Days passed.
Christian had already settled into what could be considered a routine, with all his time devoted solely to work.
That work was still done entirely in the forging room — under Anastasia's watchful eyes. And by now, her presence no longer felt intrusive. It was just part of the room.
At this moment too, Christian was hammering away at a metal part, sweat clinging to his skin as sparks danced briefly before vanishing into the dim light.
Anastasia, who once bombarded him with endless questions, had quieted over time. Now, she would occasionally offer a piece of advice, before falling back into silence.
So, the forging room echoed mostly with the steady rhythm of metal against metal.
Just then, without looking up, Christian suddenly spoke.
"You know, I've been meaning to ask for a while now," he said, keeping his eyes on the glowing piece under his hammer. "How old are you?"
The question floated in the air like a misplaced ember.
