Minoc’s mine forge was still warm when I stumbled in last night, shoulders aching like I’d been hauling stone all week instead of just a shift. Rain had come down hard from the north, turning the path from the iron veins near Yew into a slick mire, and my boots were full of it by the time I reached the city gates. The forge had that quiet hum to it—the coals banked but not dead, someone’s care left burning. I dropped my pick near the anvil, the clank echoing too loud in the empty smithy. Six veins cracked open today. Six. After eleven swings that rang hollow, like striking cursed stone, each one jarring up my arms and into my teeth. But those six… they bled ore, dark iron nuggets winking in the torchlight like secrets the earth didn’t want shared.
I remember the third strike—the one that finally split the seam wide. My pick stuck for a breath, then gave way with a groan. A slab of rock peeled back, and there it was: a thick blue-tinged vein, richer than anything I’d seen in months. I knelt, cold stone biting my knee, and ran my thumb along the edge. Cool, smooth, like touching the back of a sleeping dragon. I filled my pack slow after that, nearly fifty ingots pressing down by the time I trudged out. Each one clinked with every step, a weight I welcomed. Not like the gold—long gone, spent on better tongs and a new hammer after the last one shattered on a stubborn iron patch. No, this weight was honest. It bent my belt, pulled at my hips, but it meant I hadn’t wasted the day.
Back at the forge, I started sorting, stacking ingots near the anvil. The air smelled of old soot and damp leather, and somewhere outside, a dog barked at nothing. I ran a cloth over the hammerhead, thinking how my father used to say, “Iron don’t lie, boy. It bends when you’ve earned it.” Maybe he was right. Maybe today, for once, I earned it.
Tomorrow, I’m heading back to the northern ridge. Heard a prospector from Trinsic found silver near the old cave-in. Might be nothing. But if there’s a vein worth cracking, you can bet I’ll be there—pick in hand, back sore, and hoping the stone gives just once more.
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