That morning, Albert found his father in the study. Friedrich was reviewing tax ledgers, his brow furrowed over numbers that had never been friendly. Outside the window, sparrows perched on the wrought iron fence, waiting for breadcrumbs from the kitchen.
"Father."
Friedrich looked up. "You're awake. I thought you'd still be sleeping."
"I'm used to waking early."
Friedrich nodded. He sat in a wooden chair, gesturing to the seat across the desk. "What is it?"
Albert sat. He'd been thinking about this since yesterday, since the strange dinner with Edeline crying and his mother crying too. But that wasn't what he wanted to discuss.
"I want to take Borin to my new territory."
Friedrich set down his pen. "Borin? Our blacksmith?"
"Yes. I need him. The new territory on the eastern border doesn't have a blacksmith as good as him. I'm going to build a workshop there, maybe bigger than the one here."
Friedrich looked at him. His eyes held something difficult to read—not anger, not disappointment. Perhaps just weariness.
"You just returned," he said. "And you're already planning to leave again?"
"I'm not leaving now. It'll still take time to prepare everything. But I need to start now."
Friedrich sighed. He looked out the window, toward Borin's workshop below the hill. From here, only its roof was visible, with smoke rising thinly from the chimney.
"Take him," he finally said. "He's wanted to leave this village for a long time. I just never had a reason to let him go."
"Thank you, Father."
"But don't force him. If he wants to go, fine. If not, find someone else."
Albert nodded. He stood, kissing his father's hand—something he hadn't done since childhood. Friedrich looked at him for a moment, then turned back to his ledgers.
"Come home before dark, if you can."
"Yes, Father."
***
The smell of Borin's workshop was the same as always. Charcoal, hot iron, oil, and sweat. The furnace burned in the corner, orange light reflecting off stone walls blackened with soot. On wooden racks, half-finished objects lined up—swords without hilts, still-hot plowshares, large nails for gate repairs.
Borin was forging something. His hammer rose and fell in the rhythm he'd performed thousands of times, striking red-hot iron on the anvil. Sweat soaked his worn shirt, the muscles in his arms moving beneath skin darkened by iron dust.
He saw Albert from the corner of his eye but didn't stop working. The hammer kept falling. Clang. Clang. Clang.
"Borin."
"Wait."
Two more strikes. Then he gripped the iron with tongs, plunging it into water. Hiss. Steam rose, the smell of hot metal filling the room.
He turned. His face—lined, dust-covered, with a small scar on his eyebrow from sparks years ago—hadn't changed.
"You're back, My Lord." he said.
"I'm back."
"You look thin."
"Everyone's been saying that."
Borin grunted. He took a worn cloth from his shoulder, wiping sweat from his forehead. "What is it?"
Albert walked to the wooden rack, his eyes scanning the objects there. Several swords with black blades of Götterbaum Black Steel, several axe heads, a half-finished armet with incomplete engravings.
"I've been given new territory," he said. "On the eastern border. I'm going to build a workshop there, a large one. Maybe bigger than this."
Borin looked at him. "You're asking me to come?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you're the best blacksmith I know."
Borin laughed. A short, rasping laugh, like a man not accustomed to laughter. "You know that's not true. In the cities, there are far better smiths. They can make more beautiful armor, sharper swords—"
"But they don't have Götterbaum Black Steel."
Borin was silent. His eyes shifted to the swords on the rack. Black blades with frozen wave patterns on their surfaces—his creation. What had made him famous. What had transformed Götthain from a poor territory into one whose name people were beginning to mention.
"I'll come," he said. Not much deliberation. Just a short pause to finish the water in the clay jug beside the furnace.
Albert nodded. "Good."
"But I won't stay there forever." Borin gestured at this workshop. "I have my forge here, i can't just abandon it. I'll come and go."
"Up to you. As long as you're there when I need you."
Borin nodded. Then he walked to the rack in the corner, taking something—a rolled-up piece of leather, tied with hemp cord. He placed it on the wooden table, unrolling it.
Inside, pieces of leather with untidy handwriting. Numbers, measurements, notes about body shape.
"Before you left for Vallenwood," Borin said, "I measured you for armor. But the war came, I didn't have time to finish it."
He took a measuring cord from his neck—a leather cord with marks at various points. "Now you're grown. Your measurements will have changed."
"You still want to make me a full suit of plate armor?"
"I promised." Borin pointed to a wooden chair near the furnace. "Sit."
Albert sat. Borin took the measuring cord, starting with his shoulders. The cord looped around his chest, then his waist, then his arms. The distance between elbow and wrist. Shoulder width. Neck circumference.
His movements were slow, meticulous. Occasionally he stopped, recording numbers on the leather with charcoal. His breathing sounded heavy near Albert's ear.
"You never stay still," Borin murmured. "When you were small, you were already strange. Now you're even stranger, with a larger body."
Albert almost smiled. "I'm considered strange?"
"People say so, but I don't care." Borin measured his thigh. "What matters is you're taking me out of this village."
"You don't like it here?"
Borin didn't answer. He was busy recording numbers, drawing lines on the leather.
"I like it here," he finally said. "But I've been here too long. Getting out and walking around for a bit isn't a bad idea."
They were silent. Only the sound of the furnace fire and the creak of the measuring cord against skin.
"How long will this armor take?" Albert asked.
"Don't know." Borin released the cord from Albert's waist, beginning to roll up the leather. "I have many orders. Swords for nobles in the city, plowshares for the village, nails for bridge repairs. Your armor I'll work on in between."
"That's fine. I'm not in a hurry."
Borin nodded. "When it's done, I'll deliver it myself."
He stood, looking down at Albert. His eyes moved, observing, memorizing—like a man accustomed to studying shapes before pouring them into metal.
"You've grown," he said. "Not like before."
"I can't stay a child forever."
"That's true." Borin took the water jug, poured into a clay cup, handed it over. "Drink. You'll get dizzy if you don't."
Albert drank. The water was cold, with a slight taste of iron—like all water in Götthain.
"When are you leaving?" Borin asked.
"Don't know yet. Maybe in a few weeks."
"Tell me the day before. I need to prepare."
They shook hands. Borin's hand was rough, calloused, warm—a hand that never stopped working.
***
The following days felt strange to Albert.
Waking in the morning wasn't to inspect ranks or count arrow supplies. No war trumpets, no shouting from beyond the walls. Just roosters crowing behind the castle, the sound of brooms in the courtyard, and from the kitchen, the smell of bread fresh from the oven.
He sat at the breakfast table with his family. Edeline was already in her seat, her blonde hair braided in two by her mother, her green eyes still sleepy. Before her, a bowl of milk porridge with apple slices.
Edeline looked at Albert. "Where did you sleep last night?"
"In my room."
"Which room?"
"Upstairs, near Mother's room."
Edeline nodded, satisfied. Then she ate her porridge with complete concentration, her tongue poking out each time the spoon neared her mouth.
Lady Elara sat beside Edeline, occasionally wiping the corners of her daughter's mouth with a napkin. Her eyes were still puffy—remnants of last night's tears. But she was smiling.
"I told the cook," she said, "to prepare extra food today. You need to eat more, Albert. You look thin."
"I eat plenty, Mother."
"Not enough."
Friedrich was reading documents—sheets of paper sent from the capital weekly. He didn't speak much during breakfast. But occasionally his eyes shifted to Albert, then back to the newspaper.
After breakfast, Albert walked to the backyard. There, Luise had already finished training. A wooden sword in her hand, hair damp with sweat, face flushed.
"Have you eaten?" Albert asked.
"Not yet."
"Come eat."
"Later."
She took a cloth hanging on the fence, wiping sweat from her face and neck. Her movements were quick, no-nonsense.
"You spoke with Borin?" she asked.
"Yes. He's coming."
Luise nodded. "Good."
They stood in the yard, looking toward the village below. The sun was rising, steam evaporating from the wooden rooftops, creating a thin mist that hung low.
"When do we leave?" Luise asked.
"Don't know yet. Maybe a few weeks. There are still things I need to handle here."
"Like what?"
Albert didn't answer. He just looked at the village below, where smoke was beginning to rise from chimneys, signs of life beginning.
"Do you want to take a walk?" he asked suddenly.
Luise looked at him. "Now?"
"Yes. I want to go to the river."
They walked through fields beginning to yellow, past vegetable gardens behind farmers' houses, past a group of children playing tag. A little girl ran too fast, nearly colliding with Albert, then stopped with wide eyes.
"Sorry, My Lord..." she whispered, then ran off again.
At the riverbank, Albert sat on a large rock. The grass around him was already drying, leaves falling onto the slow-moving water.
He took a cigar from his cloak pocket. Lit it. Smoke rose.
"Lady Alena doesn't object to you smoking that constantly?"
"She tried it once, like you. Now she just objects from a distance."
Luise almost smiled. She sat on a rock beside Albert, a little apart, keeping her distance as usual.
"I missed this," Albert said.
"The river?"
"The quiet. Without shouting, without having to count how many of my men died today."
Luise didn't answer. She just watched the flowing water, dry leaves spinning in small eddies.
"At Vallenwood," Albert said, "every time I smoked this, I remembered Gerold. I remembered how he fished, I remembered the first fish I caught." He looked at the rising smoke. "Now Gerold is dead."
Luise looked at him. In her eyes, something stirred—something she tried to hide with a flat stare.
"It seems you won't forget them," she said.
"I know."
"But you can keep living."
Albert looked at her. "You know, Luise, sometimes you talk like someone older than me."
"Maybe I am older."
"By a year."
"Enough..."
They sat by the river until the cigar was finished. Luise didn't talk much, just sat there, occasionally throwing small stones into the water and watching the ripples spread.
***
That afternoon, Alena asked Albert to walk in the castle's back garden.
Not much had changed since the last time he was here. The apple trees were the same, the bamboo fence the same, the stone bench under the old tree still covered in moss. Only the grass was taller, the flowers less tended.
"Your mother is so kind," Alena said. "She prepared a room for me, with fresh flowers on the table. Even though I didn't ask."
"She's happy you're here."
"I'm happy too."
They walked slowly. The evening wind carried the scent of earth and dry grass. In the distance, Edeline was chasing butterflies in the front yard, her voice bright, her laughter carrying all the way here.
"You're not playing with your sister?" Alena asked.
"I don't know how to play with children."
"You just need to be there."
Albert didn't answer. Alena took his hand.
"Tomorrow," she said, "I'll take you and Edeline to the market. Buy fruit, toys, whatever she wants."
"You're paying?"
"Of course. I still have allowance from my father."
Albert almost smiled. "Alright."
They stopped beneath the apple tree. The fruit was still small, green, not yet ripe. Alena picked one, turning it over in her hand.
"When you were at Vallenwood, I often sat here alone when visiting Götthain. I imagined you coming home, us walking in this garden, everything like before."
"Now I'm here."
"Yes." Alena looked at him. "But sometimes I feel you're not like before."
Albert didn't know how to answer. Alena put the green apple in her pocket.
"It's alright," she said. "I'm not like before either."
They walked back to the castle. At the door, Alena stopped, kissed Albert's cheek quickly, then went inside.
Albert stood there for a moment, feeling the warmth still lingering on his cheek. Then he went in.
***
That night, Albert sat in the sitting room with his family.
Edeline was already asleep—after being forced to bathe, after whining for a story, after her mother read her a fairy tale about princesses and dragons. Now she slept in her room, a cloth doll beside her pillow, dreaming of butterflies and flowers.
Elara was sewing, her needle moving quickly over white fabric. Friedrich read a book—something about the kingdom's history, the title unclear from here. Alena sat in a chair near the hearth, occasionally adding wood to the fire that was beginning to dim.
Albert sat apart, not too close to anyone. In his hand, a feltwort cigar he smoked slowly. Smoke rose, escaping through the window he'd opened a crack.
Elara looked at him. "You're still smoking that thing?"
"Yes, Mother."
"It doesn't smell?"
"Not too much."
She didn't object. Just shook her head slightly, then returned to her sewing.
Friedrich closed his book. "Tomorrow," he said, "I'll show you the documents for your new territory. Maps, borders, reports on population and resources. You need to study them before you leave."
"Yes, Father."
"Don't think about it too much at night."
Albert nodded.
He sat in his chair, smoking, listening to the sound of the needle piercing fabric, the crackle of burning wood, the breathing of his family in this warm room. Sounds he didn't need to watch for, that didn't threaten, that wouldn't wake him in the middle of the night.
For the first time in a long while, he let himself sink into that silence.
The cigar finished. He stubbed it out in the stone ashtray, setting it on the small table beside his chair.
"Good night," he said.
He walked to his room, through the dark corridor, past Edeline's door left slightly ajar. From inside, the sound of small, steady, peaceful breathing.
He closed his door, lay on his bed. Outside, the moon hung over Götthain, its light pale, cold, illuminating rooftops and yellowing fields.
Tomorrow he would go to the market with Alena and Edeline. Tomorrow he would learn about his new territory. Tomorrow he would speak with Borin about the unfinished armor. Tomorrow he would...