The sun had barely risen when the group gathered at the forge. The first light of morning streamed through the soot-streaked windows, catching the orange glow of the furnace that Horg had already started. Dory moved among the tools, checking that every tongs, hammer, and anvil spot was in place. The smell of heated iron and coal filled the air, heavy and familiar, settling in their lungs like a rhythm they had learned to breathe with over the past six days.
Horg was already at the bellows, his back straight, muscles flexing with every push. The girls were in their spots too, tying aprons and gloves with quick, practiced movements. Even in the early hours, their motions carried the marks of repetition: precise, controlled, and faster than when they started. Dory stepped closer to the furnace, his Thermal Vision faintly highlighting the heat of the metal and the temperature of the coal.
'…Last day… only a hundred more to go…' he thought. '…We've come this far… can't slip now…'
