Page 76 of Her Orc Blacksmith

Thorne nodded once, sharply. “I thought maybe we could come to some sort of understanding—undermine Vorgath, maybe steal some of your business, give you a little push out of the way.”

I stiffened, my grip tightening on the hem of my robe, but I let him continue. I needed to hear this.

“Vorgath’s never been one to back down, and I figured Dregor had reason to hate him as much as I did,” Thorne went on. “But it didn’t take long to realize that Dregor wasn’t interested in anything like that. He wasn’t looking to tarnish your reputation or take away a few customers. No. He wanted destruction.”

I swallowed hard. “And the fire…”

It hit me all at once, like pieces falling into place. Dregor. The fire had been a faceless threat, a shadow hanging over me. But now, knowing it had been him—knowing—somehow, the fear started to lose its edge. As dangerous as Dregor was, as terrible as the fire had been, at least I had a name for it now, a face to put to the destruction. It wasn’t some unknown force lurking in the dark. It was him.

And maybe that meant I could start to move past it.

“Do you think he’s done?” I asked. “With the fire?”

“Some of my boys saw him leaving town a few days ago.” Thorne’s gaze shifted toward the forge, his expression hard to read. “I think he did what he set out to do.”

I followed his gaze, letting the weight of his words sink in. The fire had been Dregor’s message, his way of striking fear into us, of proving that no matter how far Vorgath had come, no matter what peace we tried to build here, the past could still burn through it. It should have terrified me—knowing that someone like Dregor, someone driven by hatred and chaos, had come this close to destroying everything I’d fought for.

But instead, I felt... steadier. Maybe it was because I’d already survived the worst of it. The forge had burned, but it hadn’t crumbled. The beams still stood. And so did I. The fear still lingered, but it no longer consumed me.

“So now what?” I asked, unsure of how to move forward.

“Now, you just keep going,” he said, his voice rough but not unkind.

I felt a strange sense of understanding pass between us in that moment, an unspoken acknowledgment of the struggles we’d both faced—different, yes, but no less real. He wasn’t the enemy I had once believed him to be. Dregor was the one who had brought the fire and the destruction. But Thorne? He was just trying to hold on to a world that was slipping away, same as I once had.

“And you?” I asked, not quite sure why I wanted to hear his answer. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go back to the guild, back to the order I understand,” he said, though it sounded more like he was convincing himself than anything else. He turned slightly, as if preparing to leave. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “And maybe... maybe I’ll talk to Lira.”

There was the faintest hint of an olive branch in his tone, fragile but real.

“Maybe you should,” I replied softly, watching him retreat from the forge, his footsteps crunching softly in the gravel as he disappeared into the night.

When I was sure he was gone, I glanced back toward the cottage, where Vorgath was waiting, his steady presence like the heat of a forge at my back. Thorne and I had reached a kind of truce, Dregor was gone for now, and there was still love and light in my life—a future I could forge for Elias and myself.

And though it wasn’t perfect, though the world was still scarred and uncertain, it was mine to shape.

Chapter 29

When Thorne was gone, I lingered by the forge, my gaze falling to the unfinished silverware on the bench. I’d been stealing moments to work on it while rebuilding the forge, and with my mind racing from the conversation with Thorne, sleep felt like a distant possibility. I was wide awake, and my fingers itched for the steady rhythm of the work, for the distraction it offered, for the calm focus that always came when I had metal under my hands.

I settled onto the bench, tools laid out: chisel, etching needle, a tiny hammer for the finer work. The silver gleamed under the forge light, ready for the last details. Tynsera had asked for something elaborate and elegant—a set that would impress with both function and beauty.

As I leaned over the silverware, I carefully lowered the etching tool, the tip kissing the silver, my mind already mapping out the curves of the petals. With steady pressure, I began the delicate etching, each line forming part of a vine twining around anintricate rose, the kind Elias and Mrs. Crumble always tried to grow in our little garden but never quite managed.

Elias. My thoughts drifted to my son, fast asleep, safe in the warmth of our home. The image of him brought a calm to my heart. He deserved this—peace, stability. He was too young to understand the struggle that had come before, but I thought of the example I was setting for him, the strength I hoped he’d see in me.

I was showing him that no matter how many times life tried to tear us down, we could still rebuild.

We could still create something beautiful from the wreckage.

A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I imagined him growing older, taking up his own tools, just as his father had once done. Maybe one day, we could work side by side. The thought filled me with a quiet pride.

This was what I wanted for him—for us. A future where the shadows of the past no longer loomed so large, where I wasn’t driven solely by fear of loss but by hope for what we could create together.

I pressed the chisel into the metal, completing another vine as the thought lingered. We were getting there, little by little. The forge was almost rebuilt, Elias was thriving, and Vorgath...

My hand slipped slightly, and I cursed under my breath.

---