Garron unlocked the heavy wooden doors of his forge just as the sky burned orange behind the distant hills. The iron latch clanked open, and the familiar scent of ash, coal, and old steel greeted him like an old friend. Inside, two figures stood waiting near the cold hearth, brushing soot off the benches and organizing tongs and hammers.

  “You’re early,” Garron grunted, setting his worn satchel by the wall.

  The taller of the two boys straightened. “Wanted to get a good start, Master Garron.”

  “Tea first,” he replied, not unkindly, as he made his way to the kettle at the small prep station near the forge. He poured hot water into a thick mug and leaned against the bench, cradling the drink in his hands. Steam curled around his face as he watched the boys start their morning routine—stacking coal, checking the bellows, and preparing to light the first fire of the day.

  The rhythm of it soothed something in his bones. This was work that didn’t need politics or crowns. A knock echoed off the open doors. Edmund strolled in, face ruddy from the walk, a folded paper in one hand and a small slip of parchment in the other.

  Edmund said with a grin, waving the paper. “From my girl, Seraphina.”

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  Garron raised a brow and took the letter, unfolding it with practiced care. He scanned it slowly as Edmund leaned on the counter.

  “David and I are doing fine… staying at an inn called the Copper Candle… David was accepted by the guild… named a Master Smith…”

  Garron looked up, blinking. “Master Smith? Already?”

  Edmund nodded. “Read the next part.”

  “Met the King and Queen… and David was granted the title of Earl of Brackenreach.” He reread it, slower this time, as if the letters might rearrange themselves. Both men went still. Even the boys, catching the sudden silence, paused their sweeping.

  Edmund let out a low whistle. “Well then. The lad doesn’t waste time.”

  Garron scratched his beard. “Title or no, I hope he still knows how to temper steel without cracking it.”

  Just then, a familiar voice rang out from the path. “You two look like someone died.” Elen marched past the doors with her usual confident stride, skirts swaying like a banner in a storm. One hand gripped her son’s shoulder as she all but shoved him ahead of her down the street.

  “Did you hear?” she snapped, not even slowing down. “Some royal wimp just got named Earl of this place. Our territory. Our family’s been keeping this land from falling apart since before my grandmother’s time. And they didn’t even ask us.” She gave her son a nudge hard enough to make him stumble. “Now move—we need to make a good impression before he decides we’re all backwoods idiots.” And with that, she vanished down the road, voice still trailing complaints behind her.

  Garron and Edmund locked eyes. “Do we tell her?” Edmund asked.

  Garron sipped his tea slowly. “Not today.”

  Both men chuckled, low and long, the sound echoing off the forge walls as the morning fire finally caught and the day truly began.