25
The newly built harbor of Weirstad thrummed with life.
Waves rolled slow and steady, washing against the piles of the new docks. Men hauled crates. Women passed bundles. Children stood in clusters, whispering in awe at the massive black-hulled dromond waiting like a predator at anchor.
The Obsidian Leaf.
Black as tar. Green sails furled tight. And in the deeper water beyond the pier, a pale shape turned lazily beneath the surface, gigantic, patient, obedient.
Levi, the leviathan
Stigr leaned over the rail, eyes bright, grin ridiculously wide.
"Levi's excited! I can feel it! He wants to explore."
Hjalti snorted.
"Hjalti thinks boy should not get eaten by his fish."
"It's not a fish," Stigr said proudly. "It's a sea monster."
"Mm." Hjalti grunted. "Sea food."
Runa stood nearby, cloak fluttering, violet eyes taking in everything calmly and sharply
"You've turned the sea itself into a road," she murmured to Erik. "And chained that monster of a leviathan to your wagon."
"Try not to make a habit of it." She teased
Erik exhaled quietly.
"I can't make any promised." Erik replied "who knows what magnificent beast I encounter out there"
Beside them, Ivar Volmark leaned on his cane, staring at the ship like a king admiring a throne.
"The crew is ready," he said softly. "Supplies loaded. Salt, pelts, leather… your miracle bows… that lovely armor… and enough pearls to make half of Essos drool."
He grinned crookedly.
"Braavos will either love us, or plan to rob us."
Gonir wandered past, muttering happily to himself.
"Ohhh, yes, yes! ships and sea monsters and pearls and secrets. The world is showing its hidden mysteries to us. Like an oyster. Or a flower. So Exciting!"
Korb stood apart from the bustle, arms crossed, expression carved from stone.
He looked at Erik.
"You're leaving me the mess."
"I'm leaving you the responsibility," Erik corrected gently. "Keep order. No unnecessary cruelty. No stupid bravery."
Korb grunted.
"I'll try not to burn everything down."
"That's all I ask."
Bloom small in stature yet her large luminous eyes were old and wise as she stepped closer.
"The roots watch. The spores listen. If darkness grows while you are gone… we will whisper."
Erik nodded to her with respect.
"Thank you." Erik replied honestly "honestly if I wasn't connected to hybrid tree's mind and be able to communicate to people here through it, I might not have left Weirstad at all"
He turned then, addressing his council.
"While I'm gone, continue construction. Expand the farms. Keep training the guards. And remember, no raiding. Trade only. We will not attack, only defend what is ours"
Helga bowed her head.
"We will preach peace."
"Good," Erik said.
He faced Ainar briefly, squeezing the boy's shoulder.
"Study. Teach the younger ones. I'll test you when I return."
Ainar grinned.
"I'll be ready."
Runa lifted her chin.
"We should go."
On the deck, Ivar barked commands.
"Lines loose! Bring the gangplank! Oars ready but lightly. Our big friend does most of the work today."
Stigr beamed, eyes turned white as he reached out with his mind.
"Levi hears. Levi is happy. Levi pulls."
Water surged.
The dromond shuddered.
A great, pale shadow rose beneath the bow like a living mountain, then surged forward, towing them smooth and powerful, twice as fast as any ship had a right to move.
Gasps echoed across the dock.
Korb lifted a hand in silent farewell.
Gonir cackled.
"Off to tempt fate again!"
Runa's voice cut through the wind.
"Stay sharp. Speak little. Watch everything."
Hjalti cracked his knuckles.
"Hjalti will kill anyone who needs killing."
Ivar laughed, wild and delighted.
"And I shall make sure we don't drown before he gets the chance!"
Erik looked back one last time, at the docks, at the walls, at the towering weirwood-heart tree watching silently over it all.
He breathed in.
Then turned forward.
"Set sail," he said.
The green wings unfurled.
The Obsidian Leaf flew.
And the world ahead opened.
-------------------
For two weeks, the sea became their world.
Waves. Wind. The slow rhythm of oars. And beneath them, every so often, the massive, pale shadow of Levi sliding silently through the blue depths.
When Levi pulled, the Obsidian Leaf surged like an arrow slicing through the water with startling speed.
When Levi rested, the green lateen sails bellied with wind, and the crew worked with quiet precision.
Ivar loved every second.
He stood near the prow most days, leaning on the rail, grinning like a wolf.
"This," he said, as spray misted his face, "is what captains dream of. Power without oars. Speed without fear. I think I am in love."
Runa rolled her eyes faintly.
"You're in love with control," she said. "And with being the cleverest man on deck."
Ivar smirked.
"Both true. But look at her. She flies."
Stigr dashed past them barefoot, laughing, hair wild in the wind.
"Levi wants to race the birds! Ha Ha! Go, Levi, go!"
The ship lurched forward as if yanked.
Several sailors swore.
Ivar braced himself.
"Tell your giant pet not to drown us, boy!"
Stigr leaned over the rail, eyes shining.
"He just wants to be play! He's happy!"
Runa murmured under her breath:
"Happy monsters sounds quite unpredictable."
Erik stood nearby, watching sea and sky like a man counting odds.
"Let him pull," he said calmly. "Then we give him rest."
And so the rhythm formed.
Half a day, Levi pulled.
Half a day, sails carried them while the leviathan slipped away to hunt and sink back into darkness.
They refilled water from streams along rough, lonely shores where no villages stood. They harvested berries, greens, and mussels where they could. Fish were plentiful. Levi's heloed drive schools of fish toward the surface and their nets.
But they stayed wary.
After several days they reached Skagos. The jagged island rose like broken teeth from the horizon.
Rugged. Wild. Silent.
They anchored in a quiet cove, filling barrels from a cold stream.
Ivar's eyes narrowed.
"I don't like this place. It's worse than the north."
Hjalti rested a hand on his axe.
"Hjalti agrees. Rocks watch us."
Stigr happily stacked driftwood.
"I like it! Feels like an adventure!"
Runa's gaze sharpened.
"No. It feels like ambush."
Movement flickered in the treeline.
Shapes.
Watching.
Erik's voice came flat and immediate.
"Everyone aboard. Now."
They pushed off within minutes, not waiting to see what gathered in the shadows of Skagos.
As they drifted away, Ivar muttered:
"Good instinct. Men there don't parley. They collect skulls."
They hugged the shoreline , south past the Bay of Seals, then further still.
Twice they landed briefly filling barrels, gathering fruit, cutting fresh wood.
Each time, they stayed only as long as they had to.
Once, they spotted riders watching from distant cliffs.
Another time, smoke columns rose behind them after they left.
Each time they came ashore, the sails were trimmed. Torches kept low. Campfires small.
They moved like shadows. As quiet and as quick as they could.
Runa smiled faintly one evening, cloak wrapped tight.
"No storms. No pirates. No angry gods. Almost disappointing."
Ivar laughed softly.
"Never say that at sea. The moment you get bored, she reminds you that you are small."
Stigr sat cross-legged, dangling bread over the water.
"Levi's bringing fish! Lots of them!"
A massive shape surfaced.
Dozens of fish exploded upward.
Stigr whooped.
The crew cheered.
Even Ivar shook his head, half-amused.
"You are either blessed… or profoundly stupid."
-----
A month later they arrived at their destination
The fog came first. Soft, grey and seemingly endless.
Then they heard faint bells and distant voices.
And finally… the shape.
The Titan of Braavos rose from the sea like a giant carved from granite and bronze.
Ivar's voice dropped to reverent awe.
"Braavos."
Runa's eyes gleamed.
"Finally."
Stigr gasped.
"He's HUGE! Can Levi come up to see him?"
"No," everyone said at once.
Erik exhaled, tension he hadn't named now loosening in his shoulders.
"An entire month at sea and we faced no storms, no raids and no accidents. That was anticlimactic."
Ivar chuckled darkly.
"Enjoy the blessing, Lord of Trees. Misfortune is merely waiting its turn."
The sea lanes widened.
Ships everywhere.
Painted sails. Merchant galleys. Slender pleasure craft. Heavy grain barges. Fat and squat Ibenese whalers and slim swan ships.
The Obsidian Leaf glided forward like a dark whisper, toward the greatest free port in the world and with so many different kinds and types of ships, it and its crew didn't stand out
Erik exhaled a sigh of relief.
"Drop Levi back. Keep him deep. No one must see him unless we choose."
Stigr nodded, brow furrowed, eyes distant.
"He'll sleep. He'll wait. He trusts."
Ivar adjusted his cloak, wicked grin forming.
"Good. Let us meet Braavos like regular sailors and merchants… and see what the world thinks of us."
Mist rolled low across the water as the Obsidian Leaf slipped beneath the Titan's shadow and into the maze of Braavos' harbors.
Bell towers chimed somewhere unseen.
Voices echoed across the canals, sharp, musical, layered with accents from half the world.
Painted ships lined the quays. Bright pennants. Perfumed cargo. Soldiers with polished helms stood like statues near the piers.
And waiting at the inspection dock was a sleek harbor galley.
Bronze-faced helms.
Oars dipping in perfect rhythm.
A horn sounded, short and commanding.
Ivar lifted a hand.
"Slow us," he called. "Easy now. Don't scrape their docks or they'll fine us twice."
The Obsidian Leaf drifted gently into place.
Hooks tossed.
Ropes tied.
A gangplank clattered into place.
Three Braavosi officials came aboard. Their cloaks trimmed in purple and gray, badges glinting with embossed keys.
The leader was slender, sharp-eyed, his beard neatly trimmed and oiled. His voice carried the musical lilt of the city.
"Welcome to Braavos," he said in the Common Tongue speaking slowly and carefully. "You dock under the Titan's blessing. State your name, ship, captain, cargo, and intent."
Ivar stepped forward, bowing just enough.
He switched languages smoothly.
Braavosi flowed from his mouth like water.
"Ivar Volmark, honored sirs. Captain of the Obsidian Leaf. We come as traders, not raiders with peace, coin, and goods to sell."
The official arched one brow.
"A Volmark? Iron Islander. A reaver," he repeated mildly. "And now you come as a gentleman merchant?"
Ivar smiled thinly.
"Life changes men. The sea more than most."
The Braavosi studied him a heartbeat longer… then nodded.
"Very well. Captain, list your cargo."
Ivar gestured to the deck crates.
"Salt. Pelts of snow cat, winter fox, and snow bear. Fine leather. A small number of unusual armor pieces and bows. Not many, meant for demonstration, not sale in bulk. And pearls."
The word pearls drew immediate interest.
"Pearls?"
"Large," Ivar said lightly. "Clean. Natural."
Erik stood just behind him, hands folded, expression calm and unreadable.
He listened.
Every rhythm. Every word.
Every accent.
And quietly, beneath the calm, his mind pulled at patterns, the way memory joined sound, the way grammar twisted. Braavosi settled against his thoughts like a puzzle fitting together.
The official snapped his fingers.
Two assistants moved forward to inspect.
They lifted lids.
Examined pelts. Smelled leather. Ran fingers along bow limbs and armor scales.
One examined a pearl, rolling it across his teeth, checking for grit, then nodding slowly.
"These are… impressive," the inspector admitted.
"Nothing stolen?" he added lightly.
Ivar spread his hands.
"You have my word they weren't stolen. If they were cursed, I would not be alive to sell them."
A faint smile appeared on the inspector's lips.
"Fair point."
Then the inspector's gaze sharpened.
"Braavos sees many strange ships. And many stranger captains and goods. If there is nothing to report, there is nothing to investigate."
His gaze shifted.
To Erik.
"And you?"
Erik inclined his head politely.
He spoke — first carefully, then smoother — in Braavosi.
"Erik Weaver. Merchant. Craftsman. Teacher. We come to trade honestly, to learn, and to leave with both friendship and coin."
The inspector blinked, faintly surprised.
"You speak our tongue well."
"I am still learning," Erik replied. "I listen quickly."
Runa's eyes glinted with quiet amusement.
Hjalti stood behind them like a mountain, arms crossed, saying nothing, breathing slow.
The inspector wrote in a ledger.
"You will pay harbor tax. Inspection tax. And market permission fee. You will sell only in approved districts , the Ragman's Harbor first. If business is clean, paperwork extends. If not…"
He tapped the tablet.
"You leave. Or the Sealord's soldiers decides what happens next."
Ivar bowed again.
"Understood."
He pressed a seal into wax.
"Welcome to Braavos, Crew of Obsidian Leaf from places unknown. You may trade here."
He turned.
His men followed.
They left as quietly as they had come.
Only when the harbor galley pulled away did the crew finally breathe again.
Ivar let out a low whistle.
"That," he muttered, "went better than I'd expected."
Runa smiled faintly.
"They know we have secrets and decided not to pry. That's always more dangerous than suspicion."
Erik looked toward the sprawling city of canals and bridges ahead , lanterns glowing gold over dark water.
"Then we move carefully," he said. "We watch. We learn. We sell , but not everything."
Stigr leaned over the rail, grinning, whispering toward the water.
"Stay quiet, Levi. Good boy."
Far below, a massive shape rolled once — silent, unseen — then slipped into darkness.
And Braavos opened before them.
-----
The Obsidian Leaf rested against the stone quay like a coiled beast, black hull drinking in the lanternlight while her green sails were furled tight. Braavos breathed around them, voices echoing over water, bells chiming softly, the city alive and listening.
Stigr leaned so far over the railing that one of the deckhands grabbed his belt.
"Whoa! look at that canal!" Stigr laughed, eyes shining. "It's like the sea got lost and decided to live in a city! Hey…"
He twisted around suddenly, pointing at Ivar.
"Why was he talking to the Bravoosi?"
Ivar didn't even look at him. "Because I have a mouth."
"No, no," Stigr said, waving his hands wildly. "I mean, you're a pirate! A bad one! And Erik did talk like them. He knows their language. Shouldn't the smart, calm, tree-magic guy do the talking instead of the scary untrustworthy one?"
Runa arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, her expression cool and cutting.
"He does have a point," she said. "You're many things, Ivar Volmark. Diplomat is not the first that comes to mind."
Ivar finally turned, eyes bright, sharp, amused, dangerously so. A slow grin spread across his face, the kind that promised both humor and violence.
"That," he said softly, "is exactly why it had to be me."
Erik met Ivar's gaze and gave a small, permissive nod.
Ivar shifted his weight, leaning on the rail like a king slouching on a throne.
"Braavos was built by slaves who ran," he said. "Slaves who broke chains. They built a city that they kept hidden from the dragon lords despite all odds."
He tapped the wood with one finger, rhythmically.
"They didn't build this city by asking where goods came from. They built it by not asking."
Stigr blinked. "So… they're like really rich criminals?"
Ivar laughed—sharp, delighted. "Yes. Exactly like that."
Runa crossed her arms. "You're saying the city tolerates stolen goods."
"Oh, they don't mind stolen goods," Ivar replied. "As long as the stealing happened somewhere else."
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming with that familiar, unsettling intensity.
"If Erik had spoken, they would have seen a mysterious and powerful person. Someone new with riches worth stealing. Something to study and take advantage of."
He bared his teeth in a grin.
"When I speak, they see something old. Familiar. Safe."
Stigr tilted his head. "Safe?"
"A known danger," Ivar corrected. "They know how men like me work. They are used to dealing with us. They think they understand us."
Runa's gaze sharpened. "Then why not let them think the goods are legitimately ours?"
Ivar's smile faded just a little.
"Because then they'd ask where we got our goods," he said quietly. "And once they know there's a growing settlement with strange power and rare goods…"
He spread his hands.
"Some would indeed come to trade honestly but some of them won't come for trade. They'd circle us like predators."
Stigr's grin vanished. "Oh. Like wolves."
Ivar pointed at him approvingly. "Exactly like wolves."
Runa exhaled slowly, eyes flicking toward the dark water beyond the ship.
"So we let them believe the wealth is stolen," she said. "That way, they look for a victim somewhere else."
"Until Weirstad is strong enough that we don't have to lie," Erik added calmly.
Stigr pumped a fist. "Then we won't hide anymore! We'll just sail in and go 'BOOM! we're awesome!'"
Ivar barked a laugh. "Gods, I like him. I don't know why but I like him"
Runa smirked faintly. "You would."
Ivar glanced down, then back toward the lights of Braavos, eyes burning with anticipation.
"Let them think we're thieves," he murmured. "It keeps them from realizing we're builders that aren't ready to defend ourselves yet."
----
For a week the Obsidian Leaf remained moored among merchant galleys and sleek Braavosi cutters, her black hull drawing curious glances but no trouble. Word spread quickly and quietly about a northern ship with rarities to sell with an iron born captain
Ivar thrived in it.
He moved through the city like he had been born in canals instead of iron isles. Old contacts resurfaced, dock factors, middlemen, men who claimed to be merchants and merchants who claimed to be honest. They greeted him with wary respect and hungry eyes.
"Volmark," one had laughed, clasping his arm. "I heard you died."
"Rumors exaggerate," Ivar replied pleasantly. "I simply became …. Occupied"
Erik stayed close, silent at first, listening. Braavosi flowed around him, fast, musical, sharp and he absorbed it greedily. Every word Ivar spoke anchored the language deeper in his mind. By the second day, he no longer needed to translate.
When it came time to bargain, Erik stepped forward.
Merchants learned very quickly that Erik could tell if anyone was misleading or lying and that tricking him was impossible.
He remembered prices after hearing them once. He noticed hesitation, breathing changes, micro-expressions of greed or fear. When a trader tried to inflate the worth of dyed silk, Erik gently mentioned a warehouse three streets over that had flooded the market. When another attempted to undervalue pelts, Erik casually named three buyers who had already offered more.
Ivar watched, amused.
"You haggle like a man who can see the future," he murmured one afternoon.
Erik didn't look up from the scales. "Only the present. People are very predictable when money is involved."
By the end of the week, the ship's hold had transformed.
Salt, pelts, leather, carbon-fiber armor and bows were gone—sold carefully, never in bulk large enough to draw attention. The pearls caused a quiet stir; Erik let that happen, then withdrew them from sale before questions could form.
With the coin, he began buying.
Iron tools first.
Every type he could find. Axes, adzes, saws, hammers, tongs, chisels. Cheap ones. Expensive ones. Crude and elegant. He bought them not for use, but for study. He also bought other machines like a more advanced loom and crossbows.
"These aren't for us?" Stigr asked, lifting a heavy plane and nearly dropping it on his foot.
"They're for copying," Erik replied. "Understanding design saves years of trial and error."
Erik went to bookstores but didn't buy anything. He browsed and his photographic memory captured every detail. Most were useless but there were some useful bits and pieces here and there.
Next came raw materials.
Bars of iron were hauled aboard in careful stacks. Gold and silver followed, less volume, more weight, wrapped in oilcloth and secrecy. Erik ran his fingers over the metal once, already imagining molds, alloys, coinage. He also got small amounts of every other metal or chemical he could find. He also got bundles of cloth, seed of new plants and crops
Runa watched the transactions with narrowed eyes.
"You're not just buying tools," she said. "You're buying independence."
Erik nodded. "Yes. But nots just independence. It will take years but there will come a time when we will be the one selling to them"
The last purchases were the quietest and the most important.
Ivar found them in back alleys and guild halls: craftsmen whose luck had turned, artisans trapped by debt, apprentices beaten down by masters who had wrung every drop of talent from them and still demanded more.
Erik listened to their stories.
A tailor whose hands shook too much to keep up with fashion but not enough to lose skill.
A smith with a ruined knee who could no longer stand at the forge all day.
A carpenter whose master had died, leaving him buried under obligations he never agreed to.
A jeweler too old to compete, too proud to beg.
An old shipwright with a missing arm
A crippled engraver.
A sick leatherworker.
A severely injured cobbler.
A crossbow maker in trouble for gambling
An alchemist blinded in an chemical accident.
Two brilliant apprentices drowning in debt.
Erik paid their debts without haggling and subtly helped their ailments a little bit.
That alone convinced half of them.
The rest took more.
"We're building something new," he told them, again and again. "No guild chains. No inherited cruelty. You work. You teach. You live safely. That is the contract."
Some stared at him like he was lying.
Others looked at him like he was insane.
A few looked at him like he was telling the truth.
Ivar watched one such group board the Obsidian Leaf under cover of dusk, bundles in their arms, fear and hope warring on their faces.
"You're stealing people now," he said lightly.
Erik glanced at him. "Rescuing potential."
Runa's smile was sharp but genuine. "Braavos will miss them."
"No," Ivar said coolly, watching the city lights ripple on the water. "Braavos will replace them. Cities always do."
By the end of the week, the ship sat lower in the water, heavy with iron, coin, tools, chemicals, bundles of cloth, seed of new plants and crops and people who had nowhere else to go.
And for the first time since leaving Weirstad, Erik felt it clearly:
They were investing.
=======
The armorers' district lay under a haze of coal smoke and habit.
Hammers rang from open forges, men shouted prices, apprentices ran with buckets and tongs. Rows of breastplates and shields hung like dull mirrors, thick, heavy, overworked iron that all looked much the same.
At the far end of the street stood a shop most people walked past.
Its sign was faded. Its door half open. Dust lay thick on the threshold.
Ivar stopped, resting his weight on his cane, eyes narrowing.
"Ah," he said softly peekig inside. "What's so special about this place? Other than a female blacksmith running it?"
Runa folded her arms, skeptical.
"Yes. If it's so good," she said coolly, "why does no one go in?"
Erik didn't answer immediately. He stepped closer to the open doorway.
Inside, among the dull iron, one piece stood out.
A chestplate hung on a wooden stand, subtly different. Thinner. Cleaner lines. The surface caught the light not with the crude shine of over-polishing, but with a deeper, darker gleam. It looked flimsy compared to others.
Erik pointed.
"That one."
Ivar followed his finger, brows lifting slightly.
"…Interesting."
Runa tilted her head. "It's thinner. Is it a display piece?"
"No" Erik said quietly. "It's Carburized."
"No one else here has it," Erik continued. "They don't even recognize it for what it is. They think it's a mistake. Or a trick."
"Or a woman's work," Runa said flatly.
Erik nodded once.
Runa snorted. "Braavos prides itself on freedom, but gods forbid a woman makes something better than men."
"And you want to recruit her" Ivar stated.
Erik merely nodded.
Runa studied the empty street, the dust, the neglected door.
"She's established here," she said. "Such as it is. People with skill don't leave easily, even when they're ignored."
Erik's lips curved faintly.
"I don't intend to ask her to leave like I did the others."
Both of them looked at him.
Ivar's grin widened. "I like where this is going."
Erik turned and walked to a nearby stall, lifting a battered chestplate from a pile of rejects. The metal was cracked near the collarbone, warped where a blade had bitten deep.
He paid without haggling.
Runa arched an eyebrow.
"You're buying broken armor."
"Yes," Erik replied calmly. "And I'm going to take it to her."
"To be fixed?" Runa asked.
"Yes and no," Erik said, turning the ruined plate in his hands. "Observe"
Ivar let out a low laugh.
"Oh, you're wicked."
Erik stepped toward the dusty shop.
"She won't come for coin," he said quietly. "Or flattery. She's had enough of both, in the wrong form."
He pushed the door open.
"She'll come," Erik finished, "because someone finally noticed what she did… and knows why it matters."
Behind him, Runa exhaled slowly, a small smile forming despite herself.
"Fine," she said. "Let's see if your faith in quiet genius survives first contact."
Ivar tapped his cane against the stone, eyes gleaming.
"If it does," he said, "Braavos just lost another secret."
The door creaked shut behind Erik, and the forge fire within flickered brighter.
The forge was quiet except for the steady breath of the bellows and the dull red glow of iron resting in ash.
Erik set his battered scale cuirass on the anvil with a careful hand.
"I was told I was daft for even bringing this to you," he said, almost apologetically.
The woman across the forge didn't look up at first. She was packing powdered charcoal into a clay-lined trough, her hands blackened, precise.
"Oh?" she said at last. "Who told you that?"
"The other armorers," Erik replied.
That made her snort. She straightened, wiping her hands on a rag, dark eyes sharp.
"And let me guess," she said. "They said I couldn't do it because I'm a woman."
Erik shook his head.
"No. Not once."
She paused, surprised despite herself.
"They said," Erik continued evenly, "that you're excellent with horseshoes and nails. That your plough edges last longer than anyone's. That you're clever with fire."
He hesitated, then added,
"But that you're shite with armor."
For a heartbeat, the forge was silent.
Then she laughed, short, humorless.
"Of course," she said. "They'd say that."
She gestured toward the trough. Inside, iron plates were buried beneath charcoal dust and sealed with clay caps.
"They don't like that I cook the metal," she said. "They like to beat it. Fold it. Quench it. Makes them feel strong. Everyone thinks my armor's thinners so it must be for show"
"Why not make what other's make?" Erik asked "The thick bulky ones"
"I tried" she replied "No one bought one. So I made the thinner and stronger one but one wants to give it a chance"
Erik leaned closer, studying the setup. "You're feeding it carbon. Ash"
Her eyes flicked to him, assessing.
"Careful. Spilling secrets makes people uncomfortable."
"Because they don't understand it," Erik replied calmly. "Or maybe some do, and it means they've been doing it wrong."
"If you leave iron in carbon long enough," she said, lowering her voice, "it stops being just iron. It remembers the fire. It hardens without becoming brittle. Takes an edge without shattering."
She tapped the sealed trough.
"They call it cheating."
Erik rested a hand on his armour.
"Can you mend it?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation. "And when I'm done, it'll turn blades that would have split it before."
He nodded. "Then do it."
She raised an eyebrow. "You don't care what they say?"
Erik met her gaze, unblinking.
"I'm not like the others. I make my own opinions based on logical facts"
That seemed to please her more than praise ever could.
"Come back tomorrow," she said, already turning back to the forge. "And don't tell anyone about the ash."
"I won't," Erik replied.
As he stepped away, she added quietly, almost to herself
"They'll adopt it eventually. After some man 'rediscovers' it and puts his name on the fire."
Erik paused at the doorway
"Probably" He replied "I'll be back tomorrow for the chest plate"
------
Erik returned the next day.
The shop looked the same dusty quiet place with the low steady hiss of a forge that never quite went cold but something had changed. The broken chestplate he had brought lay on the central bench, no longer a ruin.
It had been reborn.
The crack was gone, not crudely filled, but drawn together and reforged as if the metal itself had decided to heal. The surface bore faint, deliberate ripples where heat had been guided, not forced. It was thinner, lighter in the hand and yet when Erik lifted it, the balance was perfect.
The smith watched him from across the bench, arms folded, unreadable.
Erik turned the plate slowly, studying every line, every rivet.
"You didn't just fix it," he said quietly. "You corrected its mistakes. Here is your payment" Erik took out a pouch full in coins and placed it in front of her
"You see it," she said cautiously as he took her payment jiggling the pouch and feeling its weight before nodding in satisfaction.
"I do." Erik replies
She studied him again, more carefully this time.
"…Most don't."
"They don't want to," Erik replied. "Because if they admit what you've done with that chestplate on the wall" he gestured toward her carburized work "and this one here they'd have to admit they're wrong. And they'd have to admit you are right."
Her jaw tightened.
"You shouldn't speak of things you don't understand," she said.
Erik leaned forward slightly, voice quiet but certain.
"You controlled the carbon uptake. Low oxygen environment. Charcoal sealed tight. Long soak, slow quench. You didn't make it harder—you made it smarter."
The file slipped from her fingers and clattered softly onto the bench.
For a heartbeat, the shop was utterly silent.
"…Who taught you that?" she asked.
"No one here," Erik said gently. "I simply see what others do not and I see that you a very talented blacksmith being forced to do apprentice work to make a living because you are a woman trying to excel in a male dominated field"
She looked away, swallowing. When she spoke again, her voice was sharper—defensive.
"And yet," she said, "it changes nothing. They come for horseshoes. Nails. Pots. They say armor is men's work. That weapons forged by a woman are cursed."
"They are wrong," Erik said simply. "They will believe the men who survive wearing it. Only problem is they won't give it and you a chance. I will"
For the first time, she smiled, not wide, not triumphant, but real.
"You don't praise lightly," she said.
"No," Erik agreed. "That's why this matters."
He inclined his head toward the chest plate once more.
"This isn't just repaired," Erik said. "It's proof. And proof deserves a future."
"This city will never admit it," Erik continued. "Not while your brilliance can be quietly buried under dust and tradition."
Her hands clenched.
"I know," she snapped. "I have known for years."
Erik straightened.
"Then stop wasting the coming years."
She stared at him.
"I'm offering you a place where your work will be seen and appreciated" he said. "Where armor is not made to satisfy guild pride, but to keep people alive. Where your methods will be taught, expanded, improved and named after you"
She shook her head. "You don't even know my name."
"I don't need to," Erik replied. "Not yet. But I know what you are."
That struck deeper than anger.
"And what is that?" she demanded.
"A woman who solved a problem men refused to admit existed," Erik said evenly. "A smith whose mind outruns her city. A genius told to be grateful for crumbs because her gender doesn't match her passion"
Her eyes burned.
"I have a shop," she said hesitatingly "A life."
"You have a cage," Erik corrected softly. "Painted to look like stability. Here you may survive but you'll never thrive"
Silence stretched.
Outside, hammers rang. Men shouted. Business went on without her.
Erik pressed once more
"Come with me to my growing settlement, Weirstad in Westros" he said. "You'll have your own forge. Your own apprentices. Authority over armor, weapons and metallurgy in general. Your name will be attached to your work."
"And if I fail?" She asked uncertainly
"You won't," Erik said. "But if you do, you'll fail because the idea was wrong not because you were ignored. And then you'll try again and succeed"
She looked at the carburized chest plate on the wall. At the dust. At the empty doorway.
"…They'll say I ran away," she whispered. "That I gave up"
Erik smiled, just a little.
"Let them. History is written by the victor and you will win. I'll make sure of it"
Her breath shook.
Finally, she met his eyes.
"If I come," she said slowly, "I will not make horseshoes."
Erik inclined his head.
"I would be offended if you did personally. You will have apprentices to do all the menial jobs"
She closed her eyes for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
"Give me three days," she said. "I'll bring what matters."
Erik stepped back, giving her space.
"We sail in four."
As he turned to leave, she stopped him.
"Kate Brynhild" she asked quietly. "My name's Kate Brynhild"
Erik paused at the door.
"Well met Kate Brynhild" he said. "I'll see you in three days"
When the door closed behind him, the forge fire flared higher, fed not with coal, but with something long denied its due.