Forge of Fate

The forge's fires had dimmed to a soft glow, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. Kalem had long since retired, exhaustion evident in his dragging steps and heavy-lidded eyes. He deserved the rest—after all, he had just crossed a threshold few ever did, gaining Vornar's approval and the freedom to mine, create, and explore on his own terms.

In the quiet of the workshop, Vornar stood by a rack of gleaming weapons, inspecting a jagged sword he had been working on. The rhythm of the forge still thrummed faintly in the air, a melody that only seasoned smiths could truly hear.

From the doorway came a low chuckle. "Still at it, eh, Vornar?"

The master smith didn't turn but grunted in acknowledgment. "If the fire's alive, the work's never done."

Tharic stepped into the room, his stout frame swathed in the rugged leathers he always wore. He carried a flask in one hand and a knowing grin on his face. "I figured you'd be burning the midnight oil. Thought you could use some company."

Vornar gestured to a nearby stool. "Suit yourself."

Tharic plopped down, taking a long swig from his flask before setting it on the workbench. The silence stretched, broken only by the occasional clink of Vornar's tools as he worked. Tharic finally spoke, his tone more serious than usual.

"So, what do you think of the lad?"

Vornar set down the sword and turned to face Tharic, his expression unreadable. "Kalem's got skill, I'll give him that. Stubborn, too. Doesn't quit when the fire's hot."

Tharic nodded. "That's the truth. Kid's got the kind of grit you don't see much these days. But you're not exactly known for taking strays under your wing, Vornar. Why'd you let him in?"

Vornar leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms. "You brought him here, Tharic. Said he had potential, and I'm not one to waste good talent. But you're not just playing the kind-hearted mentor either, are you?"

Tharic's grin widened, though his eyes held a sharp gleam. "Caught me, did you? Guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Vornar snorted. "I know you too well, dwarf. So, out with it. What's your angle?"

Tharic took another swig from his flask, his demeanor shifting. For a moment, the joviality faded, replaced by a solemnity that rarely surfaced. "It's not just about the boy's potential," he admitted. "It's what he represents."

Vornar raised an eyebrow but remained silent, letting Tharic continue.

"You've seen what he can do," Tharic said, gesturing vaguely toward the forge. "The way he thinks—outside the box, always adapting. That's rare, Vornar. And it's exactly what we need. The world's changing. The old ways won't keep up forever."

Vornar frowned. "And you think Kalem's the answer to that?"

Tharic shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But he's got the fire in him, same as the great smiths of old. He's not just some miner swinging a pickaxe; he's got the heart of a craftsman and the mind of a fighter. That combination's worth cultivating."

The master smith studied Tharic closely. "You're not telling me everything."

Tharic chuckled, though it lacked his usual warmth. "Can't hide much from you, can I? Fine. I brought Kalem here for more than just his potential. There's something coming, Vornar. Something big. The kind of big that'll make even a beast like the Garon seem small."

Whispers of What's to Come

The room seemed to grow heavier, the air thick with unspoken tension. Vornar's gaze hardened. "What are you talking about?"

Tharic leaned forward, lowering his voice. "The Mountain of Burning Ashes—it's not just a forge's paradise or a hunter's proving ground. There's something buried here, deep in the rock. Something ancient. I've been hearing whispers, rumors of things stirring. Things that shouldn't."

Vornar's jaw tightened. "And you think Kalem's got something to do with it?"

Tharic shook his head. "Not directly. But I think he's part of the answer. You've seen how he works. The way he turns obstacles into opportunities. If anyone's got a shot at surviving what's coming—and helping the rest of us survive too—it's someone like him."

The master smith's expression darkened. "You're gambling on a boy who's just learning to stand on his own feet."

"I'm gambling on potential," Tharic corrected. "On fire and grit and the ability to adapt. You said it yourself—he doesn't quit when the fire's hot. We'll need that, and more."

A Warning and a Plan

Vornar pushed off the workbench, pacing the room. "If what you're saying is true, then we're all in deeper trouble than I thought. But don't think for a second that I'll let you use that boy like a tool."

Tharic raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not trying to use him, Vornar. I'm trying to prepare him. What he does after that is up to him."

The master smith stopped, his piercing gaze locked on Tharic. "He's earned his place in the forge. He's earned my respect. But if you drag him into something he's not ready for, you'll answer to me."

Tharic met his gaze, unflinching. "Fair enough. But don't underestimate him. The kid's tougher than he looks."

The tension eased slightly as Vornar let out a long sigh. "I'll keep an eye on him. And if there's something stirring in the mountain, we'll face it. But not without a damn good plan."

Tharic grinned, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "That's why I came to you, old friend. Who better to make a plan than the greatest smith in the land?"

Vornar shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're lucky I don't toss you out on your arse."

As the two shared a rare moment of camaraderie, the forge's fires flickered, casting long shadows that seemed to dance with purpose. Whatever lay ahead, Kalem's journey was far from over—and the trials he had faced were just the beginning.