The forge crackled and roared around them, rivers of molten metal hissing softly as they flowed through carved channels in the stone floor. Sparks leapt with every breath of the furnace, and the air pressed heavy against the skin, thick with heat and iron.
Durgan and Thrain were still staring at Luca.
Not aggressively. Not dismissively.
But with the kind of attention reserved for something that had just violated common sense.
Luca let the silence stretch for a heartbeat longer—just enough.
Then he lifted his hand.
The ring on his finger caught the forge-light, a simple band at first glance, unassuming. He slipped it off slowly and held it between his fingers, raising it to eye level.
"How about this?" he said.
Durgan frowned immediately.
Thrain blinked once.
For a long second, neither spoke.
Then Durgan snorted. "Have the hammers finally knocked sense out of your head, boy?"
Thrain crossed his arms, gaze sharp. "What do you mean?"
Luca smiled.
Not smug. Not arrogant.
