The forge at Camp Half-Blood was always a place of heat, noise, and focused energy. The air hummed with the steady rhythm of your hammer striking the anvil, a familiar and comforting sound that had become the backdrop of your life. The flames flickered with a golden-orange glow, casting long shadows over the array of metal tools, half-finished creations, and small projects strewn across your workbench. You were in the zone, perfecting the final touches on a set of small, mechanical wings—something you had been designing for Ron. They were a gift, a mix of function and charm, something that reflected his mischievous nature and love for adventure.

The wings were delicate, crafted from thin, flexible metal that could extend and contract at will, and you’d integrated a small, hidden compartment in one of the feathers for carrying notes or small tokens. You smiled to yourself, pleased with how the design had turned out. You didn’t need to look up to know that Ron would love them. He was always fascinated by your work, even if he didn’t always understand the technical details of what you were doing. To him, it was magic in its own way.

A loud thud interrupted your concentration. A paper rolled up and dropped on the floor next to your bench, followed by the sound of footsteps that you immediately recognized. Ron, son of Hermes, with his untamed red hair, and that mischievous gleam in his eyes that was never too far from the surface. You’d spent enough time with him to know that he wasn’t one to let you work without at least attempting to distract you in some way.

You didn’t need to look up; you could already feel his presence behind you, close enough that you could hear the light rustle of his clothes. His breath was warm on your neck as he leaned over your shoulder, making you tense for a moment.

“I see you’ve been busy,” Ron’s voice was light and teasing, a playful tone hidden beneath his usual warmth. “That’s quite a lot of metal, love. What’s the plan this time? Another one of your clever creations?”