The clang of metal filled the forge once more, blending with the rising hum of morning activity in Ravenholt. Bran was back at the anvil, his hammer rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The unfinished blade gleamed beneath each strike, and despite the ache in his shoulders, he kept going. Determination drove him as always—but today, the weight of the strange dream clung to him like soot.
A voice cut through the haze of his focus.
"You're hitting that poor thing like it owes you money."
Bran blinked, pausing mid-swing. Standing just beyond the forge's doorway was someone he hadn't expected to see: Tobias Hart, newly arrived in Ravenholt and already causing ripples through the usually quiet village.
Tobias was lean and wiry, dressed in sturdy traveling clothes dusted with road dirt. His short brown hair curled slightly at the ends, and a thin scar traced the edge of his jawline—evidence of a life not without hardship. He carried himself with a confidence that turned heads, though his smile was as warm as summer rain.
Bran set down his hammer and wiped sweat from his brow. "It's just stubborn metal," he grumbled. "Sometimes you have to remind it who's in charge."
Tobias smirked, stepping fully into the forge. "Sounds like blacksmith logic."
"And what would you know about blacksmithing?" Bran shot back, though there was no real bite in his tone.
"Not much," Tobias admitted, leaning casually against a wooden workbench. "But I do know a thing or two about stubbornness." His eyes sparkled with a challenge, and Bran found himself unexpectedly intrigued.
Tobias had been in Ravenholt for only a few weeks, arriving with a small trade caravan from the southern territories. Rumors had spread quickly, as they always did in a place like this. Whispers about Tobias's past, his reasons for traveling alone, and his self-assured presence in a world that rarely offered safe spaces for those who lived differently.
Bran didn't care for rumors. What mattered to him was what he saw: someone bold, clever, and unapologetically himself. And maybe that was why Tobias's arrival had unsettled Bran in a way he couldn't quite name.
"So," Tobias said, breaking the silence. "Is this where you hide from the world all day? Hammering swords and brooding?"
Bran snorted. "I don't brood."
"Sure you don't," Tobias teased, pushing off the workbench and stepping closer. "Let me guess—you're working on some masterpiece that'll make you famous?"
Bran shrugged, glancing down at the half-forged blade. "Just trying to make something that doesn't fall apart in a knight's hands."
Tobias tilted his head, studying Bran with an intensity that made the blacksmith's stomach twist unexpectedly. "Seems to me you're already doing that," he said quietly. "But maybe you're aiming for more than just a sword that holds together."
Bran felt heat rise to his face—not from the forge, but from something else entirely. He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the sudden tension. "What are you doing here anyway?"
Tobias grinned. "Thought I'd see what all the noise was about. And maybe remind you that there's life outside this forge."
Bran crossed his arms. "You offering to show me?"
"Maybe I am." Tobias's voice was light, but there was something deeper beneath it—an invitation, perhaps, or a promise.
For a moment, the clang of the forge faded into the background. The world narrowed to just the two of them standing amid heat and sparks, the air thick with unspoken possibilities.
Bran wasn't sure what to make of Tobias Hart, but he knew one thing: this wasn't the last time they'd cross paths. And maybe—just maybe—that was exactly what he wanted.