Shadow Warriors: The Sovereign

Planet Green 679 tasted of hot carbon and wet coal. Cherry-red metal rested on the anvil, catching the rhythmic, bone-deep clang-clang-clang of Vazquez’s hammer. Sweat carved channels through the soot on his forearms, muscles bunching and releasing with the steady cadence of a man twice his age. At twenty, Vazquez was forged from labor rather than luxury, his broad shoulders built by ten-hour days shaping scrap into the sinews of a frontier world. Beside him, his grandfather Elias worked the heavy leather bellows, his breath wheezing softly against the background roar of the forge fire. In the corner, huddled near a crate of scrap iron, twelve-year-old Mia clutched a piece of charcoal, her fingers flying across rough parchment as she sketched a intricate design for a spice rack. "Your rhythm is off, Vazquez," Elias rasped, not breaking his cadence on the bellows. "The metal knows when your mind is drifting." Vazquez checked his swing, the hammer glancing off the iron.