New moon

Reunited

Sparks flew, the non-stop hammering of metal echoing the forge. Heat warped both the view of the flames and metal alike. A flood of false water coated the stone flooring, heat engulfing the room.

Runaan walked up the path to the forge, his sword in its sheath on his back and two blades belonging to his mothers in his hands.

Despite being swamped with newfound work, he still made the time to see them. Always. They combatted his teenage angst with acceptance and love, moon above, they were always there when he needed it- whether the elf knew it or not.

"Sharpen my blade, enchant ama's, polish and wax mum's, and... ask Dyvorlas about a possible replacement." Runaan mumbled to himself, running over the checklist he had mentally created once more.

His footsteps echoed as he walked up the stairs, eyes following others as they came down.

'That's unusual,' he noticed, 'Normally two people could never be seen here at once.'

Even weirder, the doors to the forge were wide open. Their large wooden and enforced frame warped from time and harsh weather, but still holding up well. The temperature raised notably with every step closer.

"Hello?" Runaan called, standing in the doorway. He poked his head in, seeing the fires roaring at full blaze and a fresh blade being treated within a quench tank.

"Oh!" Dyvorlas' voice replied, coming from behind a wall. He rounded the corner on wobbly knees, using the uncut wood for a handle as a make-shift cane. "I was wondering when you would stop by. You always show up after you finish a job."

Runaan walked closer, eyes darting from the elder's face to the large bars of metal in his free hand.

"Here, let me." He insisted, setting down his mother's swords on a side table and coming over. Dyvorlas simply let Runaan take the metal from him, laughing a little as the other's eyes widened and his posture curved.

"They're heavier than they look, son." Dyvorlas hummed, hobbling over to the swords the assassin has set down. "If you could put those on the workspace by the forge, that would be wonderful." He called over his shoulder.

Runaan nodded and did as he was told. He set the metal down with a huff and brushed off his hands, taking a moment to rub at his bicep. If the amount he underestimated the weight of those bars could be measured, it would reach the other end of Xadia.

"How do you carry those around all day?" Runaan asked, turning around and watching as Dyvorlas turned his Ama's blade over in his wrinkled hands.

The blacksmith smiled, "Same way you carry your weapons. They were all metal like that at some point."

"I... that is true." He reached behind him, pulling his own blade and sheath from its holster. "They do not weigh the same though. Swords and bows are much lighter."

Dyvorlas shrugged, "They are more balanced. It feels lighter because it is evenly dispersed. That, and well, sometimes I cut the metal down to size." He picked up the swords and placed them on a table with many others, waiting to be worked on.

"Now," he clapped his hands together, the leather of his gloves muting the sound, "What is it you need today?"

Runaan went to hand over his own blade before pausing. His elven ear twitched, a heavy thumping coming closer from outside. The rhythm indicated footsteps, but no elf in the Silvergrove carried themselves like that.

"Um, just..." he trailed off, head turning towards the doors. The footsteps got closer, louder, and Runaan's heart began to match the intensity of the sound.