The forge smelled of resin and scorched linen. It was a comforting scent now—one Edward had come to associate with the hard work of building something that shouldn't exist.
He stood near the open bench, holding one of the new curved spars, running a thumb along the groove where the canvas would anchor. Beside him, the wide frame of the next full-scale glider was beginning to take shape.
"I think it's time we named one of these," Leonard said. He was cross-legged on the floor, sorting bolts and nails into size-matched jars. "Can't keep calling it 'the glider' forever."
Edward blinked. "I've just been calling it 'the next one.'"
"That's not a name. That's denial."
Edward smirked, then turned back to the frame. It didn't feel finished enough to deserve a name—but Leonard wasn't wrong. If it was going to carry him, maybe even into the air someday, it should be something more than spare wood and cloth.
"Alright," he said. "Suggestions?"
Leonard looked up. "Windbone."
Edward laughed. "Sounds like a bard's tavern song."
"Exactly. Easy to remember."
Elsie appeared at the door with a pair of old gloves in one hand. "How about something like Dawnchaser?" she offered. "Or Skyward?"
"Too serious," Edward said.
"Too poetic," Leonard added.
From behind them, a quiet voice spoke. "What about 'Ashwing'?"
They turned. Mira stood at the doorway, holding a book half-open in her hands. She closed it and stepped inside.
"It started in ashes," she said simply. "The first one burned. This one's built better."
Edward looked at the frame. The wings weren't covered yet, but the shape was already there—stronger, wider, smarter. Made not just of parts, but of lessons.
"Ashwing," he repeated. "Yeah. That fits."
---
They spent the next week working together more closely than ever. Mira didn't just bring books now; she stayed in the forge longer, helped stitch canvas, even corrected balance angles on the spot. Elsie kept the tools in order and started taking notes of her own. Leonard organized a set of hand signals for wind speed, just in case.
It wasn't just Edward's project anymore.
One evening, his father came to the forge. He didn't say anything at first, just stood watching from the doorway.
"You're not going to stop, are you?" he finally asked.
Edward shook his head. "I'm not trying to fly yet. Just glide. Just learn."
His father stepped inside, touched the edge of the frame.
"Your grandfather used to carve wooden birds," he said quietly. "Said they helped him think. Your mother told me I should've kept one."
Edward didn't know what to say.
His father nodded once. "Just... land in one piece."
"I will."
---
The new glider—Ashwing—was ready by the end of the tenth day. Stronger frame. Wider wings. Dual-braced undercarriage. Mira adjusted the rear stabilizers twice before calling them "acceptable." Edward took it to the hill with the others watching from the top.
The wind was right.
He stepped into the harness, took a deep breath, and ran.
Ashwing lifted. Not high—but long. The slope carried him forward. The canvas held. He felt the wind beneath the wings.
He wasn't flying.
But he was staying aloft longer than he ever had.
He landed in the grass with a stumble but no fall. A burst of cheers erupted from the hill.
Edward looked back up, laughing aloud, heart wild in his chest.
Ashwing had held.
And his name was still his.