The Silent Foundry

Cold iron sleeps in the valley's jaw, waiting for the spark of a solitary anvil. No wind disturbs the dormant ash where the memory of fire rests.

A single strike shatters the glass of the air, ringing outwards like a rippling pond. The red-hot tongue of the awakened forge licks the shadows from the walls.

We shape the world from what we burn, bending the stubborn earth to our will. In the glowing dust of the silent foundry, a new constellation is born on the cooling stone.