Kald turned his head, a wry, humorless smile touching his lips. "Habit is a cage, just like your hammer, smith. You think you’ve set yours down, but I see your fingers twitching toward your belt every time a blacksmith drops a piece of iron too loudly in the square. We are both waiting for the other shoe to drop because we know what happens when the iron starts to sing."Kaedron looked down at his hands. They were steady, the callouses smoothed by months of working with bronze, copper, and tin. The tremors that had plagued him for years—the physical echoes of the cursed steel’s constant, maddening vibrations—had finally receded into a dull, manageable hum. He flexed his fingers. They did not ache. "The iron isn't singing here, General. Oribon is a harbor city. We deal in salt and trade winds, not the screams of buried minerals. You’re looking for a war that ended a thousand miles away.""The north doesn't stop existing just because we’ve sailed south," Kald countered, his voice droppi

"You are afraid of the ring," Kald said, his voice stripped of its usual tactical detachment, replaced by something uncomfortably soft. "You are afraid that if you fire up a real furnace, if you draw out a blade of true, unadulterated steel, you’ll hear the hum again. And you know, as well as I do, that it won’t be the metal singing this time. It will be the echoes of everything we buried in that valley."Kaedron shifted, his shadow stretching long and thin across the weathered planks of the dock. "I am not afraid, General. I am retired. There is a distinction.""Is there?" Kald gestured toward the shop tucked into the narrow alleyway behind the merchant district—a structure that looked more like a fortress than a place of business. "Then explain why you haven't taken a single apprentice in all these months. The guild master in Oribon has been badgering you since we arrived, sending boy after boy, and you turn them away before they even get a word out. Are they not good enough for the

"The shipments into Oribon are clean," Kaedron finished, his voice tight. "We vetted the manifests. We checked the provenance of every copper ingot and tin bar. There is no iron in this harbor, and there is certainly no curse.""Clean manifests don't stop the world from turning," Kald replied, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the sun was beginning to bleed into the sea, turning the water a bruised, shimmering violet. "You’ve spent years looking for a place where you can be just a man, Kaedron. But you forget that even in a city of bronze, a man with your hands is a beacon. You taught those kids in Red Ridge how to survive. You didn't just teach them to smith; you taught them to resist. You think the world is going to let you just… fade into the woodwork?""I don't care what the world wants," Kaedron spat, pushing off the harbor wall. His joints ached—a phantom reminder of the long, sleepless nights spent hunched over the roaring bellows in the capital. "I want peace. Is that suc

"The sound carried all the way to the docks," Kald continued, his voice dropping into that low, tactical register that once commanded divisions of the Iron Legion. "It was steady. It was clear. It was entirely absent of the vibration that follows a strike on cursed steel. You succeeded, Kaedron. You forged a voice for this city that doesn't scream."Kaedron looked up at the bell tower, a dark silhouette against the deepening violet of the sky. "It’s a bell, General. It’s bronze, sand-cast, and tempered in a basic brine. It’s not a monument. It’s a tool. Why are you trying to turn it into a symbol?""Because you are the one who cast it," Kald replied, standing up with the stiff, practiced grace of a man who had spent too many years in heavy armor. He brushed the salt-spray from his tunic. "In a world that is still bleeding from the iron plague you helped—unintentionally or not—to unleash, a man like you building something that brings peace is a miracle. And miracles rarely go unnoticed

"The northern route is closed," Kald said, catching up with three long, loping strides. His boots hit the stone with a rhythmic finality that Kaedron felt in his marrow.Kaedron stopped, his fingers tightening around the head of his cane. "Closed? Since when? The merchant vessels were expecting a clear path three days ago.""Since the tides brought more than just salt-mist last night," Kald murmured, his eyes scanning the horizon where the dark water met the starless ink of the sky. "A courier ship arrived at the outer buoy an hour ago. No ensign, no merchant flag, and their hull was dragging low in the water. They aren't carrying tin, Kaedron. They’re carrying survivors."Kaedron felt a cold prickle of dread trace the line of his spine. "Survivors from where? The capital fell months ago. There’s nothing left to run from.""The border baronies," Kald corrected, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The ones that tried to hoard the ore after the Imperial retreat. It seems they didn't