Page 95 of Forged in Fading

Light footsteps padded on the ground, and the petite form of a familiar demi-elf appeared. “Nice meeting,” Oda said. It was the young woman Alvara had helped with her Dalvian magic during their first few days in the human realm.

“If you’d like, you can go. I think she can communicate enough to get us through,” Alvara said to Boden as she ran her fingers over the tools and supplies.

“If it’s all right with you, I’d prefer to stay for a little while and see you work.”

Somehow knowing he would be watching her demonstrate her craft was much more nerve-racking than working under the eye of the man who owned the forge. Boden asked questions every so often, admittedly good ones, that allowed Alvara to share her knowledge and show the complex and enchanting nature of weapon smithing. He even caught her humming, something she hadn’t done since Eloisa was alive.

His encouragement and fascination with her skills bolstered her confidence, and her nervousness dissipated into the air like a fine mist on a malva day. When Boden left to tend to other matters, Alvara focused her efforts on Oda, communicating each step of the elven smithing process as simply as possible. They didn’t possess the same tools or materials, but they could make do with what they had.

They had been making a fair amount of progress, that is, until Oda’s jaw dropped and her hammer paused mid-swing. To say Alvara was surprised to find that Pyry was what had garnered such a reaction was an understatement. He was handsome, she would have no trouble admitting. But it was Pyry.

Oda stopped blinking, her cheeks reddening as he came to stand beside Alvara.

“This is Pyry. Pyry, this is Oda. The blacksmith’s daughter. She knows an impressive amount of Elvish.” Alvara paused, but Oda just stared with wide eyes. “Uh…I’ve been showing them some of our techniques, if you want to help. I’m still not sure if they’ll continue to work with us or not, but we have to try.”

Alvara and Pyry soon fell into a rhythm reminiscent of their days spent together with Jalomir, before their ill-fated decision to become something more than friends. They barely spoke while they worked, communicating in subtle movements and gestures that had once been their own form of shared language.

The blacksmith did little other than watch them from the corner of his shop while he stroked the dog, which had come to bother Alvara less once it had stopped accosting her for attention. All they could do was hope that the basic dagger they had made would be enough to prove that they could offer help and convince the smith to accept it.

The air seemed to thin while he scrutinized the blade. “Do you think it’s enough?” she whispered, leaning closer to Pyry.

“It rivals Jalomir’s work.” His eyes tracked Oda, whose own gaze darted between them. “Though I’m not sure what to think of the daughter.”

Gods, he was so dense at times. “I think she finds you attractive.”

“Oh, Vitharen help me,” he mumbled, covering his face with his hand.

“It may play into our favor, I hope.” Alvara watched Oda join her father and run her finger down the center of the blade.

With a loud huff, the blacksmith placed the weapon in the stack lying next to him and hung his head.

“He agrees. Start tomorrow.” Oda glanced nervously in Pyry’s direction.

Alvara nudged him with her elbow. “Smile or something, you idiot. She may have just saved us.”

He did as she said, and his smile practically sent Oda into a fainting spell.

The first person Alvara wanted to share their success with was Boden. She could imagine his face as clearly as if he stood before her: the proud gleam in his eyes and that grin that stretched the right side of his face just a little farther than the left. He made her feel as if everything she did was valuable and something to celebrate, even the smallest wins.

He reminded her what she was capable of.

Two weeks passed without word from Kat. Alvara spent most of her time at the forge with Pyry while the others made progress with the demi-elves and the continued need for supplies. The teacher who had worked with her in Malva had even begun to gather as many refugee younglings as she could in makeshift academy classes on the days the weather cooperated.

The most unfortunate development had been the discovery that the humans only ate two meals a day, leaving the elves starving by dinnertime due to the extra energy they expended with their magic.

On the positive side, she and Pyry had settled into a comfortable place of acceptance with each other. They would never return to the friendship, let alone the relationship, they once had, but they could share a space without too much awkwardness lingering between them.

Though, admittedly, Alvara made the most strides with the dog, who, it turned out, went by the name Vigi and enjoyed treats almost as much as she did. They often sat side by side during small breaks, watching Pyry flounder under Oda’s attention. Alvara stroked the animal’s fur and pretended not to notice when Pyry sent her pleading looks to rescue him from the young woman’s growing admiration.

That afternoon, he chose a seat beside her and Vigi when they paused for lunch, while Oda and her father continued their work. Oda’s warm blue eyes found Pyry every few minutes, whose knee bounced beside Alvara as she nibbled on the bread and cheese they shared.

She tossed a small bite of food to Vigi when the blacksmith wasn’t looking. “Oda’s very pretty.” And she was—beautiful, in fact. High cheekbones, porcelain skin, and deep-set eyes.

Pyry choked on his lunch, dissolving into a coughing fit that only made Alvara giggle.

“And kind,” she continued. “She enjoys weapons and smithing as much as you, too. It gives you plenty to talk about.”

He glared at her. “Is this teasing a punishment for my past mistakes?”