Dawn broke the next morning like scattered gold across the snow.
Blackwood Castle, once suffocated by silence, now breathed.
The scent of meat still lingered faintly in the air, blending with the slow, steady rhythm of life returning.
The feast had done more than fill empty stomachs—
It had reignited something deeper.
Colin stood atop the watchtower, surveying the fortress.
Defensive routes.
Training rotations.
Supply distribution.
His mind moved methodically—
Until something caught his eye.
A figure crossed the square below.
Heading straight toward him.
Colin stilled.
Berg.
The dwarf looked… different.
Gone was the hollow shell that had lingered in darkness.
His worn leather jacket had been cleaned as best as it could be. His tangled beard, though still rough, had been combed into some semblance of order.
But the real change—
Was in his eyes.
Yesterday, they had been empty.
Dead.
Like a dry well.
Today—
They burned.
Bloodshot, yes—
But alive with something fierce.
Grief.
Rage.
Purpose.
A volcano, long dormant—
Now stirring.
Colin descended from the tower.
He waited.
Berg stopped before him.
No greetings.
No hesitation.
"I accept."
His voice was hoarse, like rust grinding against steel—
But every word carried weight.
Colin nodded.
He had expected nothing less.
"But—"
Berg stepped forward, gaze sharpening.
"You will build me a real furnace."
His voice rose, no longer broken—
But commanding.
"A furnace that can melt steel."
"A furnace that can forge blades worthy of vengeance."
The words struck like hammer blows.
Colin didn't hesitate.
"Good."
One word.
Absolute.
Because he understood—
This was not a request.
This was the rebirth of a master.
The next moment—
The bugle sounded.
A sharp, piercing call tore through the morning stillness.
People gathered quickly.
Warriors.
Women.
Children.
Confusion spread.
Tension followed.
"My lord," Haske said, already gripping his spear, "is it an attack?"
"No."
Colin stepped forward.
"Today, there are no enemies."
A pause.
"Today—we build our future."
He gestured to Berg.
"This is Berg. A dwarven master craftsman."
"From this day on—he will forge our weapons."
A ripple passed through the crowd.
"And we," Colin continued, voice rising, "will build him a forge the North has never seen."
Silence.
Then—
A surge of excitement.
They knew what dwarven craftsmanship meant.
It meant steel that did not break.
Armor that did not yield.
"Long live the Chief!"
The shout erupted—
And spread like wildfire.
But Colin raised his hand.
Silence returned.
He led Berg to the center of the square.
Then—
He knelt.
With a piece of charcoal—
He began to draw.
Lines formed on the snow.
Simple at first.
Then—
Complex.
Layered.
Purposeful.
Berg crouched beside him, arms folded.
Skeptical.
Observing.
But slowly—
His expression changed.
This was no ordinary forge.
What Colin drew rose upward—
Tall.
Towering.
A furnace like a stone giant.
With layered chambers.
With separate inlets and outlets.
With a structured flow—
Controlled.
Directed.
And at its base—
Something unfamiliar.
Air channels.
Berg's breath caught.
"What… is this?"
His voice trembled.
"You're… forcing airflow?"
Colin smiled faintly.
"Fire needs breath."
"Natural draft isn't enough."
"We give it more air—more force—more life."
Berg's heart pounded.
Forced airflow…
A dream whispered in drunken halls.
Never realized.
But here—
It was drawn.
Structured.
Possible.
His mind raced.
Airflow cycling.
Heat retention.
Preheating.
Efficiency—
This wasn't just improvement.
This was evolution.
"Genius…" Berg whispered.
His fingers trembled as they traced the charcoal lines.
Like touching something sacred.
Then—
Reality struck.
His face paled.
"My lord…"
His voice dropped.
"Even if we build this…"
"We have no fuel."
He grabbed a piece of charcoal.
"This burns too cold."
"Too dirty."
"We can't reach the temperatures needed."
Silence fell.
Even Haske frowned.
Without fuel—
Everything meant nothing.
But Colin—
Smiled.
"I know."
He knelt again.
And began to draw.
This time—
A low structure.
Rounded.
Sealed.
"A kiln," he said.
He lifted the charcoal.
"This isn't enough."
"We refine it."
"In low oxygen—wood transforms."
"Moisture gone."
"Impurities removed."
"What remains—"
"Is its essence."
"Hotter."
"Cleaner."
"Stronger."
Silence.
Then—
Shock.
Berg froze.
His entire life—
Spent beside fire—
And yet—
He had never seen it this way.
The answer had always been there.
In ashes.
In embers.
But never understood.
Until now.
"I see it…"
He whispered.
Not just a kiln.
A path.
A future.
He straightened.
His voice thundered.
"My lord!"
"Give the order!"
Colin turned.
And did exactly that.
"Two groups!"
"Charcoal production—and furnace construction!"
Orders rang out like war commands.
Clear.
Precise.
Unstoppable.
Axes fell in the forest.
Trees thundered down.
Kilns rose from clay and earth.
Sealed tight.
Breathing slowly.
Stone was carved.
Clay shaped.
Foundations hammered firm.
Voices shouted.
Laughed.
Sang.
Blackwood Castle transformed—
Into something alive.
Days passed.
And then—
It stood.
A furnace.
Five meters tall.
Silent.
Massive.
Like a giant waiting to awaken.
At the same time—
The first kiln was opened.
No smoke.
Only a dry, rich scent.
Inside—
The wood had changed.
Black.
Light.
Gleaming faintly like metal.
Berg stepped forward.
Picked one up.
Tapped it.
"Clang."
Clear.
Sharp.
His grin broke wide.
"It's perfect."
Charcoal piled high.
Dark as night.
The final piece was ready.
Berg stood before the furnace.
He placed a hand against it.
Warm.
Solid.
Real.
Then he turned.
And struck his chest.
"Thump."
A dwarf's oath.
Given in full.
From this moment—
His fire belonged here.
Silence fell.
All eyes turned—
To the furnace.
To the charcoal.
To the future.
They could almost see it—
Flames roaring.
Iron melting.
Blades being born.
The sound of hammers echoing across the frozen north.
Everything—
Was ready.
And all that remained—
Was to light the fire.