The castle felt strangely naked.
Empty spaces on the walls where iron sconces once hung were like missing teeth. The main gate, stripped of its ancient, rusted portcullis, looked vulnerable and exposed.
Gideon the steward walked the halls with a funereal expression, mourning the loss of every piece of "heritage."
But the forge had never been more alive.
Fueled by the salvaged iron, Borin and his apprentices worked in a frenzy. The pile of nails, brackets, and steel bands grew steadily. The grand, insane vision sketched on the stone floor began to take shape in the real world.
The massive water wheel, a masterpiece of woodworking from Finn and his team, was hoisted into place on a sturdy timber frame over the newly dug channel.
The camshaft, a log of solid oak painstakingly carved with precise lobes, was mounted. The giant bellows, each the size of a small cow and reinforced with Borin's new steel bands, were connected to the lever system.
Kaelen was the heart of the operation, a relentless project manager fueled by a desire to see his plans realized.
He was everywhere—double-checking measurements, solving problems on the fly, and pushing the workers to their limits, all while ensuring they were well-fed and paid.
The villagers, who had started as skeptical observers, were now active participants, caught up in the sheer momentum of the project.
They had never seen anything built on this scale. It was more than just a new forge; it was a symbol of change, a massive, tangible piece of hope being built right before their eyes.
After two more weeks of relentless labor, it was finally ready.
The day of the first test, a crowd gathered at a respectful distance. Elspeth, Seraphina, Gideon—the entire de facto council was there. The air was thick with anticipation.
Kaelen stood beside Borin at the sluice gate.
"Ready?" Kaelen asked.
The blacksmith, his face grim with a mixture of hope and terror, just nodded.
Kaelen gave the signal.
Two men strained against a heavy wooden lever, pulling the gate open. Water from the diverted stream rushed down the stone channel, hitting the paddles of the massive wooden wheel.
For a moment, nothing happened. The wheel resisted, groaning under the sudden weight of the water.
Then, with a great, shuddering CRACK of shifting timbers, it began to turn.
Slowly at first, then faster, the water wheel found its rhythm. The main axle rotated, and the camshaft began its steady, hypnotic dance. The first cam lobe rose, then fell, pushing down on a massive wooden lever.
THUMP.
The first bellow compressed, letting out a soft whoosh of air.
Then the second cam.
THUMP.
The second bellow compressed, its own whoosh overlapping the first.
THUMP. WHOOSH. THUMP. WHOOSH.
A steady, rhythmic pulse. A mechanical heartbeat. A constant, powerful stream of air was being forced into the heart of the forge.
Borin, his eyes wide with wonder, scrambled over to the hearth. He had already loaded it with charcoal. With a trembling hand, he tossed in a lit torch.
The result was instantaneous and terrifying.
The lazy orange flames didn't just grow; they exploded. A pillar of white-hot fire erupted from the forge with a deafening ROAR, a sound so loud the villagers flinched and stepped back.
It wasn't the sound of a normal fire. It was the sound of a captive star, a contained inferno.
It was the roar of a beast, just as Finn's grandfather had described.
"It works," Borin whispered, his voice filled with a craftsman's purest form of joy. "By the gods, it actually works."
"This is just the test run," Kaelen yelled over the roar. "Now for the main event! Load the ore!"
The blacksmith, grinning like a madman, grabbed a shovel and began heaving chunks of the lumpy bog iron into the raging heart of the inferno.
The fire consumed it without hesitation.
They watched, mesmerized, as the ore began to glow, turning from a dull red to a bright orange, then to a liquid yellow.
The impurities, the "filth" that Borin's old forge couldn't touch, were simply being incinerated, burned away into smoke and ash.
After what felt like an eternity, Borin used a long rod to tap the crucible. A clean, shimmering stream of molten steel, purer than anything he had ever produced, flowed into the ingot mold.
When it cooled, he lifted it with a pair of tongs. It was a single, perfect ingot of crude steel.
He held it up for the crowd to see.
A ragged, spontaneous cheer erupted from the villagers. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph. They hadn't just made steel.
They had taken a cursed swamp and a pile of scrap and, through sheer ingenuity and hard work, had forged it into the building block of their future.
Seraphina watched, not at the ingot, but at Kaelen.
He stood by the roaring forge, his face illuminated by the fierce light, a look of deep, focused satisfaction on his face. He wasn't cheering. He was already analyzing, calculating the yield, planning the next step.
In that moment, she understood. He wasn't a madman. He was a force of nature, every bit as relentless and powerful as the new forge he had just created.
✧✧✧
Later that night, Kaelen sat in his room. The faint, rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the distant water wheel was a soothing, comforting sound. It was the sound of progress. The sound of a system working as designed.
He closed his eyes to meditate. For the first time, as he focused his mind, he felt something.
It wasn't a grand awakening. It was a tiny, faint flicker in the darkness of his perception. A single, minuscule spark. Like a distant star in an endless night sky.
Mana.
He couldn't grasp it. He couldn't control it. But for the first time, he could feel it.
He had spent weeks building a machine to gather and focus the power of air and fire. In doing so, it seemed he had finally learned how to feel the subtle power that infused the world around him.
A small smile touched his lips.
The industrial heart of Greylock was beating. And now, just maybe, his own was beginning to awaken.
.
.
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Author's Note:
Thanks for reading!
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