The blades were ready at midday.
Gabriel reached the forge as the sun climbed overhead, heat pushing through the grey sky without breaking it. Smoke still rose from the chimney, thinner now, the strikes from within slower and less frequent.
He pushed the door open.
The blacksmith stood at the bench with his back turned, hands working cloth around steel. He looked up when the door closed. His face was drawn, pale in the forge light. Fear still sat in his eyes from the night before.
Two blades lay on the bench between them.
Identical. Long and straight. No decoration. No marks. The steel caught the forge light and held it dully, functional rather than beautiful.
The blacksmith gestured to them without ceremony.
"Done," he said. His voice was tight. "Take them and go."
