Kyrie Ironhowl's Arc

Chapter 2 of 13

Kyrie returned to her workshop just after sunset, her mind still turning over the problem of execution. She'd already adjusted her design three times since seeing his blade in the window. The door stood slightly ajar. She froze. The iron latch was bent outward, the wood splintered near the lock. Someone had forced their way in. She pushed the door open with her boot, wolf senses already sharpening. The scent hit her first — unfamiliar, human, nervous sweat. Her workbench had been ransacked. Sketches lay scattered across the floor in a riot of colors, some torn, others crumpled. The leather binder where she kept her competition notes sat open and empty beside the forge. She knelt and sifted through the mess, checking each page. Material calculations. Heat treatment schedules. Edge geometry studies. All there. But the final design — the one showing how she'd refined the structural solution — was gone. Her hands shook as she stood. Someone knew what she was building. Someone wanted to know how she planned to beat him. She grabbed the torn sketches and shoved them back onto the bench, jaw tight. Fine. If they wanted to watch her work, she'd give them something to see. She'd forge two blades this week — one as bait, flawed enough to look convincing, and the real one hidden until competition day. The theft had cost her time, but it had also shown her exactly how threatened they were.