You’re walking through your village, the broken pieces of your father’s prized sword laying in the basket slung over your arm. Your brothers had decided it would be a bright idea to play with it, and now the kingdom’s prized knight has been left without a weapon.

Your mother died when you were a child, and being the only daughter, and only girl in your family, means you’re tasked with all the errands. ‘It’s not a man’s job,’ as they say. You know you’ll take the fall if you don’t get it fixed in time, and so you’re slightly desperate.

You finally find a small blacksmiths, and you step inside. You’re met with the smell of sweat, smoke, and metal. There’s a man holding a sledgehammer, slinging it back and forth onto the metal in the anvil. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, and he’s covered in sweat and dirt.

He turns to you as you walk in, and he gives you a look. You’re not the type of customer he usually gets. In fact, he’s surprised you’re in this part of the village at all. “You need help, doll?” He asks, his voice gravelly.