A noise of the guild faded behind me as the door shut.
For a brief moment, I stood still.
The contract remaining in my hand, light in weight, yet heavy in implication.
Goblins.
Simple.
Manageable.
But none of that mattered without one thing.
A weapon.
My gaze shifted slightly as I began walking, though already settling into place.
I had coins… but not enough to waste.
A proper blade would cost more than I could afford without compromising everything else.
Food.
Lodging.
Survival.
Which meant…
I needed something usable.
Not perfect.
Not new.
Just enough.
The sound reached me before the sight.
Metal striking metal.
Rhythmic.
Measured.
A forge.
I adjusted my path without hesitation.
The building itself was easy to recognize. Thick stone walls, darkened slightly by years of smoke, with heat spilling faintly from within. The air grew warmer as I stepped closer.
Inside, the scent of iron and fire settled immediately.
A single figure stood behind the anvil.
Broad.
Solid.
A dwarf.
His hammer rose and fell with steady precision, each strike controlled, deliberate. Sparks scattered briefly before fading into nothing.
I said nothing.
Waited.
After a few more strikes, the hammer stopped.
"...If you're here, say something," he muttered, not looking up.
His voice was rough, but not unfocused.
Observant.
"I need a sword."
That was enough to make him glance up.
His eyes landed on me… and stayed there.
"...An elf," he said.
Not surprised.
Not impressed.
Just… noting it.
Then his gaze shifted, scanning me more carefully.
Clothes. Posture. Hands.
Judging.
"...And you want steel?" he added.
"Yes."
A short pause followed.
Then…
A quiet scoff.
"Strange times."
He set the hammer aside and stepped away from the anvil, wiping his hands with a cloth as he approached.
Up close, his presence was heavier. Not just physically… but in the way he carried himself.
Grounded.
Experienced.
His eyes lingered again, sharper this time.
"...You know how to use one?"
Not a question.
A test.
"Yes."
He held my gaze for a moment longer.
Then turned without another word.
"Wait."
I remained where I stood.
The forge crackled softly in the background, the heat steady, almost suffocating.
Moments passed.
Then he returned.
A sword rested in his hand.
PLain.
Worn.
But intact.
He held it out.
"Second-hand," he said. "Came back with its last owner."
A pause.
"...Not in one piece."
I took the blade.
Its weight settled into my hand.
Familiar.
Balanced well enough.
The edge wasn't perfect… but it would cut.
Most importantly…
It would hold.
For now.
"...How much?" I asked.
He named a price.
Lower than expected.
Still enough to matter.
I placed the coins in his hand without hesitation.
He didn't count them immediately.
Instead, his gaze shifted back to me.
"...You've trained," he said.
I said nothing.
"...But not like this," he continued, tapping the blade lightly.
"Steel doesn't care about form."
A brief pause.
"Out there, it's not practice."
Just… certain.
I met his gaze.
"I'm aware."
Another moment passed.
Then…
A small grunt.
"Good."
He finally pocketed the coins.
As I turned to leave, his voice came again.
"Don't push it too far."
I stopped.
"That blade's already lived its life once."
A quiet warning.
Or advice.
Perhaps both.
The city slowly gave way behind me.
Stone turned to dirt.
Noise faded into the distance.
The air changed… cooler, quieter.
Still.
Each step carried me further from structure and into something far less predictable.
The road narrowed as I continued, signs of travel becoming less frequent. Fewer people. Fewer sounds.
Until eventually…
Nothing.
Just the wind.
And the faint rustle of leaves.
The forest stood ahead.
Dense.
Unwelcoming.
Watching.
I adjusted my grip on the sheathed sword slightly.
Its presence was reassuring.
But not enough.
Not yet.