I rolled my eyes, already exhausted by hisconstantattitude. With a bored sigh, I turned and strolled toward the exit. “Stay. Or don’t. Doesn’t matter to me.”
Silence. Then—footsteps.
A slow, satisfied smirk curled across my lips.There’s a good snake.
I led Shayde through the merchant’s corner of Hollow Summit, past the main village, and up the southeastern trail. He followed in complete silence the entire way.
Disappointing.
I’d been hoping for him to spew a million questions just so I could deny him the answers. But no. Onecan’thave everything in life.
At least my little snake slithered along without protest. Obedient—for now.
We passed the bakery, the scent of fresh bread lingering in the cool air, before turning right toward the armory. The smithy was attached, its iron door streaked with soot and age. Without so much as a glance back, I pushed it open—making zero effortto hold it for Shayde.
“Oh, Balveer!Where art thou?” I called, singing dramatically as I stepped inside.
The sharp clang of metal striking the forge rang through the space, echoing off stone walls. A blast of heat rolled over us, heavy and suffocating, the scent of burning coal thick in the air.
I smirked. This was going to befun.
I rounded the corner to find Balveer at his forge, putting the finishing touches on a longsword. Sweat dampened his long black ponytail, and soot streaked his tan, muscular arms.
Shirtless.As always. Which, of course, is precisely why Doryan conveniently “visits during his lunch breaks.”
Balveer had been a blacksmith since before he arrived at the Hollow. And after his initiation, his craftsmanship in building our armory didn’t just make him valuable—it made him somewhat of alegend.
I wielded my earth element, shifting the coals in the forge just enough to make the flames flicker and dance.
Balveer’s dark eyes snapped up, forehead creasing as he took in the sight of me—then Shayde—then back to me.
“What?” he asked flatly.
I pursed my lips, leaning lazily against the doorframe.
“I brought you a new apprentice.”
Balveer blinked. “I didn’t ask for an apprentice.” Then, just like that, he went right back to hammering the sword.
I scoffed. “Way to begrateful!” I shouted over the rhythmic clang of metal on metal.
Before I could add another snarky remark, Shayde brushed past me, his shoulder knocking against mine just hard enough to beintentional.
He moved through the smithy without a word, sharp eyes scanning every detail—the worn anvil, the neatly arranged tools, the half-finished blades resting on the workbench. His fingers trailed along a row of daggers, testing the weight of one before setting it back with a quiet clink.
He stopped near the forge, watching the flames with a critical eye. “You’re using bituminous coal,” he observed. “Gives you a hotter fire, but it burns dirty. Doesn’t it leave too much slag in the metal?”
Balveer paused mid-strike, his grip tightening around the hammer. His gaze flicked up to Shayde, assessing. “Not if you know how to manage the airflow,” he said, jerking his chin toward the bellows. “I control the oxygen intake to keep impurities low. Besides, charwood’s not strong enough for what we make here.”
Shayde hummed in acknowledgment, running his fingers along the edge of a half-finished blade. “Still. If you mixed in even a little hardwood charcoal, you’d cut down on sulfur content without sacrificing heat.”
Balveer snorted. “You sound like an apprentice who thinks he knows everything after a year at the forge.”
Shayde didn’t flinch at the insult. Instead, he picked up a pair of tongs. “I’ve been working in the smithy since I was old enough to lift a hammer.” He set the tongs down and nodded toward Balveer’s anvil. “Mind if I test your steel?”
My lips twisted.Damnit. He was supposed to loathe the smithy, not enjoy it.
Balveer’s dark eyes narrowed. He gave Shayde a once-over, then smirked. “Go ahead. Let’s see if you’re full of shit.”
