Chapter 14

Long ago, different time, a different life

The morning sun spilled over Gilneas, casting a gentle, golden light over the cobblestone streets. Athana and Gorral made their way together through the early quiet, both carrying carefully wrapped gifts toward the blacksmith shop. It was a rare moment of calm, a break from the relentless cycle of training, and Athana's excitement was unmistakable. She clutched a small package tightly to her chest, the sound of faint crinkling echoing with each step.

Beside her, Gorral walked with his usual casual air, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he carried a warm sweet bun wrapped in wax paper. He nudged Athana playfully with his elbow, his grin widening. "I still don't get why you're so excited. You'd think it was your birthday, not his."

Athana rolled her eyes, though the smile on her face betrayed her delight. "It's not just any gift, Gorral," she replied with exaggerated seriousness. "It's the gift. I found an actual dwarven blueprint—an Ironforge blunderbuss design. It was buried in Old Man Haverty's collection!"

Gorral raised an eyebrow, chuckling. "And he just let you have it? Knowing Haverty, that's a miracle in itself."

Athana's grin turned sheepish. "Well… I may have had to endure a few stories first," she admitted. "But it was worth it."

Gorral shook his head in amusement. "You really go the extra mile, don't you? Herald's going to be over the moon. He's been talking about making a blunderbuss for months now."

Athana's face lit up with pride. "Exactly! And it's more than just a blueprint—it's history. Something that ties him to the old days of Ironforge and Gilneas."

As they turned a corner, the blacksmith's shop came into view, its stone facade familiar and welcoming. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, and the steady clang of hammer against anvil reverberated down the narrow street. The unmistakable scent of hot metal and smoldering coals filled the air, marking this as a place of hard work, skill, and dedication.

Gorral inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. "Smells like Herald's at it again. Probably making one of those oversized claymores he's so obsessed with."

Athana laughed. "No doubt. Bigger is always better with him."

They approached the shop carefully, their footsteps soft against the cobblestone. The plan was simple: surprise Herald with the gift before he noticed their approach. Athana glanced at Gorral to ensure he was ready, adjusting her package as they drew nearer.

"Are you sure he's not going to notice us sneaking up?" Gorral whispered.

"Not if you stop talking," she whispered back with a smirk.

Together, they peeked through the open doorway. Inside, Herald Jr. stood focused at the forge, swinging his hammer down on a glowing piece of metal. The glow of the forge illuminated his intense concentration, each precise movement displaying his mastery of the craft. Athana and Gorral exchanged a quick, excited nod, their eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Hey, Herald!" Gorral called out suddenly, breaking the quiet with a cheerful shout.

Herald spun around, his expression a mixture of surprise and delight. "Well, well! Skipping training to visit little old me, are we?"

Gorral grinned. "We've got our priorities straight."

Herald's eyes flicked to Athana, who was struggling to keep a straight face. "You're up to something, aren't you?" he teased, wiping his brow.

Athana tried, and failed, to contain her smile. "I may have a little something for you," she admitted, holding out the wrapped package. "Happy birthday, Herald!"

Herald's eyes widened in astonishment. "What is it?"

"Open it and see!" Athana urged, practically bouncing with excitement.

Herald carefully unwrapped the package, revealing the worn dwarven blueprint inside. His jaw dropped as he examined the intricate design, complete with detailed measurements and notes in the angular script of Ironforge's engineers.

"Where… how did you…?" He looked up, stunned.

"I found it in Old Man Haverty's collection," Athana explained, pride evident in her voice. "I thought you might like it—something worthy of a talented blacksmith."

A wide grin broke across Herald's face, his usual stoic demeanor melting into one of pure joy. "Athana, this is… incredible. I can't believe you found this!"

Gorral stepped forward, holding out his own gift. "And I brought a sweet bun. Not quite historic, but hey, it's fresh."

Herald laughed, clapping Gorral on the shoulder. "Perfect! You two are the best."

Athana beamed, her heart swelling with pride. "I'm glad you like it. You deserve it, Herald."

His voice softened, a rare vulnerability surfacing. "Thank you, Athana. I won't forget this."

Gorral watched, a warmth spreading through him that he hadn't felt in a long time. It was one of those moments that seemed timeless, as though they could hold on to it forever. But for now, in this humble blacksmith shop filled with the scent of coal and the warmth of friendship, they were simply three Gilneans, bound together by something rare and precious.

As their laughter filled the shop, Herald set the blueprint down with reverence, glancing between his two friends. "You know," he said, his voice teasing, "when are you two going to learn how to swing a hammer? I could use the help."

Gorral snorted. "Me? Working the forge? I'd set something on fire in no time."

Athana grinned. "More like in the first minute."

Herald shook his head in mock exasperation. "You're probably right. Gorral and fire mix as well as ale and fine etiquette."

Gorral threw up his hands. "Burn one dinner, and I'm Gilneas's worst cook."

The laughter that followed was light, and in it, Athana felt a deep warmth. Watching Gorral with a new awareness, she realized her feelings had shifted, growing stronger and more complex with each passing day. Her laughter softened into a quiet smile as her gaze lingered on him.

A flutter ran through her heart, a sudden recognition of something she'd kept hidden, even from herself. It was silly, really. She had known him since childhood; they were partners in every adventure, every challenge. But somewhere along the way, her feelings had deepened, turned to something she was almost afraid to name.

Gorral glanced over, noticing her silence. "You alright? You've gone quiet. That's rare."

Athana blinked, cheeks warming. "Oh, just picturing you in a blacksmith's apron," she replied, hoping her face didn't betray her.

Herald let out a hearty laugh. "Now that's something I'd pay to see."

Gorral's smirk turned playful. "Oh, so you think I'd look good in an apron, huh?"

Athana felt her heart skip a beat. "Only if you're ready to wear it and fail spectacularly."

They laughed, their easy banter continuing. And though Athana kept her feelings tightly guarded, she couldn't stop herself from wondering, just for a moment, what might be. Yet she knew she couldn't afford daydreams, not now, with all that lay ahead for them.

The conversation drifted, the lighthearted mood filling the shop. Herald, glancing between them, grew thoughtful. He closed his work for the day, his hammer resting on the workbench as he looked to his friends with an idea.

"Why not celebrate properly?" he asked suddenly, his grin widening. "To the tavern we go!"

Athana and Gorral's faces lit up, their cheers echoing down the cobblestone street. Moments like these were too rare, too fleeting, to let pass by. Together, they left the forge, the warmth of friendship leading them forward, ready to share one more night of joy against the backdrop of an uncertain world.

The night wore on, and the tavern brimmed with laughter, the clinking of mugs, and the occasional shout of a friendly challenge. Herald, Athana, and Gorral found themselves in the center of it all, their table piled with empty tankards, the atmosphere around them growing increasingly lively as the effects of the ale set in.

Athana was holding her own—no, she was dominating the impromptu drinking contest, much to the amazement of her companions. Herald watched her down another mug with a look of disbelief mingled with admiration. "By the Light, Athana! Where'd you learn to drink like that?"

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning mischievously. "A girl has her secrets," she teased, eyes twinkling. "But let's just say there's more to a mage than spells."

Gorral shook his head, trying to process how quickly she had downed her drink. "You've got more spirit than half the guards I drink with," he said, a note of genuine admiration in his voice. "I didn't know you had it in you, Athana."

With a triumphant laugh, Athana tilted her head at the two, her cheeks flushed with pride and just a hint of intoxication. "You two really think I'm just a frail mage? I'm Gilnean too—built for rough edges and strong ale!"

Herald chuckled, raising his mug. "Then I think you've earned more than just respect tonight," he said, voice low and sincere. "You're officially the blacksmith drinking champion."

Athana beamed, raising her mug in victory. "I'll take that title gladly," she replied, her laugh carrying a note of defiance. "But only until you two prove otherwise."

Gorral raised his half-empty mug, laughing. "I'm out for now. But you keep the title—until next time."

Herald, with a grin, raised his mug one last time. "To Athana—the fiercest, most unexpected drinking champion Gilneas has ever known!"

"To Athana!" Gorral echoed, clinking his mug with theirs.

As the night wore on and the ale flowed, the trio shared old stories of their exploits, dreams of what might come, and laughter that rang true and clear. In the cozy corner of The Cracked Barrel, for that one night, the rest of the world seemed a distant shadow, a specter far from the warmth of friends and a carefree evening.

As the festivities began winding down, Athana let out an exaggerated sigh, setting her final empty mug on the table with a satisfied thud. "Alright," she slurred with a sleepy smile, "I surrender."

Herald, still grinning, couldn't hide his admiration. "You put up a good fight, Athana," he said. "But I think it's high time for us all to call it a night."

Gorral, barely able to contain his amusement, shook his head. "I never thought I'd see the day Athana would outdrink us both."

Athana swayed slightly as she stood, a tired but happy smile on her face. "It's Herald's birthday," she declared with exaggerated dignity. "Had to do it right."

Gorral, sensing her unsteady balance, gave Herald a knowing nod. "You make sure she gets home safely. I'll be lucky to make it back myself."

Herald moved to her side, offering his arm to steady her as she leaned against him. "Come on," he said, keeping his voice low and warm. "I'll get you home safe."

As they walked through the cool night streets of Gilneas, Athana's head rested against Herald's shoulder. "You're always so nice," she murmured, voice heavy with weariness and the warm haze of ale. "Always looking out for me."

Herald felt a pang of something bittersweet at her words, affection mixed with a deeper longing he couldn't ignore. "It's what friends do," he replied softly.

When they reached her doorstep, she fumbled with her key, her fingers unsteady. Herald stood close, ready to catch her if she stumbled. "You made this birthday something special, Athana," he said, a quiet sincerity in his voice. "I'll never forget it."

She turned, giving him a warm, sleepy smile. "Good," she whispered. "Happy birthday, Herald."

Before he could react, she pulled him closer, reaching up to press her lips softly against his. The kiss was lingering and surprisingly intense, sending a jolt through Herald. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to respond, his heart beating faster than he could remember. But then, the painful realization struck him—this kiss wasn't for him. In her foggy state, she thought he was someone else. Gorral.

Heart sinking, he gently pulled back, his gaze filled with an emotion he couldn't share. Her eyes were distant, dreamlike, and she mumbled, "Goodnight, Gorral," as she slipped inside, the door closing with a soft click.

Herald stood there in silence, his skin still warm where she had kissed him. The realization was bitter, leaving an ache he knew would linger far beyond this night. He knew she'd have no memory of it come morning, and he would keep it that way. But tonight, as he walked home alone, he allowed himself to feel the ache of longing, the weight of what could never be.

As he lay in bed, he closed his eyes, the warmth of Athana's kiss still fresh on his lips. A memory of love that wasn't truly his, but one he knew he'd carry, a bittersweet echo of a dream that would never become reality.