Jolthar found solace in the rhythm of the workshop.
For the entire day and the one that followed, he remained there, his presence a quiet but effective one. The blacksmiths, initially wary of his intrusion, quickly recognized his skill. His hands moved with precision and familiarity as he worked alongside them, forging, shaping, and honing. It didn't take long for them to see just how interested he was.
The sharp tang of heated metal and the rhythmic clang of hammers on anvils filled the air, creating an almost meditative atmosphere.
Jolthar had always loved the simplicity of this work.
Here, the world outside—filled with politics, expectations, and hidden agendas—ceased to matter. The workshop became a haven, a place where the only concerns were the edge of a blade or the strength of a weld.
