blink. Didn't look away.
—"Yes. I did this. Not because I was forced. But because I want to."
Lenor momentarily forgot how to breathe.
—"You want this?" he repeated, as if in a daze.
He grabbed his head, sighing in frustration:
—"This isn't you… This must be a mistake. He forced you! He made you! Tell me he made you!"
Lianel smiled faintly. The smile was soft and sad.
—"He didn't make me, Lenor. On the contrary — he didn't want this."
He froze.
—"What do you mean?"
—"It all started as a performance," Lianel whispered. "To keep us from being killed. To survive. But then..."
Her voice strengthened.
—"It's no longer an act. I want this. Selina does too. And Naira as well."
These names hit even harder. Lenor took a step back, as if struck in the chest. His face turned gray.
—"This is nonsense… This can't be true…"
—"But it is true," she answered. "I love Kano. And I won't let you or anyone else question my choice."
Lenor sharply lifted his head. His voice cracked:
—"You've GONE MAD! This… this is impossible!"
But Lianel didn't back down. She was no longer the young elf from the past. She was a woman, a warrior, a wife.
Her silver hair gleamed in the light of the fire. Her gaze was direct and calm, like a sharp blade.
—"I am ready to stand against the entire world if it's needed for Kano. And no one will stop me — not you, not kings, not armies. I am his wife. He is my husband."
Lenor was silent. For the first time in many years, he had no words.
This wasn't an emotion. Not a whim. It was her will.
And for the first time in her life, she was acting on her own will, not following her brother.
He took a step back.
His throat tightened, it was hard to breathe. He had lost. But he hadn't broken.
—"If he hurts you..." Lenor said hoarsely, "I will kill him."
—"He won't hurt me," she replied gently.
Lenor turned away.
He couldn't accept this. But he no longer had any power.
His sister had grown up.
And now he was powerless to protect her.