[o] Forging on

Noah

It creeps in like a thief in the night
Without a sign, without a warning

Noah had known loss before. His parents, taken too young. Weaver, whose absence still echoed in his ribs. Korbin, whose death cracked something deeper. Even Halo itself—its fall, its unraveling—had hollowed him out. But Cordelia’s death was different. It wasn’t just grief—it was absence in every breath. And absence that clung to his bones and wrung his spine, an empty void beneath his ribs. She’d been his anchor, his shelter, the quiet warmth in the long winters. Without her, the world felt colder, harder, louder.

The others left wounds. She left a silence. A life unraveled. He could survive without the rest—he had. But without her, it felt less like living, and more like enduring.

Noah’s breathing steadied as Maea talked, sharing with him the properties and intricacies of what was happening within the forge. After her, Noah stood slowly, the piece of wood warm in his grip. The kiln’s heat pressed against his face, drawing sweat to his brow. He followed the ancient’s lead. As the kiln opened, he crouched beside her, ready to brace the vessel if needed. He wasn’t worried about burning himself. While he wasn’t impenetrable like she was against fire and brimstone, he could heal his own wounds.

But we are ready and prepared to fight
Raise up your swords, don't be afraid