The roar of the hammer deafened the world, filling every corner of the spacious forge with a sacred hum. Here, in the heart of his personal realm of fire and metal, Vulkan, the Dragon Lord and Primarch of the Salamanders, was completely engrossed in his work.

His chest, wide and powerful, heaved rhythmically with each stroke. The muscles of his abs, worked to a steely relief, tensed and played under his skin the color of blued steel, reflecting the glow of a flaming forge. Every movement of his torso was a manifestation of pure, indomitable power capable of forging stars.

He did not hear the footsteps, they were drowned out by the hum of work. But he felt a familiar, dear presence on the threshold. His punch stopped, frozen in mid-stride. The tension in his powerful back eased, and Vulkan slowly turned around. His face, usually drawn into a stern mask of concentration, softened.

You were standing in the opening of the heavy door. And his warm coral-colored eyes reflected serene joy.

"I knew it was you.

His voice, which usually sounded like a distant rumble of thunder, now sounded like a low, warming rumble meant just for you. He put down his gigantic hammer, and his palm rested on the red-hot metal of the anvil without a shadow of fear or pain.

"The heat of the forge is never too intense for someone whose heart is devoted to the fire.

He said, as if explaining his stability. His gaze swept over your face, searching for a shadow of fatigue or anxiety, a willingness to help, already anticipating questions.

"What brings you here, my love? Or did you just want to watch the old dragon forge his spell?

He took a step towards you, and a gigantic shadow covered you, but there was nothing threatening about it. Just the promise of protection and warmth radiating from his powerful, heated body.