Legacy: A Hero Has Come

Book 1: Chapter 6

Roland's eyes snapped open from a restless slumber. His gaze moved to the window in a dreary motion as he groaned. He shifted to the wooden clock, hearing the tiny gears clicking as he tried suffocating himself against his pillow.

4 o'clock in the morning! Are you kidding me?!

It was still night, but the pain in his chest kept him from returning to sleep. The stew was coming back on him, and his heart felt like it was about to explode. He needed to get up and walk it off, but he found a problem with that.

Roland pushed himself up by the elbows and sat against the headboard. Josephine clung to him with a tight grip, her face nestled up against his chest with her small breasts pressed to his arm. Her naked frame sought warmth and refused to let Roland go.

"Roland. Don't go. Don't ever leave me," Josephine murmured. Tears streamed from her eyes, unconsciously.

Roland's eyebrows lowered as he understood her despair. Her hand rubbed the scar on his leg—A reminder that he almost died. The pain Josephine endured as she stayed by his side, waiting for him to come back to the land of the living. A pain he didn't want her to go through ever again.

...And I never will. I promise.

He placed his hand and gently wiped away her tears. The memories plagued her mind as she refused to let him go. One thing he hated was to leave her alone and cause her more pain.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jo. I'll be sure to come back," He whispered.

His calming voice relaxed her. Roland could watch her forever as Josephine slept peacefully. However, now wasn't the time to leer, and Roland desperately needed to move.

Alright, Roland. Got to be very careful and not wake up the sleeping bear. He rubbed his stomach in reminiscence.

Slowly, he moved the sheets away with his body sliding out. He stopped for a second as Josephine started moving around, fearing she was waking up. Roland sighed, and with her grip loosening, he managed to break free and tiptoed his way out the door. Roland grabbed his sword and brought it with him. He couldn't leave without it, could he? Rubbing his chest once more, walking off won't be enough to get rid of such horrendous indigestion. Therefore, it was the perfect opportunity to get some use out of his sword as he went outside to get some exercise.

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Throughout the night, the Waylands worked underneath the house. The two prattled around the earthly room. Both of them trying to meet their quota while enduring the forge's scorching heat. The amber glow emanating from the large and robust furnace brought the only source of light in the whole basement.

Tor mended the forge with a stern and concentrated brow. He carefully poured into each mold, making sure not to spill while the fire kept ablaze. The smoke filtered through the pipes sticking into the dirt walls and out into the open as Tor's foot pumped the bellows. He made sure to keep his beard tucked into his leather apron before hammering in the solid pieces of metal. Sparks immediately flew and struck his bare forearms without a flinch or scorch. The thought of catching it on fire terrified him. Not out of a fear of death, but out of the fear of emasculation. To a dwarf, a beard was a sign of manhood, and Tor could not risk losing letting that go up in smoke.

With each nail and horseshoe done, he quickly took them out as Brunhilda snatched them from his hands, cooling them off into the water fix before she proceeded to hammer them in the final additions. She didn't need to cover her face as she endured the sparks bouncing off her lovely skin and bosom. The goggles she wore protected her eyes, but it wasn't enough. Sure. No matter what they wore, dwarves could handle the heat. Nevertheless, even they have a limit.