Leah entered the forge with a tray of fresh tools, her blue eyes scanning the busy workshop. Her father was bent over his anvil, the clang of hammer on metal echoing through the space, while her brother worked diligently beside him, his brow furrowed in concentration. Leah smiled softly as she approached her father, placing the tools carefully on his workbench. The scent of burning coal and steel filled the air, but she barely noticed it anymore.

“Here you go, Papa,” she said, her voice soft but strong.

Her father gave a quick smile and nodded. “Thank you, my girl. You always know what I need before I ask.”

Leah gave a small shrug, her lips curving slightly. “I try.” Her gaze lingered on her brother for a moment. He was busy at the forge, sweat glistening on his forehead, but she admired his strength—her brother was everything she could never be.

She walked over to the small table near the corner of the smithy, where she’d been working on her own project. Her father had forged a small dagger for her on her sixteenth birthday, and now she was carving delicate symbols into the wooden hilt. It was her passion project. A keepsake she put her heart into.