The forge district never slept.
Even in the deepest hours of the night, when the rest of Yohan lay quiet beneath skies thick with stars, the southern quarter of the city pulsed with heat and noise. Hammers rang against anvils in staggered rhythms, each smith working to a tempo dictated by the metal beneath their hands. Furnaces roared behind stone walls that glowed orange at their seams. The air smelled of hot iron, smoke, and the particular chemical sharpness of Zul'jinn's experimental compounds ...a smell that the shamans had learned to associate with either breakthrough or explosion, and which they approached with equal wariness.
