What was meant to be a mid-morning endeavor quickly extended into the afternoon. They stalled quite a bit at the stables, letting Scarr tell her a few things about handling foxelines and getting her used to riding him before they set out.

On the back of the magnificent beast, Izatha's soul sang in tune to the patter of his feet. Amaranthe-as she had come to call him-did not stay to the confines of the street but took her up walls and over rooftops on nimble paws.

Eventually, she got over her initial excitement and cane back to Winry for them to tour the city. They took a long path to the forge, sighting the houses of other nobles along the way. Many of the nobles from the same House clumped together, which could be both a benefit and a weakness.

Being so late in the day, they stopped at the marketplace to eat a late lunch. Izatha gladly got distracted by the venders, buying many nice things with the allowance she received from Lord Paton. (He was good for something, after all.) The marketplace were akin to human marketplaces, yet with more practical products than toys and decorations.

The princess was quite content by the time they approached forges. Sensing they were staying awhile, Amaranthe promptly climbed onto the roof and lied down.

The stout building resembled a school or an apartment building with its segmented wings. Streams of smoke rose out of a few of its many chimneys, spreading the smell of coal dust and molten metal further into the air. Not surprisingly, the temperature around the building was higher than the coolness of the city, as if radiating heat from its inner fires.

A hard knock sounded on the heavy wooden door. Izatha looked to see Winry standing before it, taking a step back after delivering the blows. Trying not to fidget her hands, the princess stepped closer to her.

After several moments, the door opened to a young adult man. He was short and burly, his face roughly shaved and his brown hair cut short. Upon seeing Winry, his tight expression softened, and he greeted her kindly.

The two conversed back and forth, ignoring Izatha as she tried to pick out pieces of their sentences. She could not tell enough from what she could understand, but their body language indicated their referring to herself.

The man hesitated at Winry's explanation, responding to her in a stern tone. She turned to the princess and said, "He want to know you are keeping secrets."

"Let him know I want to use the forge to make my own pieces and will not interfere with any of their work. I have no desire to learn their techniques," she instructed.

Nodding, Winry relayed the request to the man. She trailed off, making him bark at her for her to finish her statement. A solemn demeanor drifted onto his face.

"Why you can not use the castle's private forge?" Winry translated.

Izatha lipped her lips, pulling her thoughts together. "A forge is more than place and tools. I want a place where people are each pursuing their goals and using the fires together, not a place where the fires burn only of my own privileges."

Good anime pep talk. He'll think you're a weirdo now, she cringed while awaiting a response.

Either it inspired him or Winry smoothed things over because he lead them inside. He and Winry exchanged some more words as they walked through the stony hall. His face slightly tightened when he asked her a question. By her tone, it was not something she wanted to reveal.

They continued in silence for some time, passing others walking around. "What did he say to my request?" Izatha asked quietly.

"He found it interesting. He wants the family head make decision."

Drawing in a sharp breath, she nodded. The family head might only be a baron, but he was still a man of great esteem within his facility.

He finally lead them into a room, walking right to a burly man stationed at a workbench. Izatha stopped short at his signaling hand and tried to listen.

Quickly, Winry picked up on her intent and translated, "Baron asked why bring you in here, but Almec not have rank to refuse a Nora. Baron is interested in your persistence."

She stopped translating as the man, Almec, bowed and left the baron. He lead the girls out again, her servant explaining, "He will test your skills to make sure you are safe."

A chill ran down her spine as dejavu flashed her mind. She clenched and released her fists in anticipation. They went to a small forge about the size of one she had used on before, only this one had stone walls instead of wood and mud. The scent of the embers was intoxicating, making her mind race with serotonin.

Not waiting for instruction, her eye scanned the room for what she would need. To her luck, it seemed like most tools that humans used were the same here, although greatly outdated. Given the setup for the forge, the equipment was just what she needed.

"Use any equipment and resources to make any kind of blade you wish. I can assist you if you need more hands," Almec told her.

She brushed him off, heading straight for her supplies. Shall I make something tricky to show my skills, or something that I specialize in? She considered her options as she ran her fingers over the ingots, a smile forming on her face. He always said no one else could make that as well as me. Here's to hoping he's right.

Decisively, she grabbed her supplies and went to work. Despite having spent so much time away from metalworking, she got right into the rhythm.

Every stroke of the hammer was full of her full force every beat like the footsteps of a mammoth. It took hours just to shape the metal into her forgery, the time bleeding into the night. She hardly stopped to eat or drink, hardly aware of her servant coming and going. By the time she--

Wait, are you narrating us? That's so cute!

Bug off, Violet!

We really don't need a narrator.

We really debating like this again?

Yes, and we will keep doing it until she stops mocking my inspired narrations! Since no one else is narrating our story, I will just do it myself.

(Let me just say, that was rude.)

She completed it well into the dead of night. Tired, Almec looked pleased at her finishing. He moved to wake Winry to translate for him, but Izatha held out a hand to stop him.

Hesitating, he motioned for her to stay. He took her blade, shutting the door behind him as he left. The noise made Winry stir, waking slowly while recalling her whereabouts.

"Where Almec has gone?" she asked, pulling herself up and gazing around.

"He is bringing my sickle to the head for inspection," the princess replied.

Stretching her shoulders, Winry nodded. "They will no be gone long. Koal is good at seeing weapons."

Koal. Izatha froze at the name, her throat tightening around her breath. "You--What did you say? What--What was his name?" she choked.

Thoughts flooded her mind faster than she could suppress them. Koal. Blacksmith. Old English. Earth. She heard Winry's answer through her muffled mind, blurting out, "When did he disappear? To earth?"

"Before I was developed, four hundred years ago."

Tears blinded her eyes as she rushed out the door. She followed the hallway, ignoring the cries behind her. Her heart skipped when she realized she was lost, placing a steadying hand on the wall.

There it was. The same warm hum and pulse came back to her, pulling her forward, deeper into the labyrinth. Why didn't I see it before? Why did I not see him here?

She followed Almec's footsteps, watching the path he had taken glow before her. Vibrations pounded towards her, created by dashing feet striving to find someone.

They were not hers.

Skidding to that room, she crashing into someone coming out. Her shoulder slammed back against the wall as she tripped over his feet, yet hand wrapped around her to lift her up.

Their eyes met as they steadied themselves. Cheeks wet from her tears, Izatha slid to her knees. I get to see your face again.

Lips quivering in a smile, Koal cupped her face in his burly hands. "It's really you, Angel. You came back to me."

"You left me!" she screaming, voice cracking in her jagged breaths. "I thought you were dead."

His arms pulled her into his chest, caressing the back of her head. She buried her face into his shoulder, sobbing as she clung to the fabric of his shirt.

"I am so sorry, Angel. I wanted to come back for you, but I hesitated." His voice cracked, letting his tears finally fall. "Not a day goes by where I don't regret leaving you behind!"

She didn't respond--she didn't want to. Holding him tighter, she relished in the feeling of his arms around her, soothing her years of sorrow and longing. And he just held her, rubbing her back while apologizing over and over.

So she stayed right there for a long time, forgetting her purpose there and those with her. It was just her and the man who was her family. And finally, she felt at home.