[There's something divine here.]
The words weren't a warning.
They were recognition.
And the moment Vitaliara whispered them, Lucavion stilled—truly stilled.
His gaze swept the forge again, slower this time. Deeper. Not just admiring the architecture or sensing the mana, but listening beneath it. To the cadence of heat. To the rhythm of molten aether. To the deliberate, sacred stillness that only came from one kind of hand.
'Old man…'
His jaw tensed just slightly, eyes narrowing.
'So you're here too.'
Of course he was. This forge wasn't just powerful—it was aligned. Structured like a ritual. Precise, but full of soul. Only one man he knew had ever worked iron like it was prayer and made even the gods feel unnecessary.
A certain old man that he had met before.
