The sun had already begun to dip behind the line of the tall ancient trees when the Lapinfolk left, their long ears twitching as they disappeared into the woods. The clearing grew quiet again, save for the wind brushing through the vines above the cave entrance.
Torya sat on a flat rock near the entrance, elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on six fist-sized lumps of bronze ore laid neatly before him. They glimmered faintly in the fading light rough, reddish-brown stones with veins of dull gold running through them. He ran his fingers over one, feeling the cool, coarse texture, the weight of possibility.
He had seen metal before or at least, his memories told him he had but the knowledge stayed blurred, like a dream slipping away at dawn.
Behind him came the shuffling of feet and the low murmur of voices. Elder Saran approached, leaning slightly on his walking stick, his white hair glowing orange in the last rays of sunlight. The others followed Lera with her curious eyes, Yoren and Daren still whispering about the Lapinfolk, and Tir trailing close behind, half-skipping in his usual energy.
Tir was the youngest of the youths, small for his age but with boundless curiosity that made him seem larger than life. His hair was a mess of dark curls, his hands always fidgeting with something sticks, stones, or trouble.
A few steps behind him came Rahn, quiet as always, carrying a bundle of dried wood. Rahn was taller than the rest, broad-shouldered but gentle in movement. He rarely spoke, but everyone in the tribe knew that when something needed to be done, Rahn was the one who could be counted on to finish it.
Saran's gaze dropped to the stones. "So," he said, his voice a rasp softened by warmth, "what do you plan to do with those, young Torya?"
Torya looked up, blinking out of thought. "I'm not sure yet," he admitted. "They said they use it for trade. But… I feel like it can be more than just a shiny stone."
The old man chuckled softly, settling down beside him. "More than shiny, indeed." He tapped one of the bronze ores with the tip of his stick. "This… this is ore of the Earth's heart. Melted and shaped, it can be forged into blades, tips, even tools stronger than any stone you hold."
Gasps came from the group.
Tir leaned forward, his small frame almost trembling with excitement. "Harder than stone? Elder Saran, really?"
Saran nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. "Aye. Harder, and sharper too. But it's not easy to make. You'll need heat heat that bites like the sun itself. And patience."
Mira, one of the older women, approached carrying a clay pot filled with herbs. She set it down nearby and peered at the ores with interest. "I've seen such metal once," she murmured. "When I was a child. The traders from the southern river carried blades that gleamed like sunset. Said they were bronze too."
Daren crossed his arms, frowning slightly. "So… we can make weapons like theirs?"
"Maybe," Torya said, turning one of the stones over in his palm. "But I don't know how to cast it. I don't even know where to start."
Saran's eyes twinkled faintly, the way embers glowed under ash. "Hmm… I remember some things," he said, as though pulling threads from old memories. "When I was a boy, I traveled with my uncle to a large tribe beyond the ridge. They had a forge a place where they shaped metal. I remember the heat, the smell of charcoal, the sound of the wind bellows. It was… alive."
The youths leaned closer. Even Rahn, the quiet one who rarely spoke, raised his gaze from the ground.
"Forge?" Lera repeated softly.
"Aye," Saran said. "A pit lined with stone, filled with burning charcoal and air fed by skin bellows. That's how they melted the ore."
Torya's eyes narrowed with thought. His mind worked rapidly he could almost picture it. A forge… like a heart that breathes fire. He glanced at the ore again. "Then… we can make one."
Tir's eyes widened. "We can?"
Torya nodded slowly. "We can try. The Lapinfolk warned us that the forest isn't safe these days. Spears with bronze tips would help."
Saran stroked his beard, approving but cautious. "You'll need good stones smooth and hard. The heat will crack anything weak. And we'll need dry wood, thick logs, and clay if we can find some."
"I'll look for the stones," Rahn said quietly, his deep voice surprising everyone.
Torya turned toward him. Rahn rarely spoke, but when he did, his words carried weight. "Good. Take Yoren and Daren with you. Look near the stream bed the stones there are firm and rounded."
The two brothers nodded and jogged off with Rahn toward the woods.
As they left, Mira crouched beside the ore. "Do you think it's worth it, Torya?" she asked softly. "Metal is powerful, yes… but dangerous things often are."
Torya hesitated before answering. "I don't want power," he said, voice low. "I just don't want to be helpless when the next storm comes."
The woman smiled faintly, then turned to help Lera and Tir sort herbs nearby.
As the hours passed, the clearing filled with motion again talk, laughter, footsteps crunching over soil. Yoren and Daren returned with Rahn, each carrying armfuls of river stones. Lera brought a bundle of dried vines for tying, while Tir carried sticks and broken clay pots he found near the back of the cave.
Elder Saran instructed them how to arrange the stones. "Build it like a bowl," he said, gesturing with slow, patient hands. "Deep enough to hold the coal. Leave a gap here for air to pass through. We'll make a bellows tomorrow two skins and a hollow reed should do."
The group listened closely. Even the older women helped, clearing the ground and arranging stones with practiced care.
Torya watched them, a quiet pride swelling in his chest. This… this is how it should be, he thought. All of us building something together.
His mind wandered back to his own past fleeting, fractured memories of people in white clothes, shining tools, roaring flames. He could almost recall the exact heat of a furnace, the metallic scent of molten metal but it felt like a memory that didn't belong to him.
He sighed, shaking the thought away. Better to keep quiet. If they knew where my knowledge truly comes from, it would only bring questions I cannot answer.
By the time the sun had sunk behind the trees, their hands were sore and clothes dusty. The makeshift forge still only a ring of stones with a shallow pit in the center sat ready near the entrance, waiting for life.
Tir wiped his forehead and grinned. "Tomorrow, we'll make the strongest spears in the forest!"
Lera laughed, brushing dirt from her knees. "Only if you don't burn your eyebrows off first."
The others chuckled, and even Saran's shoulders shook with amusement. "Let's not tempt fate," he said. "We'll start slow. First we test the fire. Then the ore."
The air grew cooler as the last traces of sunlight faded. A faint orange glow from the small campfire flickered across their faces. Mira handed out roasted roots and herbs mixed with a few strips of dried deer meat. The smell filled the clearing simple food, but comforting.
As they ate, the chatter continued small things, everyday worries. Yoren talked about his younger sister's dream of catching a star, Daren teased Lera for her stubbornness, and Tir kept asking Elder Saran if bronze could really "cut through a beast's hide like butter."
"Not like butter," Saran replied with a chuckle, "but it'll make short work of those horned rabbits you like chasing."
Their laughter echoed softly into the night. For a moment, everything felt almost normal like the days before the men were taken for conscription, before the silence settled over their home.
Torya leaned back on the rock, looking at the dark forest stretching beyond the firelight. The Lapinfolk's words… the forest isn't safe these days. He couldn't shake the unease. The woods that once felt alive and old now seemed to be watching.
He glanced at the bronze ore again the faint shimmer catching the firelight, like tiny suns waiting to be born.
"We'll build the forge tomorrow," he said finally, voice calm but certain. "When the sun rises, we begin."
Elder Saran nodded in agreement. "Aye. Tomorrow, we give the tribe its first fire of creation."
The others murmured in approval, a quiet spark of excitement spreading through the group.
The fire crackled softly as night settled in, painting their faces in shades of amber and shadow. Above them, the stars began to pierce the sky, silent witnesses to the small tribe preparing to take its next step forward.
And as the night deepened, Torya's eyes lingered on the glowing stones once more his mind alive with plans, curiosity, and a whisper of something ancient stirring in his blood.
Tomorrow, the fire would breathe.