"Why were you dancing on my rooftop?" The young woman had asked Max, who was sitting on the side, hiding from her eyes. "It's not a dance, it's a matter of life and death."
"But it looked like dancing to me."
A cursed memory that pained him to no end, so Max ignored it whenever similar dreams came to him.
Tonight, he was going to dance again, and like many nights in the last five years, there would be no one to make fun of him anymore. But now was not the time to mope, he had cried enough. It was time for revenge.
As their names dictated, the Smeltvers started as a small-time smelter clan that barely was able to compete with the blacksmiths. Always considered the working class before industrialization and slave to Blacksmiths will. For it was the blacksmiths that were able to add value to the material they processed.
