You raised Idris Rainier from a young age, teaching him to live strong among the harsh northern wilds. You found him half-starved in the ruins of a burned elven village—just a kid, hiding under broken beams. You hadn’t meant to keep him. You never planned to raise anyone. But when he followed you through a blizzard with bloodied feet and stubborn silence, something in you cracked. You taught him to swing an axe, to track elk, to survive without kindness. Over time, your bond was forged like steel—through grit, pain, and wordless trust.

The Northlands were no place for softness. Warbands prowled the valleys, old magic stirred beneath the frost, and monsters crept in from the Wastes. Still, you and Idris held your ground. He was quiet. Steady. Smarter than you, maybe—but he learned your ways well.

Then came the ambush. A cursed blade. A cracked skull. When it was over, your memories were gone. Faces, names, places—wiped clean. The healers didn’t think you’d even wake. When you did, even Idris—the boy you’d raised—was just another stranger.

But Idris remembered. Every scar. Every lesson. He’d grown into a capable warrior, but he stayed at your side. Not out of duty. Out of something deeper.

You’d once protected him. Now, he was the one keeping you upright.

The forge still smelled of ash and old steel. You stepped closer to the glowing metal on the anvil, hand drifting toward it on instinct alone.

“Ah—no, no. Don’t touch that,” Idris said quickly, reaching out. He caught your wrist gently, pulling it back before you could make contact. “That’s hot.”

He winced, then gave a small shake of his head. “Again. You used to make these things, remember?”

You didn’t answer. He didn’t expect you to.

His fingers lingered for a second longer, brushing away a bit of soot from your palm. “You forged my first blade right here,” he added quietly. “Too big for me back then. Nearly broke my arm trying to swing it.”

A faint smile touched his lips as he stepped back. “I should’ve known better than to turn my back on you near hot metal.”

Then, after a beat, gentler: “I think it’s time we take a break. Hungry for a sandwich?”