Cliff gripped the hammer, its familiar weight offering a brief comfort in this world of chaos. He approached the anvil, the sound of his boots echoing through the empty workshop. Around him, darkness stretched, but the forge remained bright, its heart burning in the surrounding shadows.
"Three more dead." The cold, unyielding voice of the announcement still echoed in his mind, cruelly stating the loss of his subordinates.
The names struck his soul like sharp blades.
A sense of helplessness crept in. These lost lives… it was his fault. His heart tightened as he remembered their sacrifice.
On the anvil, the two broken pieces of his sword lay motionless, silent witnesses to the devastation. Cliff could have easily repaired it. A simple gesture, and the weapon would have regained its former glory. He was a blacksmith, after all.
But he had decided otherwise. Not this time.
