https://open.spotify.com/track/0bLCs72ntnNWwcVCHYgQYk?si=2319edf294514f27
Laura woke to the sound of the forge already breathing.
Not the gentle crackle of kindling, but the full, steady roar of a forge well into its workday. The floorboards beneath her bed carried the vibration faintly, a familiar rhythm that usually meant she'd already been awake for an hour.
She shot upright.
Light spilled through the shutters at the wrong angle. Too high. Too bright.
"Oh—no."
She scrambled out of bed, nearly tangling herself in the blanket, heart thudding with the sharp, specific guilt of being late. Dhzaro never started without her unless something was wrong.
She dressed quickly, fingers clumsy as she shoved her hair back into a rough tie, and hurried down the narrow stairs from her room above the workshop. Heat greeted her before the doorway did, thick with the smell of coal, oil, and hot metal.
Oil. Her hands still carried faint stains from last night—dark smudges she hadn't quite scrubbed away. Another failed attempt to keep the Arcane Rider running. Another night lost to makeshift repairs that just wouldn't hold. She was almost there, and now she'd have to start from scratch. Again.
Dhzaro was already at work.
He stood bare-chested, goggles over his eyes, hammer rising and falling with practiced inevitability. A piece of metal glowed between strikes, orange fading toward gold. He didn't look up when she entered.
"You're late," he said, not unkindly.
"I know," she said, breathless. "I... overslept."
"Mmmh."
That was it. No reprimand. Yet somehow worse.
The forge felt too loud. The heat too close. The smoke hung heavier than it should today, making her eyes water—the workshop's age showing in every breath. A stack of half-finished projects crowded her workbench, crammed together because there was nowhere else to put them.
In the corner, barely visible beneath a tarp, the Rider's dismantled parts, now gathered dust.
Her thoughts slid away from the work again and again, catching on yesterday's embarrassment, on the letter folded carefully in her pocket, on the garment bag hanging upstairs like a dare.
What if I just… don't go? she thought. What if... something just came up?
Yesterday replayed itself without permission—faces too close, a smile she hadn't known what to do with, the unbearable warmth that had crept up her neck when she had looked at her for just a second too long.
She's busy, Laura reminded herself, tightening her grip on the tongs. She doesn't need… this.
Her temperature control slipped. The molten vial in her grip wavered, glowing brighter than it should, then cooled unevenly. She cursed under her breath—these were supposed to be new vials for one of the potion sellers nearby. Her work was always precise. Always flawless.
Just like the Rider was supposed to work. Just like everything she built was supposed to be perfect, if only she had the right tools, the right space, the right—
Dhzaro noticed immediately.
He straightened, finally looking at her over the rim of his goggles.
"Laura."
"I've got it."
"No, you don't."
Dhzaro's voice cut through the workshop, mild but edged with something sharper than usual.
She swallowed, frustration tightening her throat.
He set his tools aside with deliberate care. "If you can't keep the glass steady, you'll ruin the batch. And then you'll spend the rest of the day angry at yourself."
"I won't—"
"You will," he said gently. "You always do."
She hated that he knew her so well.
Leaving felt like failure. Worse, it felt indulgent. There was work to do. Orders waiting.
"I'm… I'm fine," she said weakly.
He studied her a moment longer, then sighed. "Take the day."
Her head snapped up. "What? No, I can—"
"You're rattled," he said simply. "And rattled smiths make mistakes."
She hesitated. She was off yesterday as well. But her hands were shaking.
"…Fine. Just for today."
"Go. Clear your head."
There was something in his voice—not quite urgency, but purpose. As if he needed her gone.
As she gathered her jacket, she noticed it—gold, gleaming faintly on the far workbench. Thin filigree wire, carefully shaped. Not on the task list. Not even close to the budget.
She raised an eyebrow.
Dhzaro followed her gaze, then very deliberately turned his back. "Out!" he said, a touch too quickly. Laura smiled despite herself and left it alone.
...
...
...
...
Some time later...
The drake slowed as it reached the edge of the Temple district, claws clicking against the stone as it came to a stop. Laura got out of the carriage, regarded the driver, and stepped aside while the beast huffed and turned, its heavy tail swaying once before it lumbered off down the road once more.
Something felt… off.
Not enough to alarm her. Just enough to catch at the back of her thoughts.
This stretch of the city usually announced itself before she reached it—growls and voices layering over one another, the low murmur of trade, the familiar scent of incense drifting outward from the square. Today, the air felt thinner. Sounds didn't carry as far. People moved with purpose, passing her without the usual pauses or idle glances.
She checked her bearings out of habit, fingers brushing the inside of her jacket where that folded letter sat. The Temple of the Undecided was just ahead. She hadn't taken a wrong turn.
The square was there...but not... open.
A small cluster of people had gathered at the entrance, halted just short of the open space beyond. No stalls stood within. Two Lionfolk Sentinels stood at the threshold, relaxed in posture but unmistakably blocking the way.
Laura drifted closer, hanging back at the edge of the crowd. The city had always been like this—diverse enough that she didn't stand out, and could blend into the crowd. It was why she'd come to Costa Del Rugido in the first place. The anonymity felt like freedom, one that Marbleridge had never offered her that.
"—I just wanted to make a prayer to..." someone was saying.
"The square's off-limits," the Sentinel replied, voice steady. "Fire yesterday."
Fire?
Laura's brow furrowed. She'd been here yesterday. The thought brought a faint, uncomfortable warmth to her face—yesterday had already given her enough reasons to wince.
She leaned slightly, trying to see past the Sentinels. Her eyes went, without thinking, to the spot where Naqshgar usually worked when the light was good.
Empty.
She swallowed.
She'd meant to speak to him then. Meant to ask if he could help her translate a letter to the Achalchix tribe. She still didn't know their language well enough to trust herself with a letter, and he'd been busy, and she'd been… distracted.
I'll ask him tomorrow, she'd thought.
"Will the temple be open tomorrow?" someone asked.
"The temple's closed until further notice," the Sentinel answered. "We don't have details to share."
Laura stepped back, unease settling in properly this time. Fire meant confusion.
Confusion meant people in the wrong places at the wrong time.
They're probably fine... Laura told herself.
She... She's far too collected to get caught in something like that.
But the worry sat heavy in her chest anyway. She told herself it was nothing.
She turned away from the square, heart beating a little faster than before. Anvari and Naqshgar's house wasn't far. If there had been a fire, they might need help—or at least someone to check in.
She knocked twice. Then again, softer. The door didn't open. No attendant either...
No answering footsteps. The house felt closed in on itself, as if it had been holding its breath.
Laura stepped back, lingering longer than she meant to, then turned from the silent house. Eventually, she found herself wandering, her steps slowing as her thoughts slid back to the folded letter in her pocket.
The Melanithorne crest pressed against the fabric, heavier than it had any right to be.
She walked without direction, thinking about her work this morning. About Dhzaro.
About that... damned letter. About what she could ask of—what she might be brave enough to ask for. Her mind kept circling the invitation...
The Shamsha Leonidas. A place like that....
Polished floors, lanterns hung with deliberate artistry, light bouncing everywhere until it felt sharp. She imagined herself stepping inside and squinting like a fool, half-blinded by all that careful shimmer. It would be loud, too. Not in sound, but in presence. Every surface insisting on being seen.And then there would be...
Laura shook her head, physically, as if to dislodge the image before it formed properly.
Don't, she told herself. That's not why you're going. Wait... Am I going?
The invitation was meant for her...
It was Melanithorne's daughter who'd shown interest. The daughter who'd asked questions about Laura's work, who'd looked at her designs with something Laura couldn't quite name.
Why though? Laura still didn't understand it. Her work was good, yes, but the Melanithornes were high artisans. What could they possibly want?
Maybe they had made a mistake...
Her thoughts slid instead—inevitably—back to the workshop.
To Dhzaro. To the way he'd never asked why she'd shown up, never pressed her for details when she'd flinched at certain questions. He offered work first, and a room second.
More space, she thought. A better workshop. Room to lay out projects without stacking them like compromises. Room for the Rider—a real workspace where she could build it properly instead of cramming it into corners, instead of makeshift repairs that failed every other tenday.
She could do more. She wanted to do more.
Dhzaro seemed content with things as they were, comfortable in his rhythm, in what they had right now. But Laura's designs kept growing, kept pushing against the workshop's limits. The Melanithornes had noticed something—though Laura still couldn't figure out what.
The thought of going made her stomach flip, this could change everything.
This could be for him, she told herself.
She didn't notice how long she'd been walking until the Southmane District reappeared around her. Their workshop door stood open. Heat rolled out to meet her. Laura broke into a jog.
Inside, Dhzaro had taken over her glassblowing. And just like this morning, the piece glowed too bright, stretched thin as he rotated it, sweat beading at his temple.
Too thin.
"Dhzaro!"
The glass sagged.
She was moving before the word finished leaving her mouth. She grabbed the cooling tongs, adjusted the angle, nudged it down just enough.
The glass obeyed reluctantly, thickening, stabilizing.
"Hold it—there!" Dhzaro barked, adjusting his grip.
"Got it!"
Together, they eased it back into balance, breath held between turns. When Dhzaro drew the piece away, intact and cooling, they both exhaled at once.
"Finally back?" he said, not looking at her.
"Yeah..."
"Hmph."
A pause. A flicker of something across his face—had he expected her to stay away longer?
"Good timing, though..."
She smiled, adrenaline still humming under her skin.
They worked in tandem after that—no words needed, movements overlapping without collision. It struck her, then, how much they'd learned each other's rhythms. How instinctive it felt to share the space, even when the cramped quarters fought them, even in the odd occasions when they had to work in sequence because there wasn't room to work side by side.
This is what they did best. But it wasn't enough anymore.
When the piece was finally set aside, Dhzaro wiped his brow and grunted.
"We do better like this."
"We always have." Laura said softly.
She didn't say what she was thinking: Imagine what we could do with more room.
The last glass finally settled, cooling without complaint.
Dhzaro set it carefully aside and rolled his shoulders, the tension easing out of him. He glanced toward the workshop windows, where the light had begun to soften.
"That's enough for today," he said. "I'll wrap things up."
Laura blinked. "I'll tend to—"
He shook his head, already reaching for a cloth. "Nah, it's fine."
She hesitated. "At least let me—"
"Laura... I've got it." he repeated, firmer now but still kind. "Take a break."
He turned toward the back table. "I'll cook us something up. Take your time..."
Laura watched him for a moment, the kindness in those words settling something in her chest. He always did this—stepped in before she could push herself too far, closed the door gently rather than letting it slam.
"…Alright," she said.
She climbed the stairs slowly, the workshop's heat fading with each step. Her room felt quieter by contrast, the evening light spilling in across the floorboards.
And there it was.
The garment bag hung from the hook beside her wardrobe. It had been there all day, a presence she'd been avoiding since she woke.
She stood there for a long moment, just looking at that damned bag.
Forest green, the market stall woman's voice echoed, unhelpfully cheerful.
"Trust me. It'll suit you!" Laura hadn't believed her then.
She crossed the room and touched the bag, as if it might react...
Just to see if it fits, she told herself again. That's all.
...
Before she could second-guess it, she leaned out into the stairwell and glanced down. Dhzaro was still busy—he wouldn't notice. Good. A strange thought slipped in as she pulled back into her room.
"I could sneak out ,the day of the invitation..." she thought.
The idea made her stomach twist. She pictured Dhzaro seeing her.
Would he laugh? She frowned at herself. No, she decided. He wouldn't.
That almost made it worse.
She turned away from the bag and went to her small washing alcove instead, trying to steady herself. A narrow-necked ewer rested beside it, still cool to the touch. She poured carefully, letting the water spill in a controlled stream, then dipped her hands in. She splashed her face, the water scented faintly with rose. It helped. A little. She wiped her hands on a linen cloth, breathing out slowly.
Alright, she thought. Almost there.
She returned to the bag.
The dress slid free with a soft whisper, heavier than she'd expected, the fabric catching the light even in her modest room. The green was deeper than she remembered—not bright, not gaudy. Like shaded leaves after rain.
That didn't make her feel any less ridiculous.
She stepped into it carefully, then drew it up, fumbling with the unfamiliar structure. It felt... stiff, guiding her posture whether she liked it or not.
Then her hair caught.
She tried to free it, lifting the fabric higher—only for the neckline to snag more firmly.
She froze.
"…Dammit," she muttered. "Wait—"
Then—
From downstairs, Dhzaro's voice carried up, loud and unguarded.
"Laura! Come down and eat!"
Laura startled hard.
Her shoulders jerked up, arms flailing for balance—exactly the wrong thing to do. The dress yanked tight around her ribs as her hair pulled sharply at her scalp.
"…Oh no," she muttered.
She staggered sideways, knocking her elbow as she grabbed for the wall, missed, and twisted instead. A glass teetered on the edge of the table. It slipped. Spinning once in the air, it hit the floor with a crash, shattering across the floorboards.
"Wait—wait, wait—"
She tried to step forward, yet stumbled backward, hip bumping the chair. It scraped loudly across the floor. Laura froze again, heart in her throat.
"…Laura...?" Dhzaro called, closer now. "You alright up there?"
Her stomach dropped.
She stood there, half-strangled by silk, hair trapped, dress riding unhelpfully high on one side and too low on the other, breathing fast.
Footsteps shifted below.
"Just a second!" she shouted unconvincingly.
She looked down at herself in the mirror.
At the mess of fabric, her trapped hair,
and the broken glass glittering near her feet.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
"…I look ridiculous."
The room went still for a beat. Then a soft snort came from the doorway.
Laura's eyes flew open—and froze. There was Dhzaro, arms crossed, work goggles still strapped to his face. He always forgot them—would wear them to bed if she didn't remind him.
Her stomach sank. She was dressed for the Shamsha Leonidas and he was standing there like he'd just left the anvil. Mortified, she yanked at a loose strand of hair, as if she could hide behind it.
"If that's ridiculous… I've been blind my whole life," he said, voice teasing but calm.
She peeked at him through the mirror, cheeks hot. How did women move in these things!? She'd already nearly tripped thrice just crossing the room...
"You're all tangled up," he said, already stepping closer with a brush. "Sit. Before you tear half your hair out."
She hesitated, then obeyed, perching stiffly on the chair—carefully, so the fabric wouldn't crease.
The mirror showed her flushed face… and behind her, Dhzaro.
Solid. Familiar. No judgment in his expression, no mockery waiting.
He gathered her hair with careful hands, the way he handled hot glass—steady, respectful, never pulling harder than necessary. His palm settled briefly against the back of her head, grounding her.
"Hold still." he muttered.
"Your hair's gotten thicker," he added. "Eating properly, are you?"
She huffed a quiet laugh. "You watch me eat every day."
"Aye, and you still forget meals when you're working."
He paused, working through a stubborn tangle with patient fingers.
"Just like you forget to sleep," he went on. "Especially when you are working on that rider...
Or when you were working on that one blade…"
The brush moved slowly, methodically.
Despite the constricting dress, the approaching invitation—despite all of it—Laura felt herself ease. The tension drained from her shoulders, replaced by something warmer.
She remembered scraped knees, burned fingers, the first tenday she'd arrived at the workshop with nowhere else to go. Dhzaro had spoken to her much like this then—gruff, practical, quietly refusing to let her fall apart.
"So..." he said, not looking at her in the mirror. "You decided about the invitation."
Her breath caught. Heat crept up her neck. "You know?!"
He snorted softly, the brush never pausing. "Laura… Our sign says Dhzaro and Laura's Workshop. I read the mail."
She met his eyes in the mirror—or at the least tried through the goggles he still wore. His expression unchanged, or what she could see of it. Of course he'd known. Of course he didn't say anything. The brush made one final pass through her hair.
"There..." he said quietly. "That's better."
Laura exhaled, she studied herself in the mirror—the dress, the careful arrangement of her hair. It still felt strange... "I just… I don't know if this is the right move," she started, words tumbling out before she could stop them.
"What if I say the wrong thing? What if they realize I'm just—I mean, we're just a small workshop... and they are... maybe this is all just some mistake, or maybe they're just being polite and—"
"The green suits your eyes, you know."
Dhzaro's voice cut through her spiral, gentle but firm. Laura blinked, catching his gaze in the mirror.
He stepped back, studying her with the same careful attention he gave to metalwork—assessing, but not judging.
"You used to talk about the workshop differently," he said after a moment. "Used to be just about the next order, the next piece. Lately..." He paused, choosing his words. "Lately you've been thinking... much bigger."
Laura's throat tightened. She looked down at her hands.
"It's good," he continued, something warm but bittersweet threading through his tone. "That you're thinking bigger. That you're ready for more than what I can give you here."
"That's not—" Laura started, but Dhzaro was already moving to his workbench.
He returned with a small wooden box, worn smooth at the edges. When he opened it, Laura's breath caught. Earrings. And a necklace. Gold filigree, delicate and intricate, catching the evening light.
The gold from the workbench. The piece from this morning...
"Dhzaro..." she whispered.
"Can't have you going to the Shamsha Leonidas without proper metalwork," he said gruffly, not quite meeting her eyes. "Bad for my reputation."
He already knew, Laura thought, He's known all along. He sent me away so he could finish it.
She took the box carefully, fingers trembling slightly as she lifted the necklace. The craftsmanship was exquisite, exactly the kind of work that had first made her want to learn from him.
"Would you..." She hesitated, then pushed forward. "Would you come with me?"
Dhzaro barked a laugh, genuine and surprised. "Me? Can you imagine me in a suit?"
Despite everything, Laura laughed too—the image of Dhzaro, bare-chested and comfortable, stuffed into formal wear.
But his smile softened, turned rueful. "Besides..." he said quietly, "At some point you have to leave it to the younger ones."
The words hit harder than Laura expected. She opened her mouth to argue, but Dhzaro was already kneeling, carefully picking up the shards of broken glass near her feet.
"Now, now..." he murmured. "Don't need you bleeding all over that nice dress."
Laura stepped back carefully as he worked, still clutching the jewelry box.
"The Melanithornes won't know what hit them," Dhzaro said, dropping glass fragments into his palm.
"You walk in there with your head up, talk about what we do here—what you do—and they'll see it too. What I've seen from the start."
Laura's vision blurred slightly. She blinked hard.
Dhzaro continued gathering glass, his tone shifting to something more conversational.
"The Shamsha Leonidas has quite the reputation, you know. Elaborate dinners. Seven courses, sometimes eight. You'll see."
He stood, depositing the glass shards into a cloth. "And dancing," he added, almost too casually, brushing off his hands.
Laura stared at him. "Dancing!?"
He glanced at her. "Mmhm. Whole thing. Everyone pairs up for The Sunset dance. Very traditional. Very fancy. Thought you should know. So you're not caught off guard."
Of course there would be dancing.
Laura looked down at the dress, at the jewelry box in her hands, at everything he'd just given her. The jewelry. His encouragement. And now dancing.
Always one more step to go.
She felt something crack open in her chest, not breaking, but softening. Warmth spread through her, bittersweet and overwhelming. Her eyes stung.
This. This was what she'd never had.
Not the jewelry, though it was beautiful. Not even the encouragement, though she needed it desperately. It was this.
Someone seeing her reach for something and quietly, without fanfare, making sure she had what she needed to get there. Not questioning whether she deserved it. Not asking what she'd give in return.
Just... helping her be ready.
Her throat tightened. She pressed her lips together, blinking hard, but a laugh escaped anyway—small, shaky, caught somewhere between tears and joy.
"I... I can't even dance," she said softly. The absurdity of it made her laugh again.
"I've got the dress, I've got your beautiful work, I've got—everything, yet I can't even dance."
Almost there. One more impossible thing waiting just ahead.
Dhzaro said nothing for a moment. Then, very quietly: "You'll figure it out."
He lifted the necklace from the box, the gold catching the fading light. "May I?"
Laura nodded, turning slightly. She felt the cool metal settle against her collarbone, his fingers working the clasp at the back of her neck with the same careful precision he used for delicate metalwork. The weight of it was subtle but present—a reminder.
"You always do," he said softly, stepping back.
Laura reached up, her fingertips finding the filigree. At the same moment, Dhzaro's hand moved too—just for a second, his rough fingers brushing the pendant where it rested.
Their hands didn't touch, but the gesture said enough. Laura turned back to the mirror.
Not frantically checking her appearance this time. Really looking. She saw the dress that actually suited her. The jewelry that proclaimed her a craftsperson worthy of respect. Hair arranged with care. Someone who looked like they belonged at the Shamsha Leonidas.
The room went quiet. Laura's expression shifted—the anxiety smoothing into something else. Something certain.
"I've made up my mind." she said quietly.
Dhzaro didn't ask which choice. He just nodded.
Laura sat before the mirror, hand resting on the necklace, chin lifted.
She couldn't see what Dhzaro saw—not quite yet.
But she was almost there.
