The day stretched on, the forge roaring with relentless heat. Bran worked in silence, hammering the warped iron with a ferocity born of frustration and resolve. Sweat slicked his skin, his muscles burning with each swing of the hammer.
The metal fought him at every turn, refusing to yield. Sparks flew with every strike, stinging his arms and face, but Bran didn't stop. He couldn't—not with Harwin's challenge looming over him like a dark cloud.
He gritted his teeth, channeling all his anger into the blade. Anger at Harwin for pushing him so hard. Anger at himself for caring so much about what the old smith thought. And beneath it all, a simmering frustration he couldn't quite name—one that had everything to do with Tobias Hart and the strange, unspoken tension between them.
By midday, his arms trembled with exhaustion. The blade was beginning to take shape, but it was far from finished. Bran knew he had to pace himself, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that Harwin was watching, waiting for him to falter.
The forge door creaked open, and Bran's heart skipped a beat.
"You're working yourself to death," Tobias's familiar voice broke through the haze.
Bran didn't look up. "What are you doing here?"
"Checking on you," Tobias said, stepping into the heat of the forge without hesitation. "Thought maybe you could use some company."
Bran shook his head, his voice tight. "Can't. Harwin gave me a job. No distractions."
Tobias arched a brow, leaning casually against a workbench. "Sounds like he's got you on a leash."
Bran's hammer struck the blade with a resounding clang, harder than necessary. "It's not like that."
"Isn't it?" Tobias asked, his tone light but probing. "Seems to me he's more interested in controlling you than teaching you."
Bran finally looked up, sweat dripping into his eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Maybe not," Tobias admitted, his gaze steady. "But I do know that sometimes people push you hard because they're afraid you'll outgrow them."
The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Bran's chest tightened, but he couldn't deny the spark of truth in Tobias's observation.
"I have to finish this," Bran said quietly, turning back to the blade.
"I get it," Tobias said, his voice softer now. "But just remember—you're allowed to want more than this."
Bran's hammer paused mid-swing, the weight of Tobias's words pressing against him. He wanted to argue, to dismiss it as nonsense. But part of him knew Tobias was right.
Tobias lingered for a moment longer, then pushed off the workbench. "I'll let you get back to it," he said, heading toward the door.
Bran watched him go, frustration and something deeper churning inside him. Tobias had a way of shaking loose thoughts Bran didn't want to confront.
As the door creaked shut, Bran gripped the hammer tightly, his resolve hardening.
He would finish the blade. He would prove Harwin wrong.
And maybe, just maybe, he'd figure out what it was he truly wanted—forge or no forge.