The blacksmith's shop stood just a short walk from Grundar's house, its wide doors thrown open to let out the heat and the ringing echoes of metal on metal. The familiar scent of iron, coal, and oil filled the air the moment we stepped inside.
"Try using your ability."
The demand came so suddenly that I barely had time to react.
"…Right now?" I asked, blinking.
Instead of answering, Grundar pointed toward a workbench nearby. A thin metal rod lay among scattered tools, still faintly warm from recent use.
I hesitated for a brief moment, then focused. Mana stirred within me, flowing outward in a familiar pattern. I reached for the metal, pulling at it with magnetic force.
Thunk.
The rod shot through the air in a straight line and landed neatly in my palm.
For a second, the workshop fell silent.
Grundir's eyes widened, his rough brows lifting as he stared at the rod in my hand as if it had betrayed the laws of the world.
"So it really was true…" he muttered.
