Page 16 of Her Orc Blacksmith

He paused by the forge itself, crouching to examine it more closely. “The bones are good. With some orc forging techniques, you could increase its heat capacity significantly.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Orc techniques? Like what?”

Vorgath stood, turning to face me. The lantern light cast half his face in shadow, accentuating the strong line of his jaw and the gleam in his dark eyes. “Stones that hold heat better, special clays for insulation. I could show you, if you'd like.”

I nodded eagerly. “I'd like that very much.”

“Good. We'll start next week, after the axes for Grimble are done.”

Excitement stirred in my chest at the thought of restoring the forge, breathing life back into what had become little more than a monument to dreams paused. I could almost hear the rhythmic clang of a hammer on the anvil, feel the heat of the fire on my skin.

And surprisingly, in this vision of the future, I saw Vorgath by my side.

The realization startled me, and I glanced at him, studying his profile in the dim light. When had I started including him in my long-term plans?

When had I started imagining a future where I wasn’t doing this alone?

As if feeling my eyes on him, Vorgath turned to me. “You're quiet,” he said.

“Just... remembering,” I said softly. “And thinking about the future.”

He took a step closer, and I was suddenly very aware of his presence in the small space. “And what do you see in that future?” he asked.

“I see... possibilities.” I moved to a workbench covered in a thick layer of dust. “I've been thinking about redesigning this area,” I said, running my hand along the worn wood. “Maybe adding a workstation for more intricate work. There's a market for jewelry and decorative pieces that most blacksmiths overlook.”

“Trinkets?” he asked, his tone skeptical.

“Not just trinkets,” I countered. “Functional art. Things that are both beautiful and useful. It's an untapped market, especially among women.”

“And you think you can make a living from such things?”

“I think I can make a good life,” I said, meeting his gaze steadily.

He was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes studying me intently. Then, to my surprise, he nodded. “You have vision,” he rumbled. “It's... admirable.”

A warm flush rose to my cheeks at his words. “Thank you,” I said. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

Vorgath grunted, looking slightly uncomfortable with the sentiment. He turned back to the forge, running his hand along the cold stone.

“Tell me about your husband,” he said suddenly. “What kind of man was he?”

The question caught me off guard. I leaned against the workbench, feeling memories rise up, but they didn’t hit as hard as they used to.

“Kald was... kind,” I said with a small smile. “He loved his family and his work. Always said a blacksmith’s forge was like their heartbeat—when it’s cold and silent, something important is missing.”

“Your husband was wise,” he said, nodding in approval. “You must miss him.”

“Yes,” I agreed, my gaze drifting to the corner where Kald’s old tools still hung. “But it feels different now. The sharp pain fades. It’s more like a reminder, a part of me, but not something I carry with sadness anymore.”

Vorgath’s eyes were on me as he moved closer. “Loss is... familiar to me,” he said, his deep voice carrying a weight of experience.

“What happened?” I asked gently, not wanting to pry but eager to understand more about this enigmatic orc who was quickly winning me over, grunt after noncommittal grunt.

He was quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes distant. Then, with a deep sigh, he spoke. “I lost my brother in the war,” he said. “It was... complicated. We made different choices. In the end, I couldn't save him.”

I felt my heart constrict, recognizing the pain in his voice. I knew the loss of a loved one, the guilt that lingered after, the constantwhat-ifsthat sometimes surfaced in quiet moments.

“People call orcs monsters,” Vorgath continued, his tone bitter but controlled. “But the real monster is war itself. It takes and takes until there's nothing left but scars and memories.”

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