The forge burned hotter than usual that afternoon, or at least it felt that way to Bran. His shirt clung to his back, sweat dripping down his temples as he hammered a stubborn iron rod into submission. The work required focus, but today his concentration kept slipping.
Tobias stood just a few paces away, leaning against the wall with that easy grin he seemed to wear like armor. The playful glint in his eyes was enough to make Bran grip the hammer tighter than he needed to.
"You know," Tobias drawled, "I don't think I've ever seen someone glare a sword into shape before."
Bran scowled, more at himself than Tobias. He couldn't shake the awareness of Tobias's presence—the way he moved, the confident tilt of his head, the rasp of his voice. It was unsettling, like an itch Bran couldn't quite scratch.
"It's called craftsmanship," Bran muttered, trying to sound indifferent. "Not that you'd know anything about that."
Tobias laughed, a low, warm sound that rolled through the forge. "Fair point. But I do know when someone's distracted."
"I'm not distracted," Bran shot back, though the lie was obvious even to him.
Tobias arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. "If you say so."
Bran returned to his work, hammering harder than necessary. The clang of metal filled the space, but it did little to drown out the weight of Tobias's gaze.
Minutes passed in tense silence until Tobias spoke again, his tone softer. "You ever think about leaving Ravenholt?"
The question caught Bran off guard. He paused, the hammer hovering midair. "What do you mean?"
Tobias shrugged, stepping closer. "I mean, there's a whole world out there. Places where people don't spend their whole lives making swords for other men to fight with."
Bran set the hammer down, wiping his hands on a rag. "This forge is all I've known," he admitted. "And it's not just about swords. It's about building something that lasts."
Tobias nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough. But sometimes... maybe you have to step away to figure out what you're really building."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the forge seemed quieter, the air thick with something unspoken. Bran's pulse quickened, though he couldn't say why.
"I'll think about it," Bran said gruffly, turning back to his work.
Tobias lingered for a beat longer, then gave a small nod. "You do that."
As he walked toward the door, Bran found himself watching him go, the heat from the forge paling in comparison to the warmth pooling in his chest