Evening came slower than expected, but it still came. The light outside dimmed, turning the sky a dull orange before fading into deep blue. Inside the forge, the fire still burned strong, casting sharp shadows on the walls. The sound of hammering had finally stopped.
Fifty ingots.
They were stacked neatly by the wall, still warm, their dull shine reflecting the firelight. It wasn't close to what they needed yet, but it was progress—real progress.
Horg sat down heavily on the stool, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his arm.
"…Fifty, that makes it hundred in two days and remain five days." he muttered. "Tch. We're slow."
Liam dropped to the ground beside the wall, stretching his legs out.
"I can't feel my arms."
Maya leaned against the table, breathing steadily.
"You still have arms?"
Lola let out a small laugh.
"Barely."
