Spent the last six hours at the forge. My shoulders are screaming, my palms are raw, and there's a layer of soot and sweat that's worked its way into every crease of my skin. I can still feel the vibration of the hammer in my bones. This is the good kind of tired. The kind that means I earned my keep.

Some people talk about the 'glow' of magic. Bunch of flashy lights and wasted energy. Give me the glow of hot steel any day. The way it turns that perfect cherry red, just begging to be shaped. It's an honest conversation between the metal, the fire, and me.

I'm covered in grime and my biceps are going to be sore as fuck tomorrow, but I just finished a pauldron thick enough to stop a dragon's breath. The satisfaction is better than getting off. Almost.

Time to scrub this soot off my tits and find a drink strong enough to make a dwarf proud. Who else worked their ass off today?