Three Months After Blackhaven, Early Winter

Victor - POV

The nightmares had become more manageable, coming only two or three times a week now instead of every night. Mother said that was progress, though I still woke sometimes with my bedsheets singed from magic that responded to dreams I no longer remembered.

At the cottage window, I watched Father work at the forge with his remaining hand. The healing had gone well, but watching him struggle with tasks that used to be simple made my chest tight with guilt. His movements were careful, deliberate, compensating for what he'd lost.

"He's getting stronger." Mother joined me at the window with baby Naelira sleeping in her arms. "The grip strength in his good hand has improved significantly."

"It's still my fault."

"Victor." Mother's voice carried patient firmness. "What happened to your father was Malachar's fault, not yours. The raiders' fault, not yours."

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. Father demonstrated hammer techniques to himself, practicing movements that would work with one hand. Since our return, I'd been spending more time helping him, taking on tasks that required two hands while he guided the work.

"The new people still stare at me. When I helped Master Willem repair the granary roof yesterday, half the refugees wouldn't come near the building while I was working."

"They're afraid of what they don't understand. But some are grateful too. The Millbrook family specifically asked to live near us because they feel safer knowing you're close."

That was true. The refugees had split into two groups: those who saw my abilities as protection and those who saw them as danger. Most days, both perspectives felt right.

A commotion outside caught my attention. Three massive wagons approached the village gates, loaded with smithing equipment and household goods. The lead wagon was driven by the largest person I'd ever seen: a Delvarin whose shoulders were broader than Father's had ever been, with arms like tree trunks and a beard that seemed to have bits of metal woven through it.

"Delvarin traders?"

Mother shaded her eyes, studying the approaching convoy. "No, look at the personal belongings. I think they're moving here." She paused, squinting at the lead driver. "There's an air of familiarity about that Delvarin, but I can't quite place it."

As the wagons rolled through our gates, we were right. This wasn't a trading expedition. It was a migration. The massive Delvarin was accompanied by two others, and their wagons carried the organized possessions of people who'd left one home to build another.

"Father needs to see this." I was already moving toward the door.

The Forge, That Afternoon

Gregor - POV

I set down my hammer as the massive Delvarin approached, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my remaining hand. Three months of one handed work had taught me new techniques, but everything took twice as long.

"Gregor Ironforge." The dwarf's voice carried the resonance that marked master craftsmen. "Though I heard some fool started calling you Hearthborn now."

The voice was familiar. I looked closer at the weathered face, the particular pattern of scars along his knuckles, the way he stood with unconscious authority.

"Thrain?" Disbelief colored my voice. "Thrain Ironbeard?"

"Took you long enough to recognize me." His laugh rumbled like stones in a landslide. "Twenty years and you've gone soft, getting caught by slavers like some village farmer."

A grin split my face as relief and joy washed over me. "You magnificent bastard!" I stepped forward and clasped his massive shoulder with my good hand. "What are you doing here?"

"Heard through the trading networks that my old war buddy had lost a hand fighting slavers and was trying to run a forge one handed." Thrain gestured toward my bandaged stump. "Figured you might need help from someone who knows what he's doing."

I relaxed slightly. "It's been challenging. Everything takes twice as long now."

"I bet. But more than that, I've been thinking about our old conversations. Remember what I used to tell you about fire and earth magic during those long nights on patrol?"

I did remember. Thrain had taught me techniques passed down through generations of his family, methods that went back to the Solis Halo era when his ancestors had helped advance human civilization with their superior craftsmanship. The Delvarin had arrived on Earth during humanity's golden age, bringing their master engineering skills to work alongside humans in building wonders that neither race could have achieved alone.

"You said there were deeper principles I wasn't ready for."

"Aye. Well, I think it's time to resume your training, even with this minor setback." Thrain gestured at my bandaged stump. "One hand or two, you've got the foundation. And I've got my nephew and niece with me. They could benefit from learning alongside a human practitioner."

"Borin and Vera?"

"Both talented, but they need to understand how other races approach magical smithing. It would be good training for all of us."

Victor appeared in the forge doorway at that moment, his mismatched eyes taking in the massive Delvarin with curiosity rather than fear. "Father, do you know this person?"

"Victor, meet Thrain Ironbeard. We served together in the Merchant Wars." I turned back to Thrain. "This is my son."

Thrain knelt to Victor's eye level, studying him with the practiced eye of someone who'd spent decades evaluating potential. His weathered hands gently examined Victor's smaller ones, noting the calluses and burn marks that spoke of real work.

"These are working hands." Thrain's approval was clear. "You've been helping around the village, haven't you, lad? And in the forge too, from the look of these burns."

"Yes sir. Father needs help with tasks that require two hands, and there's always work to be done in town."

"Good. Hard work builds character." Thrain looked up at me. "You've raised him well, Gregor."

Pride surged through me, but I also saw an opportunity. "Victor, show Thrain what you know. The heat control you've been practicing."

Thrain's eyebrows shot up, his expression shifting from approval to astonishment. "Wait, what do you mean, fire control?" His weathered features flickered between confusion and growing amazement as his mind raced to process what he was witnessing.

Victor held out his hand, and slowly his palm began to glow. First a gentle warmth, then red heat like fresh coals, then orange like banked flames, then white hot like metal ready for shaping. Each transition was smooth and controlled, showing months of careful practice.

Thrain stood slowly, his voice carrying a note of awe. "Well, I'll be forge burnt! Like father, like son indeed! Though I've never seen a seven year old that can do magic, let alone have that kind of control."

He turned to me with new respect. "Gregor, my friend, it seems we'll be teaching proper Delvarin smithing to the whole family."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. Just old friends helping each other." Thrain paused, grinning. "Besides, we're like brothers, me being the better looking one, obviously." His expression grew more serious. "Plus, someone needs to make you a proper prosthetic. Can't have you working one handed forever."

I glanced down at my bandaged stump. Master Elena had done excellent healing work, but I still needed a functional replacement for complex smithing.

"What do you think, Victor?"

Victor considered the question with his usual seriousness. "Will you teach me to make things that help people?"

"That is exactly the right question." Thrain's satisfaction was evident. "Yes, lad. Making things that build and protect, that's the real art."

I found myself nodding. Having Thrain here would solve multiple problems, and Victor clearly needed guidance I wasn't equipped to provide.

"Alright. But we do this as a partnership. Victor is my son first, your student second."

"Agreed." Thrain extended a massive hand. "Partners, then. This should be interesting."

As we shook hands, flesh meeting flesh in a grip that spoke of mutual respect and shared history, the feeling was undeniable: our lives had just changed direction again.

That Evening, Family Council

Lyra - POV

Victor practically bounced into his chair at dinner, still buzzing from meeting Thrain. "So he's really going to teach me? And his family's moving here?"

"Slow down." I laughed, setting down the bread. "Let's talk this through properly."

"Are the nightmares still happening?" Gregor got straight to the practical concerns.

Victor's excitement dimmed slightly. "Not as much. Maybe twice this week? But sometimes I dream the fire gets so big I can't stop it." He poked at his food.

My heart squeezed. "That's exactly why Thrain showing up might be the best luck we've had in months."

"You think so?" Gregor raised an eyebrow. "Earlier you looked like you were trying to remember where you'd seen him."

"Oh, that." I grinned sheepishly. "The moment he started talking I knew. Your war brother, the one who could outforge anyone. He visited us that one time, remember? Right after we got married, you two stayed up all night drinking and telling terrible jokes."

"He made that awful pun about hammer time." Gregor chuckled.

"So you're not worried?" Victor looked between us.

"Worried?" I shook my head. "Victor, three master Delvarin smiths want to settle here and one of them wants to teach you. This is like finding treasure."

"But where will they live? How will it work?"

"They'll build next to us, I imagine. Thrain mentioned expanding the forge." I reached over and ruffled Victor's hair. "And you won't be doing forge work all day. When you need breaks, you can help me in the gardens. Growing things helps settle magical energy."

"Really?"

"Really. You'll still be helping around the village, still learning to read and write properly, still being seven years old. The magic training is just extra."

Gregor leaned back in his chair. "Plus, people might actually relax a bit knowing you're being trained instead of just figuring things out as you go."

"Do you think Thrain knows what he's doing?" Victor's voice was quiet.

"With you? Probably better than anyone." Genuine excitement fluttered through me. "Victor, this is the kind of opportunity people dream about. Having a master teach you their craft, especially someone your father trusts completely."

"And if I mess it up?"

"Then you mess it up and learn from it." Gregor's tone was simple, matter of fact. "But you won't be doing it alone."

Victor grinned suddenly. "I want to learn to make things that help people. Like the tools you make, Father, but maybe bigger things?"

"Now that sounds exactly like the thinking of a Hearthborn."

Late That Night, The Weight of Choices

Gregor - POV

Sleep wouldn't come. Too much change happening too fast, even if it was good change.

"You're thinking too loud." Lyra mumbled from beside me.

"Sorry." I shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. "Just a lot to process."

"About Thrain?"

"About everything. Three months ago our biggest worry was whether we had enough grain stored for winter. Now our son might become the most powerful smith in generations, trained by my best friend who happens to be a Delvarin master."

"When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous."

"Good ridiculous or bad ridiculous?"

"Terrifying ridiculous."

Lyra rolled over to face me. "He's still our little boy, Gregor. Magic or no magic, training or no training. He's still the kid who helps old Mrs. Kenna carry her washing and always saves the last bite of honey cake for Naelira."

"I know. It's just what if we're making the wrong choice?"

"What if we're making the right one?"

"What if Thrain doesn't know what he's getting into? Victor's not just some talented kid."

"He's extraordinary. And he needs extraordinary guidance." Lyra's voice was gentle but firm. "We can't teach him what he needs to know, Gregor. We just can't."

"I know." I was quiet for a moment, thinking back to that night seven years ago when we'd found an infant by the river in the Neutral Zone. "Sometimes I look at him and still can't believe how lucky we got. That he came to us, that he looks so much like us that no one questions it."

"That he has your stubborn streak and my curiosity." Lyra finished the thought softly. "Those remarkable eyes and his gifts? People just see them as a blessing, a mutation that brought magic into our bloodline. He's perfectly ours."

"The blessing in disguise." I murmured the phrase we'd whispered to each other countless times over the years. "Finding him broke our hearts open in the best way."

"And now look at him. Helping Mrs. Kenna, saving honey cake for Naelira, worrying about people being afraid of him." Lyra's voice was thick with love. "Whatever power he has, whatever he becomes, that heart of his? That's all him."

I was quiet for a moment, listening to the village settling into sleep around us. "Do you think he'll still be happy? With all this responsibility?"

"Did you see his face at dinner? When he talked about making things that help people?" Lyra smiled in the darkness. "That's not responsibility weighing him down. That's purpose lifting him up."

She was right. And tomorrow, everything would change again.

But for tonight, our son was sleeping peacefully in the next room, and we were just parents trying to do right by our boy.

Some things, at least, stayed simple.