The forge was a wreckage of splintered wood and scattered tools, but the furnace still roared at its heart, casting a hellish glow over the chaos. Kara stood before Ashka, the dragon's massive form dominating the cramped space, her amber eyes glowing like twin suns in the dim light. The beast's torn wing stretched across the floor, the jagged gashes oozing dark blood that pooled in the cracks of the stone. The air was heavy with the stench of sulfur and charred scales, a bitter tang that clung to the back of Kara's throat with every breath. Her hammer hung at her side, its weight a familiar comfort, but her mind raced with uncertainty. She'd forged swords and mended plows, but a dragon's wing? That was a beast of a different kind.
Talon loomed nearby, his gray eyes tracking her every move like a hawk watching prey. His dagger was sheathed now, but his hand rested on the hilt of his longsword, a silent threat that needed no words. The scars on his face caught the firelight, casting jagged shadows across his sharp features, and though he hadn't spoken since his ultimatum, his presence was a storm cloud pressing against her back. Her father had retreated to the corner, his hands trembling as he clutched a half-finished blade, his eyes darting between Kara and the dragon rider. She didn't blame him for his fear—most men would've bolted at the sight of Ashka—but she'd be damned if she let this scarred stranger see her waver.
"Get on with it," Talon growled at last, his voice cutting through the crackle of the furnace like a blade. "She's in pain. You're wasting time."
Kara shot him a glare, her emerald eyes flashing with defiance. "You don't rush a forge," she snapped, her voice sharp as the steel she worked. "And you don't rush me. If you want her fixed, you'll shut your mouth and let me think." She turned back to Ashka, ignoring the way Talon's jaw tightened, the way his fingers twitched toward his sword. Let him stew—she had bigger problems than his temper.
She knelt beside the dragon's wing, her hands hovering over the torn membrane. The scales were cool to the touch despite the heat of the forge, their obsidian surface smoother than any metal she'd ever worked. The wounds were deep, the spear's path tearing through muscle and sinew, leaving ragged edges that glistened with blood. It wasn't just a matter of stitching or binding—this needed something stronger, something that could withstand the strain of flight. Her mind churned through possibilities: molten steel to seal the tears, iron braces to reinforce the structure. But steel on a living creature? The thought sent a shiver down her spine—not of fear, but of the challenge. If she could do this, if she could mend a dragon's wing, she'd be forging more than metal—she'd be forging a legend.
Ashka's amber eyes followed her, unblinking, and that strange heat bloomed in Kara's chest again, stronger this time. It wasn't the furnace, wasn't the adrenaline of the moment—it was something deeper, something that felt like a spark catching kindling. She shook her head, trying to focus, but the sensation lingered, a pulsing warmth that seemed to echo the dragon's ragged breaths. "Hold still," she muttered, more to herself than to Ashka, as she reached for a bar of steel from the workbench. She thrust it into the furnace, watching as the metal glowed cherry-red, then white-hot, the heat washing over her face like a lover's breath.
"Playing hero, are you?" Talon's voice dripped with mockery as he stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. "A little smith with a hammer, thinking she can save a dragon? You'll get us all killed if you botch this."
Kara didn't look up, her focus on the molten steel as she pulled it from the fire with a pair of tongs. "If I botch this, your dragon dies," she said coolly, her voice steady despite the storm in her chest. "And if you keep flapping your mouth, I'll botch that pretty face of yours next." She set the steel on the anvil, her hammer striking it with precision, flattening it into a thin sheet. Each blow sent sparks flying, the metallic clangs a counterpoint to the dragon's low growls. She could feel Talon's eyes on her, sharp and unyielding, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a glance.
The truth was, she didn't know if she could do this. Mending a wing wasn't like forging a blade—it was alive, it moved, it bled. But she'd never backed down from a challenge, and she wasn't about to start now. Not with a dragon's life on the line, and not with this scarred bastard breathing down her neck. She shaped the steel into a curved patch, thin enough to flex but strong enough to hold, then cooled it in a bucket of water with a hiss of steam that filled the forge with a ghostly mist.
As she turned back to Ashka, the dragon's amber eyes locked onto hers, and that heat in her chest flared into a blaze. It was like a thread pulling taut between them, a connection she couldn't name but couldn't ignore. Ashka let out a low rumble, not of pain but of… recognition? The dragon's tail shifted, curling protectively around Kara's kneeling form, the movement so sudden it made Talon stiffen.
"Don't," he snarled, stepping forward with his hand on his sword. "She doesn't trust easily. You move wrong, she'll crush you."
But Ashka didn't crush her. Instead, the dragon's massive head lowered, her hot breath washing over Kara's face, smelling of ash and iron. The connection deepened, and for a fleeting moment, Kara felt a wave of pain—not her own, but Ashka's. It was sharp, searing, like a blade slicing through her bones. She gasped, her hammer slipping from her hand to clatter against the floor, her vision swimming as the sensation overwhelmed her.
"What the hell are you doing?" Talon's voice was a whip-crack, his hand grabbing her shoulder and yanking her back. His gray eyes were stormy now, a mix of anger and something else—fear, maybe?—as he loomed over her. "You don't get to play games with her life."
Kara wrenched free, her temper flaring hotter than the furnace. "I'm not playing games," she spat, shoving him back with a force that surprised even her. "I felt her. Her pain. Don't ask me how—I don't know—but I did." She rubbed her chest where the heat still lingered, her breath coming fast as she tried to make sense of it. Dragons bonded with riders, not with smiths. So why did it feel like Ashka was reaching for her?
Talon's expression darkened, his scars pulling tight as his jaw clenched. "That's impossible," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You're not a rider. You're not even close." But there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, a crack in that icy mask, and Kara saw it. He knew something—something he wasn't telling her—and it only fueled her defiance.
"Then explain it," she challenged, stepping closer until they were inches apart, her emerald eyes boring into his gray ones. "Why does she look at me like that? Why do I feel her?" She jabbed a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his hand twitched toward his sword. "You dragged me into this mess, so start talking, or I walk away and let your dragon rot."
Talon didn't answer immediately. His gaze flicked to Ashka, then back to Kara, and for a moment, she thought he might strike her. But then Ashka let out a low, rumbling growl, her amber eyes narrowing at Talon, her tail tightening around Kara like a shield. The message was clear: she trusted Kara, not him. Talon's lips pressed into a thin line, and when he spoke, his voice was a dangerous whisper. "Fix her," he said, stepping back. "Then we'll talk."
Kara held his gaze a moment longer, her heart pounding with a mix of anger and curiosity. She didn't trust him—not one bit—but she couldn't deny the pull she felt toward Ashka, the heat that still simmered in her chest. Something was happening, something bigger than either of them, and she had a feeling it was only the beginning.
Turning back to the dragon, she picked up the cooled steel patch and set to work, her hands steady despite the storm in her mind. The forge roared behind her, the firelight dancing across Ashka's scales, and overhead, the faint sound of horns echoed through the mountains—King Veyl's riders, closing in. Time was running out, and Kara knew it. But as she began to mend the dragon's wing, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was forging more than steel—she was forging a bond, one that might burn her alive.