The air inside was stifling. The forge wasn't just hot—it was alive. The stone walls glowed with slow pulses of magma veins, and the sound of metal on metal echoed through the vast chamber like a heartbeat.
The dwarf who had greeted them, now fully armored in soot-stained smith gear, turned back to face them with a scowl of authority.
"Forget what you know about fighting," he said, voice rough like gravel grinding on steel. "This ain't the battlefield. This is the forge. Here, ye don't swing to kill. Ye swing to create."
Leon and Roman nodded.
The dwarf continued. "You're not here to slap runes on blades or hammer pretty patterns. You're gonna learn from the roots—starting from how to make a damned fire."
Roman blinked. "Wait, just the fire?"
