The former foundry space in the citadel warehouse wing still smelled faintly of iron and mineral residue. Nothing operated there anymore, but the room remembered what it had once been.
The large furnace against the back wall had sat cold for months. Its work had been transferred to the industrial district, leaving the space available for other projects.
Beorn had repurposed it accordingly.
A long worktable occupied the center of the room. Shelves lined one wall, holding labeled clay dishes and small jars set out with obvious purpose. Tools hung nearby. In the far corner, a small iron brazier burned steadily. It wasn't strong enough to defeat the winter cold, but it made the room tolerable.
The table itself revealed what Beorn had been doing over the previous weeks.
Burn marks scored the wood in a neat progression. Some were old and blackened. Others were newer and lighter. The pattern wasn't random. It showed repeated trials, each one slightly different from the last.
