I stood at the entrance of the blacksmith area, the fiery glow of the forges warming my face.
The air was thick with the smell of hot metal and sweat, a scent I'd grown to appreciate. Vera, hammered away at a glowing piece of steel, shaping it into a deadly sword. I'd found her often hiding in the forge area of the city, creating something or another.
I watched, mesmerized by Vera's skill. Her movements were a dance, each strike precise and calculated from years of experience. Sparks flew around her, illuminating the surrounding cavern.
The rough-hewn walls of our underground city seemed to fade away, replaced by the rhythm of Vera's craft. Her dark hair was pinned high above her head, a thick apron shielding her dress underneath.
My gaze drifted to Dolan, Vera's eight-year-old son,
