Varron in Cidius
Three weeks after the tremors at Varrin Ridge, Lorenzo's forge in Cidius had gone quiet again — at least above ground. But the forge was warm, as always.
Smoke, steel, and lavender oil lingered in the air — her scent, though she'd never admit it.
Lili leaned her elbows on the edge of the workbench, chin resting in her hands as she watched Lorenzo tinker with a curved iron frame that looked nothing like a dagger.
"Are you sure that's mine?" she asked, skeptical.
Lorenzo didn't look up. "Absolutely."
"It looks like a spoon."
"A dangerous spoon."
Lili snorted. "Great. Just what I need. A deadly utensil."
He laughed under his breath, hands still steady over the metal. "Relax. This part's just the spine. Once it cools, I'll forge the edge and fit the grip. You'll see."
"I better," she said, stretching her arms behind her. "It's been a week, and I miss my girls."
"Technically it's been six days," he said, squinting through his goggles. "Seven if you count the evening you broke the last one."
"I didn't break it. I threw it perfectly. The target broke."
"Right. The target."
She grinned. "You're lucky I like you, old man."
He rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. The rhythm of the shop was easy like this — sparks flying, bellows humming, the kind of silence that felt full instead of empty.
Lili wandered toward the rack of finished blades, running her fingers along the hilts. "You ever name your work?"
"Only when it misbehaves."
"Wow. And you call me dramatic."
"I don't call you dramatic. I call you loud."
"Which is a form of drama."
He chuckled again — that soft, warm sound he never seemed to notice he made.
Lili turned from the rack and leaned against it, arms crossed loosely.
"You ever feel like everyone's speeding past you?" she asked, eyes tracking a speck of soot floating through the warm air. "Like you're running the same race, but you're the only one stuck in place?"
Lorenzo didn't look up. He switched tools, choosing a smaller hammer, and began tapping carefully along the inner curve of the blade.
"Sounds like you've been watching the rankings again."
"Only by accident," she said quickly. Then, "Okay, maybe not. But it's hard not to notice when your whole squad's getting new colors on their coats."
She picked up a blade from the rack, weighed it in one hand, then set it down again.
"I trained with Pesh, you know. We used to be neck and neck. Now she's a Vigil with her own team. Meanwhile, I'm still getting assigned to supply drops and scroll escorts."
"Someone's gotta protect the paper," Lorenzo muttered.
Lili huffed a laugh. "Don't get me wrong. I know everyone moves at their own pace, and it's not like I hate what I do. But sometimes I wonder if I missed something—if there was a moment where I could've pushed harder, but I didn't."
She paused. "I try not to think about it too much. But then I see another friend post about getting promoted, and suddenly I'm back to wondering if I'm just... not enough."
Lorenzo let the hammer rest beside the blade and finally looked at her. His gaze wasn't sharp — just steady.
"You're not the only one who's ever felt that way."
Lili nodded, but her expression didn't brighten. "Being a Bearee, too... it's like they already expect me to mess up. I mean, I get it — I used to be reckless. I still kind of am. But I'm not stupid."
"No," Lorenzo said simply. "You're not."
"I just... I don't want to be left behind."
"You're not," he said. "Not unless you stop showing up."
She smiled faintly. "I always show up. Usually with broken daggers, but still."
He gave a soft grunt, something close to a laugh.
Lili kicked the edge of the workbench lightly with the toe of her boot. "You think I'll ever be more than just the loud girl who chips her blades on training dummies?"
"Probably not," Lorenzo said.
She blinked.
Then he added, "You'll be the loud girl who chips her blades after taking down something that actually fights back."
Lili laughed for real that time, the sound ringing against the forge walls.
"Thanks," she said. "You're a good blacksmith, Lorenzo."
"I'm not fixing that ego of yours, though," he said.
"Wouldn't dare ask." She gave a little salute with two fingers, then wandered back to her stool, sitting backward on it, arms resting on the backrest. Her usual bounce was still there, but the quiet undercurrent had softened — not gone, just... steadied.
Outside, the wind shifted faintly, carrying the smell of smoke and the distant clang of another forge down the road.
Inside, it felt a little less like waiting.
Then the ground shook.
Just once — a subtle, off-balance tremor that made a few of the hanging tools rattle against the wall. Lili lifted her head. Lorenzo had already gone still, fingers curled lightly around the hammer in his hand.
Another tremor. Louder. This one followed by something sharper — a crack like splitting stone.
They both stood at the same time.
From somewhere outside: shouting. And then a sound that didn't belong — the metallic ring of steel striking steel, too close to be a drill or training match.
"Lorenzo?" Lili asked, voice tight.
He moved toward the doorway without answering, and Lili followed, breath catching in her throat.
Just beyond the forge's threshold, smoke began to rise — thin at first, then darker. Figures were moving in the haze at the far end of the street, and the shouts turned clearer.
"Wielders—! Someone call the Post—!"
"Shields up— the varrons are inside the quarter!"
Lili's breath caught.
Varrons.