Chapter 29

  Finding the Forge an Blackwoods Pov

  She lingered a moment longer, then stepped toward him.

  “You fight for my people, risk yourself over and over… why?” Her voice was quiet but steady.

  Lux didn’t look up from the rough sketch he was making in the dirt, but there was a hint of a smirk.

  “Why do you fight for them?”

  “That’s… different,” she said, taken aback.

  “Is it? You’ve lost your home, your title, your safety—yet you still lead. Is it because you have to? Or because you want to?” His eyes met hers then, sharp and searching.

  She hesitated. “I… suppose both.”

  “Then maybe it’s the same for me.” He straightened, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Maybe I help because I have to… and maybe because I want to. Does that matter?”

  Luna found herself without an answer. The way he’d turned her question back on her made it impossible to keep him at arm’s length. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts muddled. She looked away first, not liking how much he could unsettle her with so few words.

  Before she could say more, Lux’s gaze shifted past her—up to the pile of rubble he’d stood on earlier when shouting down Captain Strider. His eyes narrowed.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Possibility,” he muttered. Then he started toward it, his mind already elsewhere.

  Lux climbed the pile, shoving aside loose bricks and charred beams. She almost called after him, but the determined look on his face kept her silent.

  He pushed through the rubble with methodical force, prying away scorched planks until a low clang rang out beneath his boots.

  “What the hell…” he murmured, crouching.

  Luna moved closer, peering up at him. “Find something?”

  Lux scraped away the last of the debris, revealing a squat, soot-blackened structure—its stone walls cracked but intact. Beside it sat a rusted anvil, half-buried under collapsed timbers.

  He grinned faintly. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

  With a few more pulls, he uncovered the mouth of a small forge furnace, its metal warped from whatever fire had gutted this place, but still intact. He brushed a hand along the edge, testing the give. The iron doors squealed but opened just enough to see the firebox inside.

  “It’s not big,” he said, voice carrying a mix of disbelief and excitement, “but it’s enough to heat and shape metal for revolvers.”

  Luna’s brows rose. “So… it can be used?”

  “Yeah,” Lux replied, standing and looking over the anvil. “We’ll need fuel, some basic tools, and someone who knows how to work a forge. But this? This is exactly what we needed.”

  She caught the spark in his eye, and despite herself, felt her chest tighten again. Whatever he was planning, it was clear he saw more than just scrap here—he saw opportunity.

  Lux didn’t waste time. The moment his assessment was done, he dropped down from the rubble and strode toward Garrick and Strenn, his voice low but urgent.

  “Got something for you two to see,” he said, motioning for them to follow.

  Garrick’s brow furrowed. “What kind of something?”

  “You’ll see. Bring whatever tools you’ve got left that can pry, scrape, or measure metal.”

  Strenn, the monkey girl whose hands still bore faint burns from her time in the labor camp, tilted her head, tail flicking with curiosity. “You found workable iron?”

  Lux smirked. “Better. I found us a forge.”

  The blacksmith’s eyes lit up, and Garrick gave a sharp whistle. “Well, hell. Guess you do have some luck after all.”

  The three of them disappeared behind the collapsed wall, voices fading into the distance. Luna stayed where she was, watching them go.

  Her heart tugged—not because she wanted to follow, but because she wanted that moment again, the quiet exchange she and Lux had earlier. That unexpected openness. The way he’d asked her questions that cut through her walls instead of battering against them.

  She wasn’t supposed to think about that now. She was a princess of Greenwood. And princesses didn’t let emotions steer them—not when lives depended on them.

  Still… she couldn’t ignore the truth. She was excited. Not just about the forge or the weapons it might bring. But about the thought of him coming back to her with that half-grin and saying, Told you we’d make it work.

  She exhaled, turning her gaze toward the settlement’s outer wall. Duty first. Always duty first. She’d have her answers later.

  Lux's pov

  The forge was a mess—half-buried under rubble, the stonework cracked, the anvil rusted and pitted with age. But the small furnace still had shape, still had a place for fuel, still had a draft that could breathe heat into metal.

  Lux crouched, brushing dirt and soot from the edge of the anvil. “Not perfect,” he muttered, “but it’ll do.”

  Garrick ran a hand over the forge’s side, whistling low. “She’s seen better days, but I’ve worked with worse. If we can get a fire hot enough, I can shape iron again.”

  Strenn’s hands twitched with anticipation as she inspected the tools left behind—most useless, but a few tongs and hammers were salvageable. “We’ll need charcoal, scrap iron, and a steady team to feed the heat. Revolvers are simple enough—hammer, cylinder, trigger. I can make those in batches once we have the molds.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Lux nodded. “Good. But don’t forget—I still want materials for the M1 Garand rifle.” He stood, eyes flicking between them. “It’s not something we can make quick, and we sure as hell won’t churn out enough in time if Blackwood sends more men… but if we ever get the resources, I want those rifles in our hands. Semi-auto. Accurate. Reliable.”

  Garrick chuckled. “Never heard of such a thing, but the way you say it makes me want to see one.”

  “Yeah,” Lux said with a faint grin, “you would. But right now, revolvers will do. We need ‘em quick—before Blackwood figures out he’s already lost the last round and decides to double down.”

  Strenn’s tail flicked once, sharply. “Then we’d better start pulling every scrap of metal in this settlement.”

  Lux straightened, scanning the sky above the crumbled wall. “Do it. I’ll set up a guard rotation. I don’t want anyone surprising us while we work.”

  Luna's pov

  The forge still smelled faintly of old soot and iron, a scent that clung to the air even after years of abandonment. Luna stepped away from the broken stone and into the main square, already calling out names from the noncombatants’ roster.

  “Dorn, Sael, and Chyra—start pulling scrap from the collapsed houses. Anything metal, bring it to the forge. Korr, you’ll help them carry the heavier pieces.”

  Her voice carried over the settlement, steady and commanding. “Lyra and Dorrin , you’re on guard. Watch the edges and keep the others safe—if anything comes out of the ruins, you take it down before it gets close.”

  The group moved quickly, a strange rhythm settling over them—prying metal from doors, pulling nails from beams, carrying rusted tools back to the forge. Even the children helped, ferrying small pieces in baskets.

  She turned, scanning the workers, making sure no one wandered into unsafe territory. Duty first. Always.

  Footsteps approached from behind—measured, purposeful. She knew before she looked who it was.

  Lux stopped a pace from her, jaw set like he was ready to lay out another battle plan. “Luna, I need you to—”

  He froze mid-sentence. His eyes swept the square, following the movement of every person already hard at work. His gaze caught on Lyra leading a group past the ruins, on Dorrin standing sentinel with a spear in hand.

  “You…” he started, a faint huff of breath escaping him. “You already got them moving.”

  Luna gave a faint tilt of her head. “You were busy with Garrick and Strenn. Someone had to get the gathering started.”

  For a moment, something unspoken flickered across his face—a mix of relief, respect, and something warmer. Pride.

  Lux’s mouth twitched into the faintest grin. “Guess I don’t have to do everything myself.”

  “Guess not,” she replied, though the way he kept looking at her made it hard to keep her tone entirely neutral.

  He glanced back toward the forge. “Keep it going. The faster we feed that fire, the better chance we have when Blackwood decides to send more men.”

  Luna nodded, watching him walk away. She caught herself smiling faintly before schooling her expression again. There'd be time to figure what that meant--later. For now duty first.

  Baron Blackwood's pov

  The grand hall of Blackwood Estate was lit in the low amber glow of wall sconces, shadows stretching across the polished stone floor. The Baron sat in his high-backed chair near the hearth, a ledger open before him but untouched. His goblet of dark red wine hung loosely from one hand, the other drumming impatiently on the armrest.

  Boots echoed in the entryway. The heavy oak doors groaned open. Captain Garreth Strider stepped inside, armor dented and dusted with ash, face tight with something between exhaustion and embarrassment. Behind him, the few remaining soldiers dragged their feet—bloodied, bandaged, and far fewer in number than had departed.

  The Baron’s eyes narrowed. “Sixty men left my gate,” he said without rising. “I count… twenty-one.”

  Strider halted halfway across the hall, helm tucked under his arm. “We met resistance, my lord. Heavy resistance.”

  “From what? A militia?” Blackwood’s tone was a razor wrapped in silk.

  The captain hesitated, then said, “A man. A human, but… different. Fought like a demon in the skin of a soldier. Claimed to be from some ‘United States Army.’”

  The Baron sat forward slowly. “United… States.” He rolled the foreign words over his tongue like a rare spice. “And this… man? Dead?”

  Strider’s jaw tightened. “No, my lord. We… withdrew.”

  A soft, cold smile crept across the Baron’s face. “Withdrew.” He took a slow sip of wine. “One man drove off sixty of my soldiers… and you withdrew.”

  Strider stiffened. “With all respect, my lord, he had help—beastfolk, trained and ready to die for him. And…” He hesitated, as if unsure whether to say more.

  “Speak.”

  “And three mages, my lord—the ones you sent—they’re gone. Killed before I could even give the order.”

  The Baron’s fingers tightened around the goblet until the metal creaked. “That makes twice in two weeks my property has been taken from me. Twice.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Do you know what happens to men who fail me twice, Captain?”

  Strider swallowed. “I will find him, my lord. I swear it on my life.”

  Blackwood leaned back, swirling the last of the wine in his goblet. “Oh, you will. But not alone. I want hunters, trackers… and if the mages can’t keep themselves alive, I’ll send something that doesn’t bleed.”

  He set the goblet down with a soft clink.

  “Bring me the map.”

  The captain bowed stiffly and turned to fetch it, the Baron’s gaze following him like a predator deciding whether to let the prey go.

  Under his breath, Blackwood murmured, “United States… let us see what kind of state you’re in when I’m finished with you.”

  Strider reached the table where the estate’s large, rolled parchment map lay. His gauntleted fingers twitched as he began to unfurl it.

  “Wait,” the Baron said softly, his voice slicing through the quiet like a thin blade. “Before you disgrace my eyes with your retreat… did this man say anything else?”

  The captain hesitated, jaw working. He glanced at the surviving men behind him, as if weighing whether repeating the words would be wise. “Yes, my lord. He shouted it from atop a pile of rubble—said he was Major Lux of the First Special Forces Regiment, United States Army. He called me out by name… said if I wanted him and his people, I’d have to take them. Then—”

  Blackwood’s eyebrow arched ever so slightly. “Then?”

  “He warned me—told me to leave, or I wouldn’t see another sunrise. My lord… he meant it.”

  For a moment, the Baron’s eyes glittered with something that was almost amusement. Then it hardened into cold calculation. “A soldier who rallies beastfolk… a soldier who thinks himself untouchable.”

  He rose from his seat, the long tails of his dark coat whispering against the floor. “No, Captain. I will not waste more mages or common troops on this Lux. If he wants war…” The Baron stopped at the tall, iron-bound door set into the far wall. He rested his palm on the rune-carved surface. “…then I will give him something far older. Far hungrier.”

  The captain took a cautious step forward. “My lord… what is in there?”

  The Baron’s lips curved into a thin, mirthless smile. “An old friend that doesn’t bleed.”

  With a deep, grinding noise, the iron-bound door unlocked. The stale scent of dust and cold stone spilled into the hall… along with the low, guttural breathing of something awake after a long slumber.

  The iron-bound door swung inward with a slow, deliberate creak, revealing a dark passage that seemed to swallow the torchlight whole.

  From the blackness, chains scraped across stone. Then, a low rumble echoed outward, not quite a growl, not quite a laugh—something caught between hunger and recognition.

  Strider’s hand instinctively went to his sword hilt. “What… what is that?”

  The Baron stepped into the threshold, his shadow stretching unnaturally long across the floor. “Something the mages of Evermore cannot touch. Their spells slide off it like rain off oiled steel. Their blades chip before they pierce its hide. To them, it is invincible.”

  A shape emerged—massive, bent with unnatural musculature, its skin a patchwork of blackened scales and pale, scarred flesh. Its eyes were ember-red, glowing faintly in the dim light. The thing exhaled, and Strider caught the coppery tang of blood on its breath.

  “But you said it doesn’t bleed,” Strider muttered, voice tight.

  Blackwood’s smile deepened. “Oh, it bleeds. Just… not from our weapons. Not from anything forged in Evermore.” He stepped closer to the beast, laying a confident hand on its thick neck. The creature leaned into the touch like a hound awaiting its master’s command.

  “I keep that truth… to myself.”

  The Baron turned his gaze back to Strider, his eyes cold with intent. “Follow it when I release it. Watch where it goes. It will lead you to this Lux—and when he’s surrounded, you will finish what you failed to do today.”

  The creature’s gaze locked on Strider, the ember glow in its eyes flickering brighter, as if it understood the hunt ahead.

  And then the Baron’s voice dropped, almost a whisper. “Let him think he’s safe. Let him think his little settlment holds. Then, when this beast tears through his makeshift walls… watch his courage bleed out.”