Hunnt's hammer rose and fell with a steady rhythm, striking the glowing steel at the anvil. Each clang rang sharp and certain through Coerl's forge, blending with the hiss of water cooling hot iron and the roar of the furnace. Sweat dripped from his brow, arms smudged with soot, but his movements were precise, controlled—every strike deliberate, a conversation between fist and metal.
The creak of the heavy wooden door made Hunnt glance up briefly, though he didn't stop hammering. A young woman stepped inside, bow slung across her back, quiver at her side. She hesitated a moment, eyes scanning the forge—the hanging weapons, the tools, the furnace—before taking a careful step forward.
Hunnt's eyes flicked to her only for an instant before returning to the steel. He continued hammering, letting the rhythm guide him.
The girl's gaze lingered on him, puzzled. She had expected someone to greet her, perhaps a blacksmith or a mentor. Instead, the forge was filled with the sound of metal striking metal, and a quiet man whose face she couldn't read. Her fingers twitched at the strap of her bow.
"Uh… hello?" she said cautiously, stepping closer, voice barely above the roar of the forge.
Hunnt paused for a fraction of a second—just enough to glance at her—but said nothing. He returned to the hammer, letting the sparks fly.
The silence stretched. The girl shifted from foot to foot, awkward and unsure. She didn't know him. She didn't know who he was, yet here he was, working as though she wasn't even in the room.
Finally, Coerl's voice broke the tension. "Ah, you must be Elara." He stepped forward from the back of the forge, wiping soot from his hands. His brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing slightly in surprise as he took in the girl standing in the middle of his workshop. "And… you've come without a word? Well, it seems someone's brave—or reckless."
Elara blinked, startled, glancing between the elder man and the hammering figure. "I… I just wanted to see you, Grandfather," she said softly. "I… I wanted to learn. Blacksmithing… hunting… I want to learn it all."
Hunnt's dark eyes flicked to the bow on her back. He didn't speak, but the way he studied her stance, her careful movements, and the tension in her grip told him more than words could. She was alert, cautious—but she wasn't weak. Determination flickered in her gaze, despite the awkwardness that still clung to her.
Coerl ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as if still trying to process the surprise visit. "Hunnt," he said, gesturing toward the hammering young man, "this is Elara—my granddaughter. She's here to learn… though I must admit, I don't know why she's come today, or what drove her to make the journey."
Hunnt's hammer slowed slightly, then continued its rhythm. He glanced briefly at Coerl, then back at the girl, giving her nothing more than a quiet, assessing look. Elara's cheeks flushed, caught between curiosity and embarrassment at the silent scrutiny. She swallowed hard, gripping the strap of her bow tighter.
Coerl smiled, sensing the awkward tension in the forge. "From this day forward, you'll be sharing this space," he said, voice warm but firm. "Hunnt is quiet, but he listens. Elara, don't be intimidated. And Hunnt…" His eyes twinkled, "you'll have to get used to her presence. She's stubborn, I can tell, and she's determined."
Hunnt gave the faintest nod, returning to his work. Sparks flew from the steel as his hammer fell with practiced precision.
Elara took a careful step closer to the furnace, heat prickling her skin, watching him work. The smell of molten metal, the rhythm of hammer on steel, and the firelight reflecting off the walls drew her in. Despite the awkward silence, she felt a thrill of possibility. So this is the hunter who hammers steel as if it's an extension of himself, she thought. I'll prove myself here, too.
Coerl watched the two of them, pride and amusement mixing in his gaze. Sparks weren't the only things flying in the forge today. Two young people, strangers to one another, were standing at the threshold of something new—paths that might one day cross and strengthen one another, though neither yet understood how.
Hunnt's strikes continued, steady and unwavering. Elara shifted her weight, adjusting her bow on her back, taking in the forge, the fire, the tools, and the quiet young man who seemed almost part of it. She was unsure, nervous, but determination burned quietly beneath the surface.
Outside, the wind whispered through Ravenshire's streets, but inside the forge, the rhythm of hammer on steel and the hiss of cooled iron formed a new kind of music. Hunnt and Elara, two strangers connected by Coerl's teaching, stood side by side in silence, each aware that something had shifted. Sparks flew—not just from steel—but from a meeting that might change both of their futures.
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