"Ooooh, buddy," she cooed, her tone dripping with amusement as she remarked on the spectacle before her. "That’s some top-tier ugly crying. Like, I’ve seen banshees scream less dramatically than this."

  Grellish sniffled hard, wiping his nose on his soot-stained sleeve as he lamented, "They took everything. The tools, the ingots, the enchanted bellows… my custom-made forge hammer!" His voice was heavy with despair.

  Henry felt a headache forming as he interjected cautiously, "So... I take it you're not gonna kill me?"

  Grellish snapped, jabbing a finger at Henry. "I might!" he declared. "Depends! Did you destroy my forge?"

  Taking one step back, Henry replied, "Nope. That was already like that when we got here." Grellish grumbled, his beard quivering with emotion. With another loud, sniffling inhale, he collapsed onto his back and groaned into the stone floor, lamenting, "Everything’s ruined."

  Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Great. So, just to clarify, you're not planning to rip my head off?" he asked, exasperation clear in his tone.

  "Not yet," came the curt response.

  Elara clapped her hands together, her voice light and teasing. "Ooooh, exciting! A pending execution! Love the suspense!"

  Henry shot her a glare, but she merely grinned in response. Without missing a beat, Elara fluttered up to Grellish’s eye level with an exasperated sigh. "Look, Grelli—can I call you Grelli?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. "We’ve got your artifact or whatever it is, and now we need some answers. Like, oh, I don’t know, where the last two pieces of that armor are. And also that other thing we were gonna ask you for—whatever it was. Can you please focus for two seconds and help us out?"

  Grellish froze mid-sob, his tear-streaked face snapping toward her. "You… you have the artifact?" His eyes shifted from despair to manic excitement as he cried, "Gimme, gimme!" Lunging forward, his stubby hands outstretched as if he might snatch it right out of Henry’s grip.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Henry stumbled back, holding the pendant aloft. "Easy there, buddy! It’s fragile, alright? And also covered in, uh, important magical energy or something. You don’t want to break it."

  Grellish paused, his hands hovering an inch from Henry’s chest. "Important magical energy? Really?" he asked, his voice wavering with a mix of awe and suspicion.

  "Totally," Henry replied, his tone steady despite the inner panic. "Now, if you want this, you’ve got to tell us what we need to know. Armor pieces. Directions. Anything. Deal?"

  Elara clapped her hands again, her grin sharp as she said, "See? Negotiation! I knew he wasn’t a complete idiot."

  Henry shot her another glare. "Not helping, Elara," he muttered, holding his breath and silently hoping that this precarious situation wouldn’t backfire.

  Henry held his breath, hoping this wouldn’t backfire.

  Grellish snatched the artifact from Henry’s hand with surprising speed, his tear-streaked face replaced by an unsettling determination. Without hesitation, he hurled the pendant into the broken forge.

  The reaction was immediate. The artifact hit the forge’s core, and the entire structure erupted with a deafening roar. A shockwave of blinding light and searing heat blasted outward, sending everyone hurtling across the room. Henry hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.

  When the chaos subsided, Henry groaned and forced himself upright, rubbing his eyes to clear his vision. For a moment, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. What he saw defied explanation.

  The forge—no, the entire forge room—was gone. In its place stood a massive, gleaming structure that seemed to breathe life into the surrounding space. It wasn’t just a forge anymore. It was an entire building, towering above him like a temple to craftsmanship. Its golden-hued walls shimmered with intricate carvings that pulsed faintly with runic energy, and in the very center of the structure stood a brand-new forge.

  The heart of the dwarven city had been reborn.

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  “Well then,” Grellish said, his voice gruff but laced with satisfaction. “About that armor. This forge has been restored to its former glory. Now, we can do the same for the armor.”

  He turned to Henry, squinting, then reached up and snatched the hat off Henry’s head with an abrupt tug.

  “Hey!” Henry protested. “What was—wait, that’s been on my head the whole time?”

  “It absolutely has,” Elara chimed in with a mischievous grin. “Not a single interruption. Definitely not a continuity error.”

  “Stop breaking the fourth wall!” Henry snapped, glaring at her.

  Grellish ignored them both and hurled the hat into the roaring flames of the forge. Henry instinctively lunged forward, concern etched across his face, but the fire flared before he could reach it. The once-red flames shifted to an ethereal purple, then erupted into a blinding white light that filled the entire room.

  Henry shielded his eyes, his heart racing. “Was that supposed to happen?”

  The flames continued to shift and swirl, their colors dancing in mesmerizing waves of purple, gold, and white. The forge seemed alive, its energy building toward something monumental.

  Then, Elara did something Henry never would have expected. Without a word, she darted forward and, with a dramatic flourish, threw Edward—her most prized and sacred spoon—straight into the heart of the flames.

  “Edward?!” Henry’s voice cracked with disbelief. “You just—why would you—”

  Elara turned, her usual grin replaced with a rare, solemn expression. “Sometimes, sacrifices need to be made, hero.” Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, she added with a wink, “Besides, Edward always wanted to be a hero, and what’s more heroic than this?”

  Henry stared at her, his mouth agape. “You’re insane.”

  “Not news, Henry,” she shot back, crossing her arms.

  The flames roared louder, the air around the forge vibrating with power. The mismatched pieces of armor Henry had handed over began to rise from the molten light, spinning slowly as the fire fused them into something extraordinary. Piece by piece, the armor emerged, pristine and radiant, exuding an aura of holiness and strength that seemed almost otherworldly.

  And then... Edward appeared.

  Henry took a step back, unable to believe his eyes. The spoon had changed. No longer an ordinary, slightly tarnished utensil, Edward had transformed into a sleek, silver blade with intricate engravings running along its length. A faint golden light shimmered from its edges, and the handle still bore the faintest outline of its humble spoon origins.

  “Elara,” Henry said, his voice barely above a whisper, “is that...?”

  “Edward,” she said proudly, her grin returning in full force. She flew up to the glowing weapon and patted it affectionately. “Edward, the Prince of Spoons, has ascended to his final form. Edward, The King of Kitchen Spears.”

  Henry blinked. “That’s... not a thing.”

  “It is now,” she said, her tone resolute. “Edward is ready to serve—pun absolutely intended.”

  As ridiculous as it was, Henry couldn’t deny the power emanating from the weapon. Whatever happened in that forge had taken the scraps of armor and Elara’s bizarre contribution and turned them into something extraordinary.

  "Well," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief, "guess we’ve got a legendary weapon and holy armor now. No pressure, right?”

  Elara smirked, hovering beside him. “Oh, don’t worry, Henry. The hard part’s still ahead.”

  —

  Henry stared after everything that had just happened, his mind reeling. The last few minutes had been a blur of shouting, crying, and questionable decision-making, but somehow, they had the armor. Usable, after a fashion.

  He just wasn’t sure if it would be enough.

  His grip tightened around the pendant as his stomach churned. The image of the Red-Robed Woman flashed in his mind—her cold gaze, the way she had wrenched Sarah away from him like she was nothing. His sister’s terrified scream echoed in his head, the sound twisting into something sharper, something that hadn’t stopped haunting him since it happened.

  His jaw clenched. It didn’t matter if this armor was half-broken, cursed, or fused together with Grellish’s ugly tears. If it could help him fight her, he’d use it.

  Because if he failed again, Sarah would be gone forever.

  Shoving the thoughts down before they paralyzed him, Henry turned away from the wreckage of Grellish’s forge and adjusted the armor under his arm. “Let’s go.”

  Elara zipped past him, twirling lazily midair. “Finally! Thought we’d be here forever. I was about to start naming all the broken furniture.”

  Henry ignored her. The mist spout (or whatever he had called it before) was their next target. That was where they’d find their path forward. And hopefully, it would lead them straight to the woman who had stolen his sister.