Page 7 of Storms of His Wrath

Otenyo inclined his head—not quite a bow, but acknowledgment enough to avoid open disrespect. “My district serves at your pleasure,zmola.” His words carried no warmth. "Though surely pressing business must have drawn you from your own observances?"

Prillu nudged hernniraeforward, her diplomatic instincts sharp. "The zmola honors all districts equally on sacred days. His presence here shows the Voices guide him to serve everyssukkurian."

"How... thoughtful." Otenyo's pause carried subtle challenge. "Though I suspect this visit serves purposes beyond spiritual observance. I wonder what concerns might drive such urgent attention to my humble district.”

"Nothing is urgent." Akoro's voice cut through the diplomatic dance like an arrow. "Today is simply a day I visit Ntorkkan. Will you move aside or do you wish to continue wasting our time with your questions?"

Otenyo's eyes narrowed, the first crack in his composure. Citizens had begun to gather at a respectful distance, drawn by the royal presence. "Surely you don't intend to roam the district unattended, my king? I must insist you're accompanied by someone from my guard." He gestured toward a weathered warrior. "Captain Brakor possesses intimate knowledge that may?—"

"No." The word rang with absolute finality. "We need no escort." Without waiting for a response, he spurred his mount toward the gates, and his entourage followed. Otenyo guards were forced to pull back.

The streets of Ntorkkan opened before them, transformed by sacred observance. Despite the apparent normalcy of commerce and daily life, an underlying reverence permeated everything. Conversations were quieter, movements more deliberate. Even the children who darted between adults did so with unusual quiet, as if aware of the day's significance.

As they turned down a side street, Prillu suddenly straightened in her saddle. "That building."

She pointed to a squat structure set back from the road, its walls stained with soot, small windows emitting a dull orange glow. Unlike the polished facades of administrative buildings, this place bore the marks of hard use.

"It's the factory where I obtained the stone, my king."

Heat surged through Akoro's veins as he smoothly dismounted. They entered through heavy wooden doors that groaned in protest on their iron hinges. Darkness broken only by the glow of multiple furnaces greeted them, each radiated waves of intense heat. The air hung thick with smoke and the acrid bite of molten metal, while hammers striking anvils created a chaotic yet orderly rhythm.

The factory floor stretched into shadowy recesses, divided into workstations where laborers toiled. Some fed raw materials into glowing furnaces, bodies glistening in the firelight. Others shaped heated metal with practiced blows, muscles straining beneath soot-stained skin. In the far corner, more delicate work was underway: artisans assembling smaller components with meticulous precision, their fingers moving with grace.

Prillu moved further into the space, her attention fixed on the workers. Her brow furrowed slightly. “The personnel has changed since my last visit.”

She approached a burly man who appeared to be overseeing operations, his thick arms crossed over a barrel chest, a heavy leather apron hanging from his shoulders. "Master Forger, I see your factory is open on the Day of Voices.”

The Master Forger started when he saw her, his face flustered as he rose to stand. “Er.. Yes, Kammara Ollehh… I offer extra pay on er… sacred days. The workers are grateful for the—” He stopped abruptly when he saw Akoro, his eyes widening. He lowered his head awkwardly. “My king.”

“Have you've taken on new workers?" Prillu asked.

The master forger swallowed. "Yes. Er.. We rotate our workforce seasonally. Different projects require different skills."

"What do you produce here?" Akoro asked.

"Various implements. Tools for agriculture, components for construction, decorative metalwork. Most go to Onn Kkulma in organized batches."

Prillu suddenly straightened. "That woman there. I recognize her from my last visit."

The woman in question was unlike most laborers—though clearly powerful, with shoulders sculpted by hard labor, there was graceful economy to her movements. Sweat had plastered her hair to her scalp, and soot streaked her face, but it did nothing to disguise her strong features.

The master forger called to her, and she looked up, wariness immediately settled over her features. She set down her tools and approached, wiping her hands on her apron, and the master forger stepped back to keep an eye on the rest of the workers without leaving the conversation.

“Kammara Ollehh,” she acknowledged with a nod. “Good to see you again.”

“And you.” Prillu smiled. “Your work was impressive. There were two other women working here as well, as I recall. Unusual to see three women in a factory like this.”

“Yes, I remember,” she said, nodding slowly. “They’ve moved on.”

“So soon after my visit?” Prillu’s tone was casual, but Akoro caught the sharp focus in her gaze.

The woman shrugged. "They shouldn't have been here to begin with. Too small for this work. They only joined a few weeks before your visit. Hadn't even gone through the full training for the more physical work."

"Yet they were hired?" Akoro asked

The woman pursed her lips. “The master forger has an eye for a pretty face,” she said bluntly. “Turning away two of them would’ve been impossible for him. But they were quiet. Did as they were told. Kept to themselves.”

"And why did they leave?"

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